During my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails,
or living with whores,
I always had this certain contentment -
I wouldn't call it happiness -
it was more of an inner balance
that settled for whatever was occurring
and it helped in the factories
and when relationships went wrong
with the girls.
It helped through the wars,
and the hangovers,
the back alley fights,
the hospitals.
To awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade -
this was the craziest kind
of contentment.
And to walk across the floor
to an old dresser
with a cracked mirror -
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
What matters most
is how well you walk
through the fire.
I’ve met many fans of Bukowski that are familiar with the final line “What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.” But only one of them actually knew that it was the captivating contemplative ending to “How is your heart?” — the kind of introspective poetry Bukowski is known for. I chose this poem because, despite having such a famous verse in it, I’ve never seen anyone mention the actual poem it’s from.
I also chose this because it is one of the many poems from Bukowski that I can immediately identify with and mirrors my own experiences on several levels.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve caught myself grinning [and/or scowling] at myself in the mirror after a rough night [or morning], wondering what the hell I was doing with my life. Or how the hell I’d gotten there. Sometimes, quite literally, after waking in a brightly lit and colorful apartment in a wonderfully gentrified neighborhood; all clear indicators that I was not home.
If you want to survive the disappointments and disasters that can consume our lives, there is a certain level of acceptance you have to devote yourself to. Terrible things will happen. Those things may get worse. But what’s truly important is how we react to those terrors. How we endure. How well we walk through the fire.
-A.X.