The Buk

Charles Bukowiski-

hell is a closed door-

even when starving
the rejection slips hardly ever bothered me:
I only believed that the editors were
truly stupid
and I just went on and wrote more and
more.
I even considered rejects as
action; the worst  was the empty
mailbox.

if I had a weakness or a dream
it was
that I only wanted to see one of these
editors
who rejected me,
to see his or her face, the way they
dressed, the way they walked across a
room, the sound of their voice, the look
in their eye…
just one look at one of
them-

you see, when all you look at is
a piece of printed paper
telling you that you
aren’t very good,
then there is a tendency
to think that they editors
are more god-like than
they are.

hell is a closed door
when you’re starving for your god-
damned art
but sometimes you feel at least like having a
keyhole.

young or old, good or bad,
I don’t think anything dies as slow and
as hard as a
writer.

-The Last Night of The Earth Poems. Charles Bukowski.

I’ve just now read this poem for the first time. Which is fitting. I received a rejection email yesterday. I was told they needed to pass because my poems were *****, however they also wished me luck concerning my revision process and continued writing.

I considered the feedback from the editor to be incredibly helpful. I am determined.

Cheers.

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