Monday, May 31, 2010

bluebird

Flipping through an old nature magazine yesterday I came across two photos: on the left page, a picture of a bright bluebird; on the right, a picture of a bleak mountain road. Immediately I was reminded of one of Bukowski's most famous poems.

* * *

                                        there's a bluebird in my heart that
                                        wants to get out
                                        but I'm too tough for him,
                                        I say, stay in there, I'm not going
                                        to let anybody see
                                        you.

                                        there's a bluebird in my heart that
                                        wants to get out
                                        but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
                                        cigarette smoke
                                        and the whores and the bartenders
                                        and the grocery clerks
                                        never know that
                                        he's
                                        in there.

                                        there's a bluebird in my heart that
                                        wants to get out
                                        but I'm too tough for him,
                                        I say,
                                        stay down, do you want to mess
                                        me up?
                                        you want to screw up the
                                        works?
                                        you want to blow my book sales in
                                        Europe?

                                        there's a bluebird in my heart that
                                        wants to get out
                                        but I'm too clever, I only let him out
                                        at night sometimes
                                        when everybody's asleep.
                                        I say, I know that you're there,
                                        so don't be
                                        sad.
                                        then I put him back,
                                        but he's singing a little
                                        in there, I haven't quite let him
                                        die
                                        and we sleep together like
                                        that
                                        with our
                                        secret pact
                                        and it's nice enough to
                                        make a man
                                        weep, but I don't
                                        weep, do
                                        you?


bukowski bluebird

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

this is xlnt. i did not know this bukowski poem and the photo is a fine companion to it. Worthily matched.