Back Screams From the Balcony
Chapters (26)
  1. Cover
  2. CHARLES BUKOWSKI
  3. SCREAMS FROM THE BALCONY
  4. EDITED BYSEAMUS COONEY
  5. Contents
  6. EDITOR’S NOTE
  7. • 1958 •
  8. • 1959 •
  9. • 1960 •
  10. • 1961 •
  11. • 1962 •
  12. • 1963 •
  13. • 1964 •
  14. • 1965 •
  15. • 1966 •
  16. • 1967 •
  17. • 1968 •
  18. • 1969 •
  19. AFTERWORD
  20. SEARCHABLE TERMS
  21. Acknowledgments
  22. About the Author
  23. BY CHARLES BUKOWSKIAVAILABLE FROM ECCO
  24. Copyright
  25. About the Publisher
  26. About the Publisher

uh, Stuart still has Crucifix. he doesn’t know how to move them, nobody knows he has them. [* * *] Terror Street out soon. also a tape to be issued of Bukowski reading from some of the poems in book. $10. too high, of course. but John Martin (Black Sparrow) knows his collectors. so he’s only issuing 50 tapes. he knows how to make money printing the poets. his royalties, per issue printed, I think he is the highest in the business. he’s printing everybody now—Creeley, Olson, dozens of names like that, pays them in front upon publication and still makes good $$$$. but he realizes the market is limited—really, you know—so he runs only issues of 150 to 250 books, but he gets rid of them. me, he’s going to do first, he said, 500 then 750 because so many whores taxi drivers sex freaks circus barkers and Fuller Brush salesmen read me. I am easy to understand even when I don’t understand myself.

also have had an old book picked up that has gone from hand to hand, not bad poems really but each person who has touched them has been kissed-off by bad luck, so now I hope Potts don’t eat poison or something. but he’s gone to work on getting Darrell of Glendale to work up the book with his new press, and Charlie completely off screw, he intends to publish, what was it 1,000 copies or 2,000? but sensible enough to charge only one dollar. he also wants to lay money and 150 copies on me, but I tell him, take it easy, kid. he writes poetry, and I met him down here once, we got a little high here at my place. real quiet guy. not much talk. I liked him. I am not much talk either. so we just sat around without strain. anyhow, book called Poems Written Before Leaping from an 8 Story Window. c/o Charles Potts, 6433 Telegraph Ave., Oakland, Calif. 94609. Apt. #J. one dollah. I intend to agree with him. I think the fucking thing will sell out. it’s the next poem that counts, we know. it’s the way we walk across the floor. but it would still be well to see things working good all around. we’ve had some coming—good pussy and good luck. I’ll take the latter.