This week’s post is late due to my computer being out of commission for three day, sigh.
This week’s poem is, “Bluebird” by Charles Bukowski. Bukowski was born in Germany and lived most of his adult life in Los Angeles. He was employed as a postal worker until he quit to devote himself to writing. He wrote several novels (the first being titled Post Office) and was a prolific poet. Including his novels, short story collections and poetry, he published 60 books. He lived hard, gambled and drank a lot, sometimes requesting that a cold six pack be provided at his reading table when he read in public. He died of leukemia at the age of 74.
“Bluebird” is my Bukowski favorite, transcribed below. But I also highly recommend “So You Want to Be a Writer”, which you can read here:
https://poets.org/poem/so-you-want-be-writer
And you can hear him read his poem, “The Secret of My Endurance”, which is hilarious, here:
https://www.openculture.com/charles_bukowski_reads_his_poem_the_secret_of_my_endurance
Till next time.
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?