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Si le vieux dégueulasse Bukowski prend l'escalator, y'a une fille...

Clément Solym - 15.07.2016

Culture, Arts et Lettres - Cinéma - fille escalator bukowski - journal vieux dégueulasse - poème narcissisme Bukowski


La carrière de Charles Bukowksi est émaillée d’anecdotes toutes plus folles les unes que les autres. Alcoolique et brillant, l’écrivain américain n’a jamais manqué l’occasion d’écrire un texte sulfureux. Girl on the Escalator n’est pas le moins controversé de ses poèmes – et pourtant loin d’être l’un des pires. Vieux pervers désespérément romantique renfermé, Bukowski savait s’y prendre.

 

#bukowski

Matt BOyd, CC BY ND 2.0

 

 

Ce que l’on retient sans peine des textes de Bukowski, c’est l’expression implacable de la solitude, de la souffrance, rarement enjolivées derrière les mots. Sa réalité est souvent brutale, violente et sans filtre. Ses relations avec la gent féminine l’expriment bien, et dans Girl on the Escalator, on retrouve toute l’aridité de son expression poétique. D’autres textes mettent en scène des personnages féminins, toujours dans des lieux très prosaïques : le supermarché en est un autre.

 

Et voici que son texte a été repris, cette poésie dont on raconte facilement qu’elle sent le hamburger et le bourbon bon marché. Dans un court-métrage, c’est tout le texte qui est récité, dans un film réalisé par Kayhan Lannes Ozmen

 

Bukowksi y est tour à tour voyeur, sarcastique, méprisant, drôle, entre deux œillades appuyées. Le poème est tiré de Notes of a Dirty Old Man, paru en 1969 et traduit en français par Gérard Guégan sous le titre Journal d’un vieux dégueulasse (Grasset, 1969), mêlant chroniques, réflexions et poèmes.

 

 

as I go to the escalator

a young fellow and a lovely young girl

are ahead of me.

her pants, her blouse are skin-tight.

as we ascend, she rests one foot

on the step above and her behind

assumes a fascinatin shape.

the young man looks all around he appears worried,

he looks at me.

I look away.

 

no, young man, I am not looking,

I am not looking at your girl's behind.

dont worry, I respect her and I respect you.

in fact, I respect everything; the flowers that grow, young women,

children, all the animals, our precious complicated universe, everyone and everything.

 

I sense that the young man now feels better and I am glad for him.

I know his problem: the girl has a mother, a father, maybe a sister or a brother,

and undoubtedly a bunch of unfriendly relatives

and she like to dance and flirt and she likes to go to the movies and sometimes

she talks and chews at the same time and

she enjoys really dumb TV shows and she thinks she's a budding actress and she

doesn't always look so good and has a

 

terrible temper and sometimes she almost goes crazy

and she can talk for hours on the telephone and she wants to go to Europe some summer soon

and she wants you to buy her a near-new Mercedes and she's in love with

Mel Gibson and her mother is a

drunk and her father is a racist

and sometimes when she drinks too much she

snores and she's often cold in bed and

she has a guru, a guy who met Christ

in the desert in 1978, and she wants to be a dancer and she's unemployed and she

gets migraine headaches everytime she

eats sugar or cheese.

 

I watch him take her up

the escalator, his arm

protectively about her waist, thinking he's

lucky,

thinking he's a real special guy,

thinking that nobody in the world has

what he has.

 

and he's right, terribly

terribly right, his arm around

that warm bucket of

intestine,

bladder,

kidneys,

lungs,

salt,

sulphur,

carbon dioxide

and

phlegm.

 

lotsa

luck