Bukowski, Charles

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I BEEN WORKING ON THE RAILROAD ...the Great Editor said he wanted to meet me in person before he published my book, he said most writers were sons of bitches and that he just didn't want to print anybody who wasso since he paid the train fare I went on down there to New Orleanswhere I lived around the corner from him in a small room.the Great Editor lived in a cellar with a printing press, his wife and two dogs.the Great Editor also published a famousliterary magazinebut my projected bookwould be his first try atthat.he survived on the magazine, on luck, on handouts.each night I ate dinner with the GreatEditor and his wife (my only meal andprobably theirs too).then we'd drink beer until midnightwhen I'd go to my small roomopen a bottle of wine and begintyping.he said he didn't have enough poems."I need more poems," he said.he had caught up on my back poems and as I wrote the new poems he printed them.I was writing directly into the press.around noon each day I'd go aroundthe cornerknock on the windowand see the Great Editorfeeding pages of my poemsinto the press.the Great Editor was also the Great Publisher, the Great Printer and a many Great Number of Other Things, and I was practically the unknown47poet so it was all quite strange.anyhow, I would wave the pages at him and he would stop the press and let me in.he'd sit and read the poems:"hmmm ... good ... why don't you come to dinner tonight?" then I'd leave.some noons I'd knock on the windowwithout any poemsand the Great Editor would stareat me as if I were agiant roach.he wouldn't open the door."GO AWAY!" I could hear him scream through the window, "GO AWAY AND DON'T COME BACK UNTIL YOU HAVE SOME POEMS!"he would be genuinely angry and it puzzled me: he expected4 or 5 poems from me each day.I'd stop somewhere for a couple of six-packsgo back to my roomand begin to type.the afternoon beer always tastedgood and I'd come up withsome poems ...take them back knock on the window wave the pages.the Great Editor would smilepleasantlyopen the doortake the pagessit down and read them:"umm ... ummm ... these are good ... why don't you drop by for dinner tonight?”and in between the afternoon and the evening48I'd go back to my room and sign more and more colophons.the pages were thick, heavily grained, expensive designed to last 2,000 years.the signings were slow and laboriouswritten out with a special pen ...thousands of colophons and as I got drunker to keep from going altogether crazy I began making drawings andstatements ...when I finished signing thecolosthe stack of pages stood six feet tall in the center of the room.as I said,it was a very strange time for an unknown writer, he said it to me one night:"Chinaski, you've ruined poetry for me ... since I've read you I just can't read anything else ...."high praise, indeed, but I knew what he meant.each day his wife stoodon the street cornerstrying to sell paintings,her paintings and the paintingsof other painters.she was a beautiful andfiery woman.finally, the book was done, that is, except for the binding the Great Editor couldn't do the binding, he had to pay for the binding part and that pissed him.49but our job was done,his and mine,and the Great Editor andhis wife put me on the trainback to L.A.both of them standing there on the platform looking at me and smiling as I looked back from my seat by the window, it was ... embarrassing ....finally the train started to slowly roll and I waved and they wavedand then as I was nearly out of sight the Great Editor jumped up and down like a little boy, still waving .....I walked back to the bar car and decided to stay my trip there.it was some stops and some hours later when the porter came back there:"HENRY CHINASKI! IS THERE A HENRY CHINASKI HERE?""here my good man,”I said."damn, man," he said, "I've been looking all over this train for you!"I tipped him and opened the telegram:"YOU’RE STILL A S.O.B. BUT WE STILL LOVE YOU ...Jon and Louise ...."I motioned the porter over ordered a double scotch on the rocks50then I had itand I held it up a momenttoasted them an almostlyrical blessingthen drank it downas the trainrolled and swayedswayed and rolledworking me further and furtherawayfrom those magic people.BRIGHT BOYwe were in one of those after-hour places.I don't know how long we had been there.I noticed a dead cigar in my hand, attempted to light it, burned my nose ..."you never met Randy Newhall?" the guy next to me asked."naw ....""he got through college in 2 years instead of 4 ..."I got the barkeep to bring us a couple more drinks."... he walked into the largest agency in the world, they had 3,000 applications for this one open position but he didn't fill one out, he just talked to management for 15 minutes and he was hired ..."" uh ""he began in the mailroom and in 6 months he was arranging package deals for tv programs and the movies ...nobody ever got out of the mailroom that fast, and next he married an intelligent girl just out of law school...""yeah?""in his office he seemed to spend most of his time putting his golf balls across the room, he made work look easy ..."

I Been Working on the Railroad

https://ddd.uab.cat/pub/wormwood/wormwood_a1988v28n2-3i110-111/wormwood_a1988v28n2-3i110-111p47.pdf

I Been Working on the Railroad

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