Advertisement

Opinion: Bukowski, a Nazi?

Share

This article was originally on a blog post platform and may be missing photos, graphics or links. See About archive blog posts.

Charles Bukowski is the consummate, and possibly the only, poet of Los Angeles. He grew up in the city, suffered his adolescence in its public schools, labored in its institutions (including a short stint here at The Times), lived in many of its bungalows, occasionally risked being run over to sleep on its streets, and of course, recorded the lot of it in his poetry.

Selecting one spot to place a plaque for Bukowski may thus seem random, or even limiting, to the legacy of a man whose writing shaped the city’s image. But many Angelenos and the editorial board have advocated saving one former Bukowski home — 5124 De Longpre Ave. — from the wrecking ball by deeming it a historical landmark. The Cultural Heritage Commission had been scheduled to rule on the property today, but that hearing has been delayed at the behest of the property owner’s attorney, who says the owner didn’t receive notice of the hearing by certified mail (thanks to LAist for the info).

Advertisement

But the owner had a few choice words about Bukowski, too...

Following Godwin’s law, which really should be extended from online discussions to city hearings, the owner called Bukowski a Nazi. (He also said Bukowski was of low moral character, which may not be a fair charge against a man who worked hard and was a good father, and who made poetry of whatever acts might have been called immoral.)

The Nazi accusation has been leveled before, and with dubious authority. Such claims take for their evidence Bukowski’s birth in Germany, some conversations, and a few youthful meetings more innocent than those of the (somewhat forgiven) Günter Grass. There are anecdotes of Bukowski’s later renunciation of Nazism, reports that (of course!) Bukowski’s best friends and biggest supporters were Jewish, and quotes from Bukowski’s writing that say he was just pretending.

Pretending to be a Nazi isn’t so great either, but maybe Bukowski’s contrariness — his sometimes wilful, sometimes fated embodiment of the opposite of mid-20th-century American ideals — ran that deep.

Advertisement