I mentioned yesterday that I work in
homelessness. Last night, I went out to do some outreach (ie walking
around at night to find homeless people, link them to appropriate
services, check on their welfare etc). As anyone who knows me will
confirm, I can talk forever about homelessness, and while that is not
the focus of this blog at all, in light of last night's activity I
thought I'd pick a poem today that has some relation.
Additionally, a friend of mine who shares my love of learning new words, asked me if my blog would contain awesome words. I don't know if the title of this poem qualifies as 'awesome', but it's not a commonly used word (not that I know of, anyway) so this post may provide his new word of the day. Neerav, I hope you're reading this!
Flophouse, by Charles Bukowski. Read it here: http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/Charles-Bukowski/147
(NB: a 'flophouse' isn't actually a shelter for homeless people - it's a form of very low-rent accommodation often for transient working-class men. The term is from the US; in England, the equivalent is a 'dosshouse'. Thank you, Wikipedia). The descriptions in this poem resonated with me from my experiences visiting a couple of homeless shelters in the US though (it has to be said that hostels in London provide good quality accommodation!) There's more that can be familiar to the reader, though. Even if you've never been homeless or visited a shelter, I'm sure most people have experienced the feeling described at the end in one way or another: how did I end up here?
Additionally, a friend of mine who shares my love of learning new words, asked me if my blog would contain awesome words. I don't know if the title of this poem qualifies as 'awesome', but it's not a commonly used word (not that I know of, anyway) so this post may provide his new word of the day. Neerav, I hope you're reading this!
Flophouse, by Charles Bukowski. Read it here: http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/Charles-Bukowski/147
(NB: a 'flophouse' isn't actually a shelter for homeless people - it's a form of very low-rent accommodation often for transient working-class men. The term is from the US; in England, the equivalent is a 'dosshouse'. Thank you, Wikipedia). The descriptions in this poem resonated with me from my experiences visiting a couple of homeless shelters in the US though (it has to be said that hostels in London provide good quality accommodation!) There's more that can be familiar to the reader, though. Even if you've never been homeless or visited a shelter, I'm sure most people have experienced the feeling described at the end in one way or another: how did I end up here?
More than that, what I love about this poem is its commanding beginning:
you haven't lived / until you've been in a / flophouse.
There's a point to be made here about the worst experiences of your life really being what makes you, I think - you haven't lived until you've reached rock bottom (and hopefully pulled yourself back up again!)
I initially read it differently though, seeing it as being about learning about people, and the world. Maybe you haven't lived until you've learnt about and understood the flophouse, until you've recognised the importance of stepping outside your comfort zone. I know that if I stayed in the same types of places and met the same types of people all my life, and never saw or tried anything that disturbed me or made me uncomfortable, I wouldn't really feel as if I had lived a full life. Yes, a flophouse might be smelly and dirty and a bus in Nairobi might be cramped and uncomfortable, and a posh black tie dinner might be intimidating - but understanding how other people live (even if it's simply through reading poems like 'Flophouse') offers the chance to reflect on your own life and your place in the world. Maybe you haven't really lived until you've learnt to do that.
There's a point to be made here about the worst experiences of your life really being what makes you, I think - you haven't lived until you've reached rock bottom (and hopefully pulled yourself back up again!)
I initially read it differently though, seeing it as being about learning about people, and the world. Maybe you haven't lived until you've learnt about and understood the flophouse, until you've recognised the importance of stepping outside your comfort zone. I know that if I stayed in the same types of places and met the same types of people all my life, and never saw or tried anything that disturbed me or made me uncomfortable, I wouldn't really feel as if I had lived a full life. Yes, a flophouse might be smelly and dirty and a bus in Nairobi might be cramped and uncomfortable, and a posh black tie dinner might be intimidating - but understanding how other people live (even if it's simply through reading poems like 'Flophouse') offers the chance to reflect on your own life and your place in the world. Maybe you haven't really lived until you've learnt to do that.
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