Carson Mccullers Comments

'as everything continued just as she had written it' - a sad note on a sad end to a sad tale of a sad soul!

Bukowski's train of thought wasn't just out there. It was out and out there. He was one of a kind.

all her books of terrified loneliness all her books about the cruelty of loveless love.....loneliness, love less life..... beautifully written. tony

That’s the cruelty of loveless love, kills you slowly Nd painfully why? Be with her

A glowing tribute to a typical authoress of particular type of books. A great modern poem of the day.

The ending packs a wallop as his poems can...

there's loneliness and loveless love in the den of poetic heart by the course of time everything in oblivious oh decaying the existence of poetic excellence........

Chills down my spine.

Addiction! ! ! Leading to her death; Her books left behind. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

This is heart touching poem.....Nice bluebird....

What a sad ending for one so talented. There is no lack of anguished artists, pained poets, and woeful writers. May Carson McCullers Rest In Peace.

As everything continued just as she had written it.. Wonderful..

A pathetic story of the fate of a poetess who loved all around her, but not herself. Just a few words, yet a complete chapter. Great! Thanks for sharing.

A sad poem of life on the ocean wave? With all of it's ups and downs and frowns and sounds and lost loves.......well penned

Such a great poem by Charles Bukowski👍👍👍

Oh! Loneliness You are curse! Oh! Loveless love You are curse! Oh! all words of loneliness and cruel love are dancing on the nib of pen the pen grins at writings in outcast love! Oh! the ocean devours whole of writer at the end no peace was there from strolling vacationer to whole unknown the writer was dispatching.......................! by this way a lonely writer is decaying! excellent writing

A clever poem. Apparently buried at sea to the sound of a fog horn.

Telling and strong poem. Truth of life, alcohol is bad yet people knowingly consume it....

I deamed of a clock with no hands- it spanned all the hours of every day. That evening I was at a party in a strangers house and looking at their bookcase saw the book by that name. I asked about it, borrowed it, read it and later bought 'the heart is a lonely hunter', which I am reading today. I found this poem in a link at Wikipedia where I was reading her biography. New to me, Carson is (was) an author and thinker with whom I feel a common (kindered) spirit., She is able to bundle story time into a woven fabric to reveal the grace *or lack of it) in her characters hearts. I was in Mississippi in the 60s. I read her books as if viewing living history and real people in a magical television- and my 2010 eyes water over and over. Mr. Bukowski expressed in this elegant poem the melancholic drumbeat of her life and death. I am grateful to them, both.

I like this poem, its directness and the story it tells. He did a fine job in writing this.