“After going to see the Villa Seurat, where Henry Miller lived when he wrote Tropic of Cancer, we stopped at the Café Zeyer for drinks. The Zeyer, which he described as ‘a gaudy place with red plush and mirrors and polished brass,’ was where Miller often took a fine à l’eau and argued metaphysics with friends. It was a burning hot day in Paris. . . .”
“Carl Weissner ordered beer. His close friend Jan Herman ordered a kir, as did his wife Janet. ‘Tell Carl the story about Buk,’ I urged. The previous night Janet had told me about the time Jan took her to meet Charles Bukowski in Los Angeles. They brought a bottle, on Carl’s advice, and ended up finishing it. When they were taking their leave, Buk moved to kiss the young and fetching Janet — and promptly shoved his alcoholic old tongue down her throat. She was disgusted, but it made for a great story a few decades later. ‘You should have challenged him to a duel on the beach — with sabers,’ Carl growled, rubbing his hands together with a glee suggesting that he was really visualizing this oceanside face-off.” — Supervert
btw: I never knew Buk stuck his tongue down her throat. Didn’t see it, and she didn’t tell me. I only found out about it when I read Supervert’s account. Sabers up indeed. — jh
I was becoming a pedantic, overeducated student, really insufferable. Miller liberated me. After decades, I got to interview him at his house in Pacific Palisades. A sign on his door read, “If shit were gold, the poor would be deprived of their assholes.” He was very frail, appeared in a bathrobe. “How are ya, Henry?” I asked for openers.. He replied in his Brooklyn accent, “Well, I’m bloind in one oy, deaf in one ear, in a woid, I’m fucked.”
He told me that he was so broke, he let some swindler in Europe buy the complete rights to ‘Cancer” and “Capricorn’ for $5000
LOVE that tale. Thanks for telling it!