Saturday, October 21, 2006

Blue Bird

I've been thinking lately about how on a daily basis we use the term 'how are you?' when in reality, most people don't want to know how you are so we all use the 'good thanks' line even if your heart is breaking, your sanity is holding on by a thread and you feel like smashing furniture. Most people don't really want to know how you are so we all live a lie of 'good thanks' because it all makes us feel comfortable. On the other hand, being vunerable to the world is something that scares the fuck out of all of us so the 'good thanks' line is great for self preservation. I heard the following poem for the first time earlier this year and it really struck a chord with me. 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?

2 comments:

Quick said...

Is this a Bukowski poem? Haven't read it, only heard it (I think) in that doco, Born Into This, or whatever it was.

but I could be remembering stuff wrong.

I'm in two minds about the whole how are you thing. most human interaction is kind of transient and you're only really asking how they are as a way of acknowledging their existence. Maybe it's shallow of me, but I truly don't want to ask how an acquaintance is and hear about some personal crisis. If it's a close friend, different story.

Be damned if I'll ever put anyone but the closest friends through telling them how I really am when I'm down. I just can't do it. I rarely do it with the closest ones.

And that, I guess, is the point of the Bluebird poem.

Hang in there, Milongita. Smash furniture if you need to, but hang in there. There are laughs to be had.

Margarita Milongita said...

Yes this poem is by Mr Hank Bukowski - you got it in one.

I'm actually doing pretty well. Instead of dwelling on disappointing occurances and things I have no control of, I'm just soldiering on.. going on long walks and roasting tomatoes.. as you do.
I've got Mr Chris Issak as my companion this week and he has been mighty fine,thank you very much!