Reading this in the garden this morning it brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me so strongly of my uncle who passed away during Covid. He was a bit of a black sheep — a real rogue for sure. After he died we found all these poems among his stuff. This tough joker was a bit of a Bukowski for sure. He definitely had that bluebird in him and he never let it die either it seems. The poem is so tragic and yet so so beautiful
This poem stabs me in the heart every time I read it. Aren’t we all born with a bluebird, and throughout our lives we learn to let it sing, or we tamp it down and try to ignore it? I don’t know…maybe some people don’t know it’s there. But I do.
What do you think of the bluebird? Is it like conscience or something else? It's like I know what he's talking about but I can't quite put my finger on it. So beautiful
I think the bluebird is our true, pure self, the one the world (and often our family) tries to crush as we grow up, and try to fit in, conform, what have you. That spark of creativity unique to each of us. Bukowski was a hard drinking man, rough and ugly and magnetic as well. To show his tender heart, would it have been detrimental to his personal? Just random thought s here.
I like that as I've been mulling it more it is definitely more than conscience and you've caught more of what it is.
This morning this got me thinking about the Jungian Shadow and how it's not just about our darkness but it's whatever parts of ourselves we hide away. Jung talked about criminals whose Shadow was all the good things about themselves. I think that's a bit of the bluebird especially in Bukowski sense but it has me thinking about those sides of myself that I hide away because they are too brittle and weak and I'm afraid they are cringy or will be trampled on so in my shame I hide them away. I guess that's something of the bluebird: the light side of the Shadow: the beautiful parts of ourselves we hide away but except for moments in the night
So I'd never heard of Bukowski before now and this one certainly hooked me and led me to another of his: The History of One Tough Motherfucker
Bled me upon first read, because we've got a boy like that, absolutely refuses to die. We call him the Dumpster Diamond. Now I'm thinking maybe I should write a poem about him in the style of Bukowski.
Reading it again this morning and running it over in my head the question finally hit me "but I don't/weep, do/you?" why the question? The way I'd been reading the poem up to then it would have made no difference whether the question was there or not. Thinking about it, those two words amplify the poem's power so much.
Reading this in the garden this morning it brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me so strongly of my uncle who passed away during Covid. He was a bit of a black sheep — a real rogue for sure. After he died we found all these poems among his stuff. This tough joker was a bit of a Bukowski for sure. He definitely had that bluebird in him and he never let it die either it seems. The poem is so tragic and yet so so beautiful
This poem stabs me in the heart every time I read it. Aren’t we all born with a bluebird, and throughout our lives we learn to let it sing, or we tamp it down and try to ignore it? I don’t know…maybe some people don’t know it’s there. But I do.
What do you think of the bluebird? Is it like conscience or something else? It's like I know what he's talking about but I can't quite put my finger on it. So beautiful
I think the bluebird is our true, pure self, the one the world (and often our family) tries to crush as we grow up, and try to fit in, conform, what have you. That spark of creativity unique to each of us. Bukowski was a hard drinking man, rough and ugly and magnetic as well. To show his tender heart, would it have been detrimental to his personal? Just random thought s here.
I like that as I've been mulling it more it is definitely more than conscience and you've caught more of what it is.
This morning this got me thinking about the Jungian Shadow and how it's not just about our darkness but it's whatever parts of ourselves we hide away. Jung talked about criminals whose Shadow was all the good things about themselves. I think that's a bit of the bluebird especially in Bukowski sense but it has me thinking about those sides of myself that I hide away because they are too brittle and weak and I'm afraid they are cringy or will be trampled on so in my shame I hide them away. I guess that's something of the bluebird: the light side of the Shadow: the beautiful parts of ourselves we hide away but except for moments in the night
So I'd never heard of Bukowski before now and this one certainly hooked me and led me to another of his: The History of One Tough Motherfucker
Bled me upon first read, because we've got a boy like that, absolutely refuses to die. We call him the Dumpster Diamond. Now I'm thinking maybe I should write a poem about him in the style of Bukowski.
dang that's a gem as well. Also: dumpster diamond is an amazing name 🤣
My favorite line is "you want to blow my book sales in Europe?" Makes me really want to meet the feathery little guy.
hehe yeah that pesky little bird. No consideration for sales
That's my kind of bird!
🤣
Reading it again this morning and running it over in my head the question finally hit me "but I don't/weep, do/you?" why the question? The way I'd been reading the poem up to then it would have made no difference whether the question was there or not. Thinking about it, those two words amplify the poem's power so much.
Also, I love the phrase "secret pact"