I was never a Charles Bukowski fan. Maybe because I thought he is overrated, a name used on Tumblr photos and social media posts, people using a famous name to reflect a vague virtual knowledge, or maybe because his poems don’t rhyme, and I love my poems to be always rhyming. Still, I never gave much attention to him.
Lately, he has been recommended by more than one friend, and I’ve been reading some of his best poems, and I must say, he can be good. It’s different when you read something that is a friend’s “favorite,” it has a different feeling, and there is a higher possibility you’ll like it only because it is a dear friend’s favorite.
Today, I stumbled upon another poem of his: Bluebird. It hit differently, much stronger darkness than I anticipated. I’m not sure if it’s because I heard it before I read it that it has a louder voice, or if it’s because the words are loud enough on their own, but the poem is screaming at me.
As I read it, it hurt me. It’s so personal. To me, it was so obvious that the bluebird is anxiety and depression; the bluebird symbolizes the darkness that Bukowski feels and the many attempts (whiskey, cigarettes, whores, and bartenders) he tries to keep it inside him. Because he knows that people won’t accept him if it’s out, his book sales in Europe will be affected, and if he let himself feel, it will mess him up.
But as I read through the video comments, the commenters had different opinions; they did not relate the bluebird with anxiety and depression. Some said it is innocence, true self, freedom, soul, and even vulnerability.
It struck me that each individual affiliated the bluebird with what they fear most, the thing they fear to show. To some, it’s the liberation of sorrow, and to others, it’s the liberation of life. When I first heard it, I thought it’s beautiful, but when I read people’s analysis, I fell in love.
I love feeling things I read, and bluebird is one of them.
For the video narration of the poem: Bluebird by Charles Bukowski
For the full poem:
There’s a bluebird in my heart
Charles Bukowski
That wants to get out but I’m too tough
I say: “Stay in there
I’m not going to let anybody see”
There’s a bluebird in my heart
That wants to get out but I pour whiskey
I take a cigarette so the whores
The bartenders, the grocery clerks
Never know that he is in there
There’s a bluebird in my heart
That wants to get out but I’m too tough
I say: “Stay down
Do you wanna mess me up?
Do you wanna screw up all of my works?”
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 sleeps
I say: “I know that you’re there
Don’t be so sad, ” that’s what I said
Then I put him back but he’s always singing
I don’t let him die and we sleep together
Like that with our secret pact
It’s nice enough to make a little man weep
But I don’t weep, do you?
It’s nice enough to make a little man weep
But I don’t weep, do you?
There is a bluebird messing with my heart
What should I do with this little bird?
There is a bluebird messing with my heart
What could I do with this little bird?
I’m turning into a bird, I’m turning into a bird
So I will fly with this melancholy