Aug 16, 1920 - Mar 9, 1994

Yesterday was the birthday of poet and novelist, Charles Bukowski, who died in 1994 at the age of 73. To date, he has over sixty books in print—poetry, stories, novels and one screenplay—the most recent published in 2009. Bukowski’s wife, Linda Lee has continued over the years since his death to sort through the numerous boxes of unpublished pages her husband left behind, and to offer ‘new’ collections of his work. Through her, his readers have been treated to a new book almost every year, despite his death sixteen years ago.

The book featured here in the photograph is one I randomly chose from my collection, carries another typically Bukowski-like title, Septuagenarian Stew: Stories & Poems, and was published in 1990. I say randomly chosen only meaning that careful thought isn’t needed to pick a good book by Bukowski; they are all good, and all have their strengths. Septuagenarian Stew is an excellent example of the writer’s overview. There is also Run With the Hunted: The Charles Bukowski Reader, which many will recommend. Either one provides the reader an excellent introduction to Bukowski, if such is needed.

A short poem from Septuagenarian Stew, “cause and effect”

the best often die by their own hand

just to get away,

and those left behind

can never quite understand

why anybody

would ever want to

get away

from

them

Bukowski’s gravestone reads: DON’T TRY

He explained this phrase in a letter:

‘Someone at one of those places asked me: “What do you do? How do you write, create?” You don’t, I told them. You don’t try. That’s very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It’s like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it.’

Chandler, Wife & City

Raymond Chandler is one of those writers whose books call out to me every couple of years, the answer to which is taking down one of his seven novels or several books of stories and submerging myself in the dank shadows of his landscape—Los Angeles, circa 1940s.

A few months ago a friend in Los Angeles recommended a book on the subject of Raymond Chandler. The book is one called, The Long Embrace: Raymond Chandler and the Woman He Loved, by Judith Freeman; published in 2007. It is a strange and captivating tale Ms Freeman tells, and it is as much about the city of Los Angeles as it is about Ray and his wife, Cissy Pascal. Geography, setting and corruption are central characters in the work of Chandler, and influenced his writing as much as the presence of his longtime wife. In telling her story, Freeman wraps the city and its tarnished personality securely around her human characters.

From early on Freeman realized that the mystery couple, Ray and Cissy lived a peripatetic lifestyle grounded in something central to their city view, to their understanding of the city’s first-of-a-kind development throughout the years from 1913 to 1954. During the years of their marriage (1924-1953) the couple never left California, while living a few months in one rented apartment or house, before moving to another. Freeman researched and visited most of the thirty-six places the couple lived.

The life of Raymond Chandler, as well as his writing were strongly colored by the woman he loved, a beautiful woman eighteen years older than he. From the beginning to the end, Cissy’s true age was a hidden secret, and it was some years before Ray realized he had married a woman almost old enough to be his mother. But to her credit, Cissy was far more than a pretty face; a woman of intelligence, talent and wit enough to bedazzle Ray Chandler. Not a storybook or fairy tale match, but one that included devotion and love, as well as need.

The Long Embrace gives the Raymond Chandler fan a bounty of ideas on how the stories and novels were conceived and written. We also see how an alcoholic bookkeeper fired from the oil business became the creator of Philip Marlowe, the iconic private eye. Freeman uncovers what was almost an umbilical cord connecting Chandler’s adopted home to his story settings.

‘A city no worse than others, a city rich and vigorous and full of pride, a city lost and beaten and full of emptiness.’ — THE LONG GOODBYE

The Long Embrace is ostensibly about a writer and the woman in his life, but it is in every way also a book about the city of Los Angeles between 1913 and 1954, and it is a fascinating read. A big thanks to Shelby for the recommendation. I got the book first at the library, but ordered a copy to keep before I was halfway through the library copy.

More of Kawamura

Found a loose wire on a painting in the living room, so I took it down for repair. But as it happened, the time between taking it off the wall and tightening the loose wire got extended somehow, and for much of the day the painting lay across a table. That being a different perspective of looking at the piece, I stopped several times to look again at the painting.

The artist is one I’ve mentioned before, the still young Japanese painter, Chinami Kawamura, who I consider a bright light for the future of Japanese painting. There is a large amount of Western influence and style in Kawamura’s painting, but she is completely faithful to Japanese, or at least Asian subjects. Much of her work is in acrylic, and I can’t even recall seeing anything done in oil, watercolor or pastel. I have a very large pencil drawing of two nude figures, and I have seen other of the artist’s work in pencil. Her skill in that medium is equal to what she does in acrylic.

The painting here is in acrylic, measures 23 inches by 19 inches, and is done on board. The large brown, almost round area is a dish or plate, and the viewer looks down from a bird’s eye view into the plate, at an arrangement of three vegetables common to Japanese homes and restaurants: eggplant, lotus root and green chili-like peppers. The small daubs of greenish-yellow and white below are wasabi mustard and grated white radish. Turning to a Western technique, the artist spread an English language newspaper across her ‘table’ and created a collage effect with gesso. This gives the appearance of dish and vegetables laying on a newspaper covered table. For highlights on the eggplant and green peppers she used silver leaf.

I am forever happy that I stumbled upon an exhibit of Ms Kawamura’s work in a small Tokyo gallery. I bought one painting at that show, and in the next two years bought other paintings and drawings directly from the artist. Of course, I could be wrong in my appraisal, but I have great faith that one day Chinami Kawamura will be a familiar name among Japanese painters.

Wax Seals

Looking through my writing desk you will find no shortage of seals, personal, seasonal or otherwise. During my time in Japan I had at least a dozen of them made, but they are all for use with ink rather than sealing wax. I have always thought of the wax type as stylish and sort of dapper, wanting one for a long time.

The first of these seals I considered buying was one I saw on Ward Dunham’s website, Atalier Gargoyle, San Francisco. I saw two or three I liked, but the one of a lowercase Gothic alphabet in a circle especially intrigued me. Several times I started to order this wax seal, then stopped myself, thinking again of the price. A very beautiful seal, but expensive.

Recently I got something from Brian Goulet at gouletpens.com and it included a note from Brian with a wax seal in the shape of a ‘G.’ I thought about ordering one of these seals with a personal initial, then decided to look around and see what else is out there.

I found a company online that offered what looked to be interesting wax seals, all of them at a reasonable price. I chose one and placed an order. Big, big mistake. The ordering process was simple enough, and the delivery was prompt, the items well packaged, but both seal and sealing wax were a huge disappointment. Disappointment so complete I have still, after five or six attempts, been unable to get a satisfactory, or even mediocre impression from the seal and sealing wax. Both came from Capricorn’s Lair in Utah. The seal is much too shallow to leave a sharp impression, and the True Vermillion (Ecclesiastical Red) sealing wax almost useless.

The seal I chose is shown in the top photo, but the two impressions are ink. The bottom image from a cheap red ink pad, the top from an expensive Japanese ink. The seal is pewter and the design is a four-point Celtic Knot. Not personal in the sense of an initial, I still like the design and its probable meaning, which may be representative of four stages in life: birth, maturity, death and afterlife. Celtic designs however, are not easy symbols to interpret.

Whatever the meaning and whatever my feeling for the Celtic Knot is, it’s all moot, because the seal and wax are inferior. I have wasted my money. Would have done better to save my money and then later order the Ward Dunham Gothic alphabet seal, and some J Herbin sealing wax from Brian Goulet.

Architecture Bayou Style

Growing up in Louisiana, the sight of a residence designed by architect, A Hays Town was not rare. I even had an aunt who worked for years as his personal secretary. The lumber mill across the street, where my father worked, did the millwork for all the Hays Town designs. But as with many youngsters, I had other things on my mind and took little notice of such during my years of growing up.

A Hays Town was a remarkably prolific architect, who started his career designing government and commercial buildings in Mississippi and Louisiana before turning his full attention to the design of private homes. More than 1000 of his homes remain today, in addition to the government and commercial work from earlier years. As a Louisiana son, his designs are strongly influenced by not only the south Louisiana culture he grew up in, but in the very landscape that defines the area. One of the distinctive Hays Town characteristics is a house that seems to rise out of the landscape, a design incorporating native plant materials into its basic parts. There is a quality of benign neglect in much of his work—studied decay, incorporating the effects of aging, mold, algae, and mildew into the shape, color and texture of materials. The houses make lavish use of cypress and heart of pine, two woods native to Louisiana.

Looking at a home designed by Hays Town will reveal elements of classic Louisiana—full-length shutters, dovecotes, thirteen foot ceilings and brick floors with a special beeswax finish. A familiar design reflects the old Acadian cottage with a raised front porch and exterior staircase. More often than not, the architect carried his influence inside, selecting materials, colors, furnishings, sometimes even recommending a dog to complement the design.

Most of his homes now wear a bronze plaque: A HAYS TOWN, ARCHITECT

Mr Town died in 2005, age 101.

THE PHOTOGRAPHS:

All five photographs are from the book, The Louisiana Houses of A. Hays Town, and are by Philip Gould.

From the top…

1. Witter House — classic Louisiana setting with a raised porch.

2. Sherar House — familiar Louisiana columns fronting open porches.

3. Laborde House — unseen here are the wide steps leading to the raised porch.

4. Strawitz House — old brick and aged wood, with the large window looking out.

5. Bonnecaze House — to my eyes a breathtaking design of the traditional 19th century look; the signature porch, this time with whitewashed brick and beams. And notice the old brick building with dovecotes.

Recalling the Days

I wrote recently of buying a stack of books at the closing sale of Mandala Books in Daytona. One of the books in that stack was an ‘old’ book, a first novel by John Burnham Schwartz, published in 1989 and titled Bicycle Days. The novel had passed through my fingers on more than one occasion over the years, always in a Tokyo bookstore, sometimes in secondhand sales. For some reason I never took it home to read, though I knew it was about a young American’s first experience in Japan. Perhaps I was too caught up in my own experiences and thought it might be a naive story, a superficial recounting of a brief summer in Japan.

Finally, buying and reading Mr Schwartz’s book all these years later has been more than a little interesting. I couldn’t help but read the book through the filter of my own long years in Japan, and the changes I witnessed there over the years. Much about Japan and the Japanese is very different now, twenty-one years after the story told in Bicycle Days. Still, there is enough in this novel for me to admit that it held me to my seat turning pages.

Alec Stern arrives in Japan to discover a whole new world, fresh out of college and with a summer job at an American company in Tokyo. All has been arranged for him, and he finds himself living with a Japanese family, eyes open to not just a new city and culture, but a new family who treats him like a son. The other half of the the novel deals with the ghosts Alec left behind in New York. In one sense, he has come to Japan to wipe the slate clean, to escape memories of his parents' divorce, and a difficult relationship with his brother. Schwartz alternates his chapters, moving between the newness of Alec’s life in Tokyo and the memories of New York that haunt him.

The novel is a good one, but as a first novel there are some weaknesses that stand out over the course of its 250 pages. It is presented in a diary-like narrative in which the main character can be said to be a little too self-involved. The complete lack of humor is also disturbing in a set up that bubbles with potential. Foreigners new to Japan often have hilarious encounters where language and culture are involved. Unfortunately, Mr Schwartz left those out of his story.

Many of the book’s forty chapters are interesting in a comparative sense, and some readers may be eager to read descriptions of experiences they share with the writer. At least, that was true for me.

There is one passage in the chapter, “The Club Scene” that is especially fine. The main character is seeing Kabuki-cho for the first time, a section of Shinjuku devoted to the sex industry…

‘Alec peered from under his umbrella. The sex shops and pornographic movie houses around him were lost in the buzz and glow of multicolored neon. It spread over the rain-wet streets and cars, over the moving pedestrians and their black umbrellas, over the corner vending machines, until the entire neighborhood was bathed in eerie fragments of wild, electric color. Shrill voices announced opportunities for sex and voyeurism. Quick, eager hands closed around crisp bills and whisked dark-suited men down into unseen basements. The men were of all ages, many still dressed in their business clothes, as solemn and upright as rush hour commuters going home to their wives. Alec thought they looked like obscene moving advertisements, these men, caught in the flashing neon of sex shops, their destination etched in their faces like smiles.’

A dead-on-target picture of Kabuki-cho.

John Burnham Schwartz has written three subsequent novels, the latest published in 2009, titled The Commoner.

From Red to Red

In writing to a friend recently I chose to use a custom mixed ink from Osamu Ishimaru at Sailor, an ink first called ‘Dried Persimmon’ but later changed (by me) to 'Blood Orange.’ (The second name seemed more fitting.) Some days later, in a reply to my letter, my friend commented that the Blood Orange ink looked very much like the new Rouge Hematite 1670 ink from J Herbin. I am usually sensitive to ink colors, and quick to note similarities in different inks. I have a bottle of the Herbin 1670, have used it frequently, but still had not noticed its closeness to the older Sailor ink I call Blood Orange. Suppose it was a case of not using the two inks back to back, or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention. But I did notice the likeness of the two colors immediately upon reading my friend’s comment.

I can’t remember exactly when it was that Mr Ishimaru mixed the Blood Orange for me, but I think it was sometime in 2008 at a pen fair in Tokyo’s Maruzen Department Store. I have old journals with a good many pages in the Blood Orange ink, but it hasn’t been in my ink rotation in recent months.

A comparison might be of interest to some, so that’s what you see here. Apart from Q-tips and brushes, the two fountain pens used in the photo sample are: Sailor Naginata with a medium nib for the Herbin 1670 (left), and Lamy 2000 medium nib for the Sailor ink (right). The paper used is Vélin Blanc Clairefontaine Triomphe, 90g. The Sailor is slightly darker than the Herbin, perhaps with a dollop more black. The Herbin has a pleasing brightness that the Sailor Blood Orange lacks, but at the same time, the shading is better in the Blood Orange. Saturation appears to be in favor of the Rouge Hematite. The two inks have a similar drying time; I tested each after a ten second wait. Neither of the inks is waterproof, but if I had to write in the rain I would opt for the Blood Orange. Under water, the Herbin loses all character, all that distinguishes it from ordinary red ink, while the Sailor turns purple, though manages to hold the letter shapes.

For those who might be interested in buying the Sailor ink, you will need to give Sailor and Mr Ishimaru the following blend number: 070112059. Most likely in Mr Ishimaru’s records, the color is identified as ‘hoshi-gaki’ (Dried Persimmon).