Bluebird

[flat_affect]

I love this poem.

Bluebird

Charles Bukowski

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?

[Symora]

It is a nice poem. I do wish that bluebird came out into the sunlight though, fly around some, I wonder why it's not allowed?

[flat_affect]

I think Bukowski was feeling trapped by his own persona. He made his living as the hard drinking, hard fighting poet of the streets. I can relate to being afraid to let your soft side out of the box.

[Symora]

I can relate to that too. When you've been hurt too often with the soft side exposed, it becomes natural to stop exposing it so much I find ...

[flat_affect]

Amen. I think one of the things I really like about the poem is that he does take the bluebird out and let him sing, albeit late at night when no-one's around to see. We all need our bluebirds, even if we don't always treat them very well.