Must say again, very glad you went for title and dedication. Yes, the title is in my head too. It says so god damned much. Jeffers, when he got good, he got very good. There were these long periods when he flattened out and had a tendency to preach his ideals of rock & hawk, but when he did get the word down…he got it down in a way, that to me, made our other contemporaries or newly deads seem not so much. [* * *]

p.s.—my photo on cover only another miracle on miracle that has been occurring. It does not seem too long ago that I was considering the blade. If I never write another decent poem it’s your fault, Jon. I’ve got my alibi ready.

[To Jon and Louise Webb]

January 6, 1963

[* * *] I am glad on Corrington for intro. He knows me—and my work—better than anyone, and he possesses the style and manner to do a patrical job. (I wanted to say “pat” but it looked like “pot,” so I changed it to patrical, whatever that means.) Anyhow, Corrington’s the only one, and his own writing is improving. His lines seem clearer and harder—he sent me a poem called Communion. It has a holy edge and fervor, quite good. Quite. [* * *]

Photo of Sandburg in This Week holding little girl on his knee and underneath poem about death. Death is hush, says the old boy. Well, I guess so. Only I wish he’d crop or comb that sickly flange of white hair that looks like a wig. If I EVER get that old, they’ll find me under the bed drunk

with the Racing Form AND

a big OLD girl. [* * *]

Roman Books, run by Jim Roman in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, published in 1963 a ground-breaking catalogue called “‘The Outsiders’: a collection of first editions by avant-garde and ‘beat’ generation authors of prose and poetry since World War Two.” Bukowski is giving his approval to Jon Webb’s sale of manuscripts to the dealer.

[To Jon and Louise Webb]

January 7, 1963

[* * *] On ROMAN BOOKS, I understand. In your position, why not? Someday when you are gone they will talk about the force and vitality of the Outsider in mid-20th century literature, and how you stood in front of that press feeding it your blood and your hours and your life. It will very very romantic then. But now? Shit, nobody ever cares about NOW. They are always looking back. They moon for the pain of Mozart or Lorca bulleted in the road. But there are always new Mozarts and Lorcas, new Poetry Chicagos, new Blasts, new Brooms, etc. If you can swing a buck from ROMAN for a few wilted manus in order to go on, hell, do it. YOU ARE LIVING NOW. If you have any manus you want me to sign, ship them here, I will sign and return. Ink is cheap. [* * *]

[To John William Corrington]

January 14, 1963