Post Office audiobook

is it just me, or does reading bukowski make you want to listen to tom waits, too? finished post office last night and this morning listened to small change on the train. here are the opening lyrics to I Can't Wait to Get Off Work (And See My Baby on Montgomery Avenue): I don't mind working, 'cause I used to be jerking off most of my time in bars, I've been a cabbie and a stock clerk and a soda-fountain jock-jerk And a manic mechanic on cars. It's nice work if you can get it, now who the hell said it? I got money to spend on my gal, But the work never stops, and I'll be busting my chops Working for Joe and Sal. And I can't wait to get off work and see my baby, She said she'd leave the porch light on for me. I'm disheveled and I'm disdainful and I'm distracted and it's painful

Every single life is just a drop in the ocean… The ocean, look at it out there, battering, crawling up and down. And underneath all that, the fish, the poor fish fighting each other, eating each other. We’re like those fish, only we’re up here. One bad move and you’re finished. It’s nice to be a champion. It’s nice to know your moves.This is Charles Bukowski’s life philosophy and according to it, he depicts his life…The streets were full of insane and dull people. Most of them lived in nice houses and didn’t seem to work, and you wondered how they did it. There was one guy who wouldn’t let you put the mail in his box.Post Office is laden with subtly rude but precise observations of everyday life…I had come to the racetrack after the other two funerals and had won. There was something about funerals. It made you see things better. A funeral a day and I’d be rich.I quite admire Charles Bukowski’s dark and desperate humour and his ability to turn cynicism into literature.‘Take it as it comes’ was his ultimate truth.

Call me pathetic, but I find this true, autobiographical, and honest novel that describes the chasms of human nature without any moral forefinger, romantic downplaying, or a deeper, philosophical message better than all the other progressive, beat generation stuff describing excesses, orgies, drug abuse, and crime.He just doesn´t care about conventionsThat´s such weird writing, it´s like a mixture of different comedy styles and all those beatnik, beat generation poets but without their weaknesses, because it tells a whole, coherent story. How it´s told is another thing, it´s still unconventional as heck, but hey, at least it´s a narrative. Kind of. The downsides of transportationIt shows worker exploitation, flaws of bureaucracy and public services, and the stupidity of norms and conventions. A cynical, drunk, and in its descriptions of system errors extremely sober novel that describes the madness of systems from the inside and the lowest point in the hierarchy.Authentic and without any self importance or high brow attitudeThese are the 2 biggest problems with this generation of authors, that they deem themselves brilliant, in your face critics of their time while producing average and bad work. Being different is no legitimation for not caring about the art and its rules. I´ve read quite a few of those unconventional writers of the second half of the 20th century and he is one of the rare ones who really deserved the good reputation and cult status, because he was not just provocative, unconventional, and dirty, but deep, witty, and closer to wisdom than most of that generation. And he was authentic, with no simulated philosophy or profundity, just the grime and filth of everyday life.All in all, a fitting description of not caring about anything, the manifesto of an atheist, pragmatist, alcoholic, a womanizing, small worker, who is trying to make the best out of the situation while avoiding any unnecessary effort, a perfect average joe antihero.Tropes show how literature is conceptualized and created and which mixture of elements makes works and genres unique: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.ph...

"It began as a mistake." No writer has written about the hoodlums, the lowlifes, the lost souls, the unemployed, the castaways etc etc more beautifully than Bukowski. He hasn't pitied them, like Dickens would. He hasn't detested them either. He has made us live their lives: talk their talk, walk their walk.The charm of this book lies in the relentless attachment of Chinaski to the US Postal Service, as he puts in thankless hours on the trot in pursuit of a life drowned in alcohol, cigarettes, race-horses and (obviously) women.BackgroundThe novel is a semi-autobiographical account of Bukowski's years working as a carrier and sorter for the United States Postal Service, the novel is "dedicated to nobody". Post Office introduces Bukowski's autobiographical alter-ego, Henry Chinaski. It covers the period of Bukowski's life from about 1952 to his resignation from the United States Postal Service three years later, to his return in 1958 and then to his final resignation in 1969. During this time, Chinaski/Bukowski worked as a mail carrier for a number of years. After a brief hiatus, in which he supported himself by gambling at horse races, he returned to the post office to work as a sorter. “What's wrong with assholes, baby?” Jane Cooney Baker, the love of Bukowski's life, is mentioned in the text as Betty. Bukowski's first wife, Barbara Frye is portrayed as Joyce, a wealthy nymphomaniac. Mickey Rourke and Faye Dunaway in the film Barfly. Dunaway's character Wanda was based on Jane Cooney Baker. “In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.Maybe I'll write a novel, I thought.And then I did.” In December 1969, John Martin founded Black Sparrow Press in order to publish Bukowski's writing, offering him $100 per month for life on condition that Bukowski would quit working for the post office and write full-time for Black Sparrow. Bukowski agreed; three weeks later, he had written Post Office.Note: Trigger warnings for rape and misogyny.

Post Office, Charles BukowskiPost Office is the first novel written by Charles Bukowski, published in 1971 when he was 50 years old. In Los Angeles, California, down-and-out barfly Henry Chinaski becomes a substitute mail carrier; he quits for a while and lives on his winnings at the track, then becomes a mail clerk. Chinaski drifts from place to place, surviving through booze and women, with his biting sense of humor and a cynical view of the world. Henry Chinaski has lost more than twelve years of his life to the U.S. Postal Service. In a world where his three true, bitter pleasures are women, booze, and racetrack betting, he somehow drags his hangover out of bed every dawn to lug waterlogged mailbags up mud-soaked mountains, outsmart vicious guard dogs, and pray to survive the day-to-day trials of sadistic bosses and certifiable coworkers. تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز پنجم ماه دسامبر سال2018میلادیعنوان: اداره پست؛ نویسنده: چارلز بوکوفسکی‏‫؛ مترجم فرح آمیلی؛ ويراستار بابک حقایق؛ تهران؛ قاصدک صبا‏‫، سال‏‫1396؛ در196ص؛ شابک9786005675139؛ چاپ دوم سال1397؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان آلمانی تبار ایالات متحده آمریکا - سده20مکتاب «اداره پست»، رمانی نوشته ی «چارلز بوکفسکی» است، که نخستین بار در سال1971میلادی وارد بازار نشر شد؛ «همه چیز، با یک اشتباه شروع شد»؛ «هنری چیناسکی» که اکنون به میانسالی رسیده، دوازده سال از عمر خود را صرف خدمت در اداره ی پست ایالات متحده کرده است؛ در جهانی که سه لذت واقعی، و تلخ و شیرین او (زنان، الکل و شرط بندی) هستند، «هنری» هر روز صبح با منگی و سرگیجه، خود را از رختخواب بیرون میکشد، و با پشت سر گذاشتن مشکلات ریز و درشت، کار خود را انجام میدهد، و تلاش میکند از مواجهه ی هر روزه، با بالادستیهای بیرحم، و همکاران دیوانه اش، جان به در ببرد؛ این رمان کلاسیک که نام آوری را، برای نویسنده اش به ارمغان آورد، بدون تردید، از بهترین آثار نویسنده، و شاعر بیهمتای «آلمانی تبار آمریکایی»، «چارلز بوکفسکی» استنقل نمونه هایی از متن کتاب: («بتی» فقط به من نگاه کرد؛ همه چیز را در آن نگاهش دیدم؛ دو تا بچه داشت که هیچ وقت به ملاقاتش نیامدند، و حتی نامه ای هم برایش ننوشتند؛ او نظافتچی یک هتل ارزون قیمت بود؛ زمانی که اولین بار او را ملاقات کردم، لباسهای گران قیمتی به تن داشت، و با کفشهای گران قیمتی مچ پاهای خوش تراشش را پوشانده بود؛ بدن ماهیچه ای سفتی داشت، و تا حد زیادی زیبا بود؛ چشمان وحشی و خندان؛ همسر پولداری داشت که ازش طلاق گرفت، و شوهرش در حال مستی، بر اثر سانحه ی رانندگی، در «کنکتیکات» تا پای مرگ سوخته بود؛ آنها به من گفتند که تو هرگز او را رام نخواهی کرد؛ حالا او اینجا بود و من هم کمکش بودم؛ «آقای محترم، آقای محترم، آقای محترم»؛ بندازش دور این کلمه ی آقای محترم رو، ممکنه؟ شرط میبندم اگر اون بیمار، رئیس جمهور یا استاندار، یا شهردار، یا هر عوضی پولداری بود، الان همه ی دکترها توی اون اتاق تجمع میکردند، تا یه کاری کنند! چرا اجازه میدهید اینجور افراد بمیرند؟ گناه فقرا چیه؟؛ فکر میکنم که دومین روز کاری ام به عنوان نامه بر موقت بود، که زن درشت اندامی از خانه اش بیرون آمد، و با من کمی در اطراف قدم زد، در حالیکه داشتم نامه ها را به مقصد میرساندم؛ منظورم از درشت اندام، این بود که به طور کلی، همه چیزش گنده بود؛ به نظر میرسید که اندکی شیرین عقل باشد، اما من به این موضوع اهمیتی نمیدادم؛ زن مرتب حرف میزد و حرف میزد، و در همین حال از خانه بیرون آمد؛ همسرش افسر بود، و به مأموریتی در یکی از جزایر دور دست رفته بود، و اکنون او تنها مانده بود؛ تنهای تنها در یک خانه کوچک زندگی میکرد.)؛ پایان نقلتاریخ بهنگام رسانی 01/05/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 11/02/1401هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

Why is reading Bukowski so much more enjoyable when you've been drinking? Easy: because everything's much more enjoyable when you've been drinking.Still, for however much the man's life and writing was informed by the bottle, it was informed by a lot of other things as well, and working for the U.S. Postal Service from the early 1950s to the late 1960s was one of them. This is the book where Bukowski explains how he fell into his career as mail carrier (and later mail clerk), why he stuck with the job for as long as he did, and everything that eventually forced him to quit."It began as a mistake," he tells us at the outset. Doesn't everything, though? Our parents get together (mistake #1), we're conceived (mistake #2, sometimes also mistake #1), we're not aborted (mistake #3), and then the rest of our lives -- an unending succession of mistakes. Luckily for us, it DOES end eventually, but in between it's nothing but trial and error. What keeps us going is the knowledge that for all our fuck ups, it is precisely these mistakes that teach us how to live, what we love and what we loathe, our aspirations and our aversions.Bukowski knew this, which is why he wrote the sort of stuff he did, and why it resonates so well with so many. Admittedly, he wasn't the most sophisticated of writers. He does a lot more telling than showing, although the tales he tells show us quite a bit about the absurdities of modern life, the insanities we're so often driven to, and all the myriad ways in which we choose to cope. Post Office is no exception. I would read it if I were you, but then again, if I were you I'd probably kill myself. Or maybe I'd just grab a bottle and try to live for tonight instead. Cheers!For more Bukowski: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...

[Edited for typos and spoilers 4/25/22]The author lived the life of his character, Hank Chinaski, and much of that life was as an alcoholic. Bukowski wrote many novels but was better known as a poet in his lifetime (1920-1994). Someone called the author the “Poet Laureate of Lowlife.”The main character/narrator is the same one in Factotum, which I reviewed. But in Post Office, Hank is more settled, working 11 years in the post office. He’s more settled in his love life too. There are three or so women he’s fairly steady with (steady is a relative word), each over a few years. (view spoiler)[ One young rich woman he marries, although that doesn’t last, and with another he fathers a child, although they shortly separate and he pays child support. His women are all heavy drinkers like him. One of his women basically drinks herself to death. ... (hide spoiler)]A lot of the book, most perhaps, is about conditions and incidents at his job. Initially he is a substitute mailman, appearing each morning to see if there is work for him or not. (When he tells us he is drinking and having sex until 2:00 am and then getting up at 4:00 am to go to work, we imagine he is exaggerating!) When he fills in for people who call in ‘sick’ it is often because there is torrential rain or it’s a route with steep hills. Later as a full-time worker, he is in a truck collecting mail from mailboxes on street corners. Then he passes an exam and graduates to mail sorter where he sorts tubs of mail and puts them into slots for the carrier to deliver. He also distributes big piles of 4th class mail – that’s junk mail (although he never uses that term; it must have come into use after 1971 when this was written).The almost-Orwellian environment he works under seems like something out of the 1800s. Did supervisors really time workers with a stopwatch? Did they really send a nurse to your home to do random checks to see if you were really sick? Hank, of course, is every supervisor’s nightmare. Even if he is sober he’s likely to curse the supervisor out. Hank is constantly ‘written up’ for his failures and for his attitude. He’s often sent for ‘counseling’ but somehow he lasts 11 years. Hank spends a lot of time at the horse track and believes he has a betting ‘system’ that works. So we get a few pages that are a primer on picking the nags. As I said in my review of Factotum, we have some graphic sex, and a bit about bodily functions, that strike me as ‘in celebration' of the fact that it is 1971 and you could write stuff like that now and still get published. Of course Hank’s a misogynist and we hear stereotypes and read inappropriate remarks about Blacks. But as drinking buddies, Hank loves everyone until he decides to slap a woman or punch a guy out.Because of the author’s willingness to use coarse language we get some original one-liners like “Moto was grinning from eyebrow to asshole.” And “I got drunker and stayed drunker than a shit skunk in Purgatory.” He also has an original opening sentence “It began as a mistake.”I liked the story. It’s an easy read with straightforward writing. Thank you to GR friends Bernard and Mark George who commented on my review of Factotum and encouraged me to read some other works by Bukowski. Considering that I had never heard of this author until I stumbled on Factotum a couple of months ago, I was amazed to see that Post Office has more than 100,000 ratings and almost 5,000 reviews. As you can tell from his photo, the author lived the life he wrote about and still lived to age 73 (1920-1994). He was born in Germany but his parents moved to Los Angeles when he was three. Bukowski was a prolific writer. He wrote six novels (three were made into movies) as well as dozens of plays, screen scripts and collections of poetry. Web sources say his work addresses the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women, and the drudgery of work. The FBI kept a file on him as a result of his column 'Notes of a Dirty Old Man' in the LA underground newspaper Open City.Top photo of LA in the 1970s from bizarella.comMail sorting in Mobile Alabama in 1956 from about.usps.comThe author from bbc.co.uk["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>

My first affair with Bukowski. I found this book while substitute teaching a group of tranquil 12th graders. I picked up the book, began reading, and couldn't believe that this book was allowed in a classroom. Luckily the students had no interest whatsoever in the book, so I had it all to my evil self. The book is hilarious. I read it in an afternoon. I became that crazy person in a coffee shop cackling over her book. The sentences are short and sharp. The protagonist has no regard for anything. He is a fucked up womanizer, but I still love it. The juxtaposition between his attitude and the solemnity demanded by the UNITED STATES POSTAL SERVICE is too much. I almost died. Plus, Bukowski's use of capitalization is genius. I know he's fucked up, but I love him so.

“We’re forced into absurd lives, against which the only sane response is to wage a guerrilla operation of humor and lust and madness"—Chinaski/BukowskiI just finished, with a sour taste in my mouth, Bukowski’s Women, infamously making many of the Worst Misogynist Novels of All Time lists, but maybe in part because I am a masochist (and because it just happened to pop up on my audio tape queue and had some time to drive and listen), I jumped right back in to Bukowski, into the novel that catapulted this former postal worker to fame/infamy. A quick comparison: Women (1978) is mostly sad, woman after woman, without apology or shame. The events of that book describe the time after Chinaski/Bukowski (Chinaski is Bukowksi’s fictional alter-ego) begins to get famous, with opportunities for an unsatisfying parade of women. Both books have lots of women, booze, and gambling, but in Post Office there are places of real regret and sorrow, and a little joy. There’s more humor, genuinely funny spot-on meditations/anecdotes about the absurdities of working at the post office that anyone who has ever worked a shitty job can relate to; there’s a divorce, there’s the death of Betty, his old girlfriend, who visits him before she dies:“I met Betty on the street. ‘I saw you with that bitch a while back. She's not your kind of woman.’‘None of them are.’”And none of them actually seem to be, though he is constantly looking for, or at least settling for, sex. But try as they may, he and Betty can’t recreate the early “magic” of their relationship:“It was sad, it was sad, it was sad. When Betty came back we didn't sing or laugh, or even argue. We sat drinking in the dark, smoking cigarettes, and when we went to sleep, I didn't put my feet on her body or she on mine like we used to. We slept without touching. We had both been robbed.” Elsewhere, he speaks a kind of gutter truth:“Lady, how the hell do I know who you are or I am or anybody is?” In Women there are far fewer insights such as these, such as they are, anguished. But he grieves his losses here in a way he does not, or does far far less, in Women. And later in this one he and Fay have a daughter, which is a gift for him (though it is not the focus of the book in any way, and that happiness doesn’t seem to last forever, either). These events of ordinary joy and loss seem to humanize Bukowski a bit, though we aren’t talking sainthood here; Bukowski is always Bukowski:“I put on some bacon and eggs and celebrated with an extra quart of beer.”He’s a pretty lovable and charming guy at times we connect to especially through our shared experience of terrible jobs, doing “the same thing over and over again,” his humorous self-deprecation/nihilism, and bad relationships. Oh, he’s often a crabby, irascible asshole, but as he says (in a longer meditation on the subject): “What's wrong with assholes, baby?”Indeed, what’s wrong with them! Post Office is pretty funny at times, wincingly funny, and very entertainingly written.

Another masterpiece of feminism in American Literature. JK!Oh, nah. The daily tale of the proletariat is fully disclosed here in such a disarming & shocking manner. The protagonist is one alcoholic, misogynistic mess! And I love him for it, & perhaps now Bukowski, too. Cannot wait to discover his books!!

Thank you for registering to BarBud! Ever wandered into a bar, hoping to meet a fellow to philosophize with deep into the night, only to find yourself alone with a student bartender who simply doesn't have it in him yet? Ever wanted to approach that old lonely drunk staring into his glass, so deeply lost in his thoughts that you dare not disturb him? Ever wanted to talk nonsense with a sleazy, voluptuous barfly, laugh and kiss and stroke and fuck and drink and drink and fuck and smoke and drink and sleep and drink, but found no such willing individual during your outings? Can't find someone with whom to share the drink Billy Joel called loneliness?The times they are a-changing! BarBud is here to help. Based on your preferences, we will find the perfect selection of bar buddies for you, right in your neighbourhood. Get yourself your favorite drink and let's get crackin'.Gender preference: IrrelevantMotivation: The romantic tension that comes with meeting a strange lady in a bar will potentially crowd out any other thoughts in my mind, effectively reducing my conversational skills and potential for philosophical questing, but if she doesn't mind me just paying for her drinks and hearing her out and not have any of the romantic stuff happen that's fine by me. Also, my girlfriend is watching over my shoulder as I'm filling out this form. Just to make clear that sad, dirty old men are just as welcome! Political views: No strong onesMotivation: I aim to find someone to get along with, not someone who bores and aggravates me all at once.Favorite drink: IrrelevantMotivation:I'll drink anything, as long as it's much of it! Interests: Women, the little things, personal anecdotesMotivation: I like hearing about a guy's romantic conquests. Even when they're exaggerated and unbelievable, it's nice to compare notes or just be happy for the guy. By the little things I mean the stuff that's easy to hide but shouldn't be. Little physical ailments, little frustrations, little reasons to smile, little reasons to complain, the little things that fill a day and make a person. And personal anecdotes to add color and context to the BarBud. I want to know where he works, where he sleeps, his favorite swearwords used to coat around his soft nature. I want him to complain in a way that makes me laugh. I want to see his eyes glaze over with sadness and disappointment. I want him to regale me with stories of the strange people he's met in his life, the people who made him happy, who made him sad, who brought out his kindness and generous spirit, who made him violent and who made him despair. I want to hear about his bad days at work and his good days in the bedroom. I want to get to know my BarBud, the good and the really bad. I want to be the guy who understands him, pats him on the back, reassure him he's a good bloke no matter what the people in corner of the bar are saying about him and buy him a couple of drinks. Level happiness: Low - Medium lowMotivation: I can see happy people on TV and Facebook all the time. Their stories mostly sound all the same. I think there's a famous book that starts with that kind of wisdom. My BarBud should be able to tell me which one, because I forget these things. Level of education: IrrelevantMotivation: We'll be meeting in a bar, not some fancy shmancy conference, so that "the university of life" stuff should do. Only my BarBud shouldn't mention that cliché or I'll kick him in the teeth and ask him to thank me for a free lesson. SubmitCalculating...We have found (1) match! Charles Bukowski, also known as Henry Chinaski. Do not disturb before 5pm. He used to be spotted in several bars, around the post office, at the racetrack or in his moldy appartment, but since he's dead now we recommend looking for him at the library. In fact, we highly recommend it. Be sure to bring him with you on your next visit to the bar, it's where he truly shines.

What do you get when you mix two cases of beer, chronic gambling, and a vulgar, "Fuck this world and fuck you if you live in it" attitude?Probably not a very nice person. But after reading "Post Office", my first by Bukowski, you start to realize that there are too many fucking pussy ass nice people in the world. I wish sometimes that I could live ten minutes of my life the way Henry Chininski wakes up every morning. Maybe then my balls might drop just an inch or two and I could get the fucking cohones together to do something REAL and FRESH.Not that Chininski was any Henry fucking Ford. The opposite, actually. This mofo was lazy, self-destructive, and pretty much just amazing. Reading "Post Office" isn't just an entertaining romp into the mind of a tortured genius drunk shithead (it is); it's also an excellent resource for figuring out why modern writers have such stupid literary style (it all started with you, Bukowski).So, next time you wake up and you feel like fucking pounding a case of Schlitz right after you beat the shit out of your cute ass toy poodle, read "Post Office" and get motivation to sit on your ass, complain about your job, shit on the opposite sex, and really, really, really fucking appreciate the finer delicacies of life.Because life is amazing, you just gotta punch the shit out of it sometimes.

I worked for the Postal Service for 34 years. I wasn't Charles Bukowski - had neither his talent nor his self destructive ways - but I can say that there's a lot of truth in this novel, along with humor and typical Bukowski attitude. One of his best.