I am inclined to agree, unfortunately. I understand that they are in business to make money. But there is a certain line of reasonableness to consider, methinks. Of course, the whole thing gets rather complicated an ugly in the context of our societal malaise - i.e. the gap between the "haves" and the "have-nots" is growing exponentially. And the ironic thing is that Bukowski didn't have an easy time of it, from a financial perspective, for most of his adult life. As he once said (probably more than once, actually): "Nobody suffers like the poor." Fortunately, the "have-nots" have access to his work - just not to the highly collectible stuff. I get this feeling, though, that if Buk were around today, he'd be a bit conflicted about the ridiculous pricing of some of the high spots like the limited first of Post Office. On the one hand, he'd feel vindicated after all the shit he took from his father, and then all those asshole employers, and then the newspapers that rejected him, etc., until finally one very perceptive John Martin changed all of that. And on the other hand, he would likely also be thinking that his stuff doesn't necessarily belong in the hands of wealthy book collectors and/or book dealers who haven't the slightest clue as to what he was really all about. I'm thinking of one of his hilarious poems (or maybe a story?) just now..about some furniture store owner (if my shitty memory serves me) who goes to a concert, probably at the Hollywood Bowl. And waxes happy-poetic about the beginner-melody shit that they serve up over there, year after year. An overfed, over-soft rich boy singing praises of the 1812 Overture amidst a sea of boxed dinners, furs, etc. So there's an interesting conflict/juxtaposition going on. I suppose at the end of the day, it is a nice poetic justice that his stuff goes for MUCH more than the doggerel of all those tidy professors in the hills with their piano playing wives..
