Bukowski and his bluebird

Bukowski can take you to a strange place with his dirty, alcoholic and genius poetry. You can read his work and think "I could have written that" - yes, yes, but you didn't, I would answer. It is that simple when you read it, but in my opinion, it was not that simple living it.

Some time ago, I was sitting  at one park in Milan, smoking cigarettes (cough, cough), when I noticed my friend's book. On the cover was that old guy, and I just couldn't stop looking at the picture. I was trying to figure out what was wrong with him, so I opened the book and the first poem I read was Bluebird. Seriously, in that moment I couldn't belive what was I reading. Maybe it wasn't only because of Bukowski's poem, probably few other things as well, but I felt a change. As weird as it may sounds. So let me get back to Charles Bukowski, I'm gonna leave myself out of this post... For now. 

Charles Bukowski was - and remains - the absolute counterculture icon. A hard-drinking wild man of literature and a stubborn outsider to the poetry world, he wrote unflinchingly about booze, work, and women, in raw, street-tough poems whose truth has struck a chord with generations of readers. In 1986 he was described by Time magazine as "laureate of American lowlife". 

Bluebird by 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?