Charles Bukowski, barf ly extraordinaire

The classically debauched American author Charles Bukowski was born a century ago, on 16th August 1920.

He got his big break 40 years ago this summer. That’s when he wrote the script for Barfly, a film about a down-and-out writer who spends his nights drinking and brawling in a seedy LA bar. It took a further seven years to get on screen, but ended up making Bukowski modestly rich. He once called it one of the easier assignments of his 50-year career. ‘I just copied out my diary.’

If nothing else, Bukowski always delivered the goods. He wrote at a furious pace, often to stay one step ahead of the bailiff, and in a lean, clipped style that combined touches of Hemingway and Chandler. It has been estimated that, in the period 1955-1980, he turned out more than 2,500 poems, at least ten collections of short stories and four novels.

I say ‘estimated’ because, in the 1950s and early ’60s, many of his manuscripts, unadorned by anything so sordidly conventional as a stamp, got lost in the post. It was a particular irony because Bukowski sustained himself for much of that time by working at his local post office.

Bukowski died of leukaemia in 1994, aged 73 . He was survived by his widow, an adult daughter and his debts. He chose the inscription for his tombstone, which combines a touch of nonchalance with his determination not to abandon the struggle.

‘DON’T TRY,’ the epitaph reads, immediately above the image of a boxer. CHRISTOPHER SANDFORD