Bluebird

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?

Charles Bukowski, 1992

Bare leve

Formørket blev den Stund, da vi fik Bevidsthed —

Bevidsthed om, at vi levede —

Bevidsthed om, at vi skulde dø.

Fra mit Legeme rejser der sig et brustent Skrig —

et dødsramt Raab:

Bare leve! Leve evigt — lige meget hvor og hvordan:

Som Idiot, Geni, eller Skøge —

som Træl, som Morder, eller Fattig —

som Dranker, som Tyv ...

Bare leve!

Hulda Lütken, 1943