Tribute to a Poet and a Mentor

The world has shaped me

And I have shaped what I can.

--Charles Bukowski

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Joan Jobe Smith touches briefly on various aspects of her life--go-go dancer, single mom, poet--while discussing her latest role: editor and publisher of a literary review.

But this is no lofty academic endeavor, and Smith is no stuffy scholar. She created the 64-page review this summer at her kitchen table on a cheap PC that she had to learn how to use. And then there was the nonexistent printing budget.

All this just to get a little respect. Not for herself, but for the man she counts as part mentor, part drinking buddy and pure genius: author and poet Charles Bukowski.

Bukowski, stereotyped as the hard-drinking, womanizing, gambling denizen of downtrodden L.A.--sometimes profane, always prolific--is often dismissed as a “barstool bard,” a moniker that makes Smith bristle. The influence on poetry of his stream-of-consciousness works is indisputable. So why, she laments, isn’t he respected in this country--let alone in Los Angeles--the way he is internationally?

“There are very scholarly types who consider him vulgar, or whatever their criticism is. But there are many worldwide who consider him possibly the greatest American poet ever, beyond [Walt] Whitman,” Smith says.

“He’s unquestionably the best purely Los Angeles writer,” says Lionel Rolfe, author of “Literary L.A.” Rolfe didn’t include a chapter on Bukowski in his 1981 book until the third edition, which is due out in February and carries a Bukowski-themed cover.

Smith, 61, whose oversized black glasses are framed by long, curly red hair, has a witty manner that comes across in the pages of the Bukowski Review. She sifted through hundreds of submissions in the second-story Long Beach apartment she shares with poet-husband Fred Voss. The pair rated their own chapter in the new edition of “Literary L.A.”

Their apartment is neatly crammed with overflowing bookcases and comfy, low-slung furniture. Smith has two adult daughters and a son from a prior marriage--all of whom met Bukowski when they were young--and nine grandchildren. On one wall is a sketch of Bukowski by David Hernandez--the same image that graces the gold cover of the first issue of the review, published in September, and just below that is a bronze bust of Bukowski on the mantel.

Smith says she’s not sure whether the “cranky and unpredictable” Bukowski would appreciate a review in his honor, but that didn’t keep her from finishing it by Aug. 16, on what would have been his 81st birthday. Friends of hers, and Bukowski’s, ponied up the $550 for the modest press run of 300 copies, a cost that doesn’t include any of the time she spent working on it.

Smith completed the review with her partner in rhyme, Marilyn Johnson, 59, a poet and retired professor of creative writing at Cal State Long Beach. The two, who met as undergraduates at the Long Beach campus, first started collaborating in 1974 on the poetry journal Pearl. They envisioned the Bukowski Review as a from-the-gut dialogue--good and bad, fans and foes--about the man who died of leukemia in San Pedro in 1994.

The result is a mix of interviews with his former lovers; poems written to, about or in the style of Bukowski; stories with oblique references to the poet and critiques of his work. And though uneven, from the academic to the silly, it acknowledges the influence Bukowski has had on folks who remember the ‘70s and those who were born long after.

In a poem called “Charles Bukowski Sent Out Carbons and Kept the Originals in His Sock Drawer,” Michael Phillips of San Pedro skewers bad coffeehouse poets whose Bukowski-style themes of whores and gambling don’t ring true. His poem ends with the lines:

... such unimaginative imitation is an insult

to the memory of the man

and to those of us

who go to the trouble

of imitating him

less obviously.

RD Armstrong, a.k.a. Raindog and publisher of the “Little Red Book” poetry series, writes in an essay on “the Buk”: “I still admire the body of his work, still feel its tendrils working their way through my own writing, and I’m still willing to admit to being influenced and inspired by his style of writing. His other styles I can live without.”

In the poem “Last Stop,” Armstrong recounts seeing Bukowski, shortly before his death, give a reading in San Pedro:

The old guy was about as big around as a minute

his clothes hung loosely on his frame

Perhaps they were not his clothes

but a gift from some well-meaning patron-of-the-arts

Maybe these were his clothes

and he was doing his best to fill them

with all that was left.

“He’s so complicated. I think he’s been maligned here in America because of his lifestyle in the ‘70s with all the drinking and partying,” Smith says.

Rolfe explains his theory on the ambivalence about Bukowski. “His writing was quite incredible; it’s just that he wasn’t a humanist,” he says. “He was a misanthrope. He was down on the human species.”

Gerald Locklin, a Cal State Long Beach professor who was a friend of Bukowski’s and wrote a book about him, concedes the poet’s work is gritty but says it’s also warmer than people realize. He points to tender poems about a former girlfriend who died, his daughter and his wife.

“I suppose he could be cold, but mainly he didn’t fake things. He didn’t fake any optimism he didn’t feel; he didn’t fake sympathy when he didn’t feel it; he didn’t pretend to admire things he didn’t admire,” Locklin says. “He never would have won the ‘Oprah’ award.”

Like Locklin, Smith looks beyond the stereotype to the man who encouraged her to write honestly about her life, not to censor herself.

Smith first met Bukowski in 1973 when she introduced herself to him and his then-girlfriend Linda King, who were both performing at a poetry reading at Cal State Long Beach. She and King forged an instant literary bond; Bukowski later began to call Smith as well.

Smith, who earned a master’s in fine arts from UC Irvine, says she was somewhat embarrassed at the thought of writing about her life. Being a go-go dancer in Southern California during the ‘60s ran counter to her onetime goal of becoming a teacher. “Now it’s quaint, but when you’re competing for a good job, you don’t want anyone to know that about you,” she said.

Bukowski liked Smith’s work, and she listened to him. Eventually she completed a collection of poems about her go-go days in a 1993 book called “Jehovah Jukebox.”

Bukowski hit Hollywood-style success with a screenplay he wrote for the 1987 movie “Barfly.” As he became more famous, Smith saw less of him, receiving occasional letters, the last one in 1981.

Smith and Voss continue writing in Bukowski’s blue-collar vein, incorporating broader themes of working-class life, feminism and gender issues. And, like Bukowski, their work is more highly regarded overseas--specifically in England--where some of their books have been published.

Smith says she plans to complete the second issue of the review on his birthday, in time for publication next fall. From behind a chair in her apartment, she pulls out a shopping bag overflowing with papers and envelopes. “There’s the second issue,” she says.

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To obtain a copy of the Bukowski Review, visit www.pearlmag.com or send $11 (made out to Pearl) to Pearl, 3030 E. 2nd St., Long Beach, CA 90803.