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 pur 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?
Tu piel era ese puerto
Y yo pensaba en zarpar
Solamente.
Tu risa era ese puerto
Y no sabía
Que sabía
Que eras vos ese puerto,
Que esa era la vida
Que quería vivir
Que eras vos ese puerto
Que había quemado las naves
Una noche de noviembre
Que no conoceré otros mares
Que estos viajes de agua dulce
Son amargos
Que vos eras ese puerto
Al que tenía que llegar
Y no até bien las amarras
Y
Vos eras ese puerto
Ahora mis viajes son pequeños
Vos eras ese puerto
Al que nunca terminé de llegar
Sino
Para partir a pie
Hacia dentro del agua
Del olvido.
Ginsberg's stay in the mental ward was not intended to help him realize his desire for life to be a "sweet humane surprise." Ginsberg tried to conform, returned after several months to Paterson, dated women, and found a job. He was miserable until he moved to California in 1954 and began seeing a $1 an hour psychiatrist at the university in Berkeley. In San Francisco Ginsberg saw another psychiatrist, Philip Hicks, who asked him what he would like to do. "Doctor," as Ginsberg recalls his answer, "I don't think you're going to find this very healthy and clear,"but I really would like to stop working forever--never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I'm doing now--and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I'd like to keep living with someone -- maybe even a man -- and explore relationships that way. And cultivate my perceptions, cultivate the visionary thing in me. Just a literary and quiet city-hermit existence. Then hesaid "Well, why don't you?" I asked him what the American Psychoanalytic Association would say about that, and he said . . . if that is what you really feel would please you, what in the world is stopping you from doing it?
Delante tuyo y a tus costados
y en la pulsante franja de tu pasado
tenés el sábado
proyectandose furioso hacia
engulliendo con sus deditos golosos
los resquicios de los cuerpos de
las ropitas interiores y los forros y los olores
y todo el alcohol y todas las drogas y todo
todo
todo
lo que traiga
y todo el olvido y toda la bronca y toda la soledad
que te traiga
y quizá el amor.
