Bluebird
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?
Some poems break your heart at exactly the right time. Bluebird, Charles Bukowski’s confessional poem, did just that. Bukowski is an interesting chap. He intrigues me, but I gather from friends who have ventured deeper into his smoky, whiskey-soaked world, that I may not particularly like him if I get to know him too well. Which is why I’m inclined to keep my distance for now.
From a distance, however, he still manages to bring a tear to my eye. Bluebird in particular has always made me choke. I cannot pretend to be tough when such heart-aching honesty whispered from deep within is laid before me on the page.
For all the complaints about the writing of Charles Bukowski, he had a way of putting “blood on the paper” that cut right to the heart of whatever he spoke of and what makes a poet more substantial than the ability to do just that. Bluebird was my introduction to Bukowski’s work. It’s a sad little poem filled with whimsical shame of a life travelled on bar stools and fuelled by whiskey. Originally published in 1992, Bluebird was part of Bukowski’s anthology, The Last Night go the Earth Poems.
To summarise the sentiment, CB uses the songbird as a metaphor for his own vulnerability, explaining how he has attempted to trap the bird within his heart, unable or unwilling to let it out. Nonetheless, this “Bluebird” is still a part of him, only releasing it in the confines of his own privacy. This vividly portrays an idea of inner vulnerability within oneself, an inexplicable weakness and innermost torment. He strongly implies that his masculinity is at risk of seeming weak if he exposes the bluebird within him and uses all manner of distraction to dull the pain of having to do that. This poem tries to see the world through a critical lens, how it looks upon people, expecting them all to withdraw their feelings and assimilate into one large emotionless, mindless mass.
It makes me think of all the lost opportunity in my life. It speaks to the hopelessness and destitution of the condition. The voice articulates despair. There’s almost a fatalistic element to the voice. It’s like sleeping under a bridge, realising that things aren’t terrible because there’s enough cheap wine to keep you drunk through the cold night. It’s like seeing your character die in a video game and experiencing the finality of loss through the “Game Over” screen.
Bluebird acknowledges that no matter how hard the external “shell”, inside every person there is flesh and blood, and unanswered passions and dreams.
Written by Rhea Baweja
Illustration by Sara Boos
