I enter my room I close the door, I fall to the floor And as I fall I shrink into myself Like an empty tote bag
I rest my back Against the foot of my bed The need – it persists The need for something to lean on Or someone
I sit with my knees wide apart Kindly excuse me, I’m too upset To have the courtesy to close my legs
My room is hot, uncomfortably hot But the marble floor feels cold Maybe that’s why I’m shivering And not because of their cold reception
I feel it running up my chest – A muffled cry – trying to surface I cover my mouth with both of my hands My throat, my jaws, they ache My body spasms as I hold it down
I fail. Of what use is a closed door And a noisy air conditioner If it can’t cover the sound of my wail?
I cry. I cry because I have reasons to cry Then, I cry because I cry alone Then, I cry because I want to remain alone You see, My tears never had the luxury to soak up an offered tissue paper Or another man’s T shirt They’ve always originated in my eyes And died by the edge of my face
So this poem suffers a similar fate It ends right here Abrupt, unpleasant.
When did you know you found closure? Was it when the need for an apology went away? Does the need for an apology ever go away? Did you forgive or did you forget? Did you do both or did you do neither? What did you do to the infinite grief? Was it like a candle flame — growing smaller And smaller, until it was no longer there? Or was it like a crack on a marble floor In a newly bought house — You made peace with the fact That you’re going to have to live with it?
I walked past my old hostel gates today They’re painting an advertisement over the seats you sat on on Could this be the beginning of your end?
Bluebird, written by Charles Bukowski, is one of those poems which you can’t make anything of in the first read but as soon as you read the first verse the second time — everything makes sense. The use of uncomplicated language to express some very complicated emotions is just *chef’s kiss* . The perfect amount of cliche(ness?) and portrayal of some very relatable aspects of sadness make it a very readable poem.
The poet has shaped sadness into a “blue” bird (you see why I said it’s cliche?) that lives inside him. The stress on constant subduing of emotions persists all throughout the poem. He goes on to talk about his expertise in hiding his grief, his ways of coping with it — whiskeys and whores — and how he allows himself to vent only when he is isolated
The repetitive use of the statement “I’m too tough for him” is something that I especially enjoyed.
*I would strongly suggest you read the poem first and interpret it your way before reading my interpretations because it might develop a bias in you and we don’t want that, right?*
So, Sylvia Plath has this way of writing where her poems are so straightforward and so tricky; two words I didn’t think I’d ever use to describe the same thing.
Now, coming to the poem, this is all that I could make of it:
First stanza: I do not understand this at all; the only thing I can think of associating snails with is rain.
Second stanza: these lines feel the most consistent with the title of the poem because a “sealed tin” does give an image of a possible courier. Acetic acid should most probably be referring to vinegar, but, again, I don’t understand the context.
Third stanza: “A ring of gold with the sun in it” definitely has to do with marriage, an unhappy one infact. Now, why does the ring have a sun in it? Maybe it has something to do with couples promising each other “the world”. Couples do juvenile shit like that all the time, don’t they? The “Lies. Lies and a grief” part is the first thing that got me a sense of the mood of the poem. Also, after reading this, the first two stanzas feel like the poet is maybe being romantically approached by another individual and she is rejecting it because of her past experiences and trauma.
This was the first half of the poem, to which the second half just seems disconnected.
Fourth stanza: It surely has a wintry setting. Winter is often related to emotional isolation, maybe that is why she has personified the “cauldron” because she’s so lonely, even the pot seems to be talking.
Fifth stanza: Now this part has me utterly confused. Why is she talking about the Alps? Why are they black? Why specifically nine of them? I have no clue. The number nine has also been used in her other poem “Lady Lazarus” where she talks about her several unsuccessful suicide attempts and claims it to be equivalent to how a cat has “nine” lives; I cannot link the two different usages of the number nine.
Sixth stanza: We were at mountains, now we’re at sea. The sea shattering its grey one(mirror): The only thing I can picture to be the sea’s grey mirror are clouds hovering above it. “Shattering” that mirror could maybe mean that the sky is getting clear (I guess!!??!!?).
Love, love, my season: This seems to be a final justification to why she rejects love. Seasons change, love goes out of season.
That was all that I could make of this poem, and I am DYING to know what you have to say about it, how you pictured it, what was the mood you explored through this poem and basically just any kind of input from your end is highly highly highly appreciated.
Science — a passion Passion — a transient emotion “Passion – a transient emotion” — a recent realization My country — pretends to love scientists Engineering — a money bringing occupation I — an upcoming engineer Poetry — a necessity Poetry writing — it can wait Self loathing — a habit Good grades — a master plan for redemption Hobby — an unnecessary distraction Certainty — a luxury Closure — a hoax Motivational Speakers — unicorns high on rainbows Lana Del Rey — understands Love — an artist’s favourite thing to capitalise on Love — a childhood misconception Love — a species’ system to escape extinction Love — I do not get enough, I do not give enough My bitterness — a result of the pandemic? — a result of menstrual hormones? — Just who I inherently am as a person? I cannot tell anymore.
I remember the first time I had seen him dance He was alone on that dais but he wasn’t dancing alone With him, danced all 176 pairs of eyes present in that room God, he looked gorgeous
-20th January, 2019- God, he looks gorgeous And the music is so loud, I feel it in my chest
Should I try and maybe dance? I’ll start by standing up Oh, wait, he’s dancing with her I hate dancing anyway
The noise is so loud, I feel it in my throat He looks happy Woah, am I.. am I cheering them on? Of course I am I’m the chill girlfriend who cheers like a chihuahua She, however, is clumsy And her moves are so repetitive
Well, At least she’s doing something All I’m doing is pretending I’ve got a phone call And thinking about Doc Pomus’ wedding
-3rd October, 2020- I am talking to her over a phone call I don’t want to be nice to her I’m overcompensating by being unnaturally nice to her