david bowie good bye good bye luv

david bowie good bye luv

David Bowie - A Small Plot Of Land live Hartford 1995 (improved)

Where did it come from? 

The music is so otherworldly, saturated with influences which can change the listener into something rare. We are transformed by the memories of a reincarnated David Bowie; how he lived in past lives, what he felt and recorded on the deep, cellular level of his heart: traumas, triumphs, genders, beliefs, oaths, and ancient sacrifice.

David's courage is astounding to me. Imagine if the files were all open to be tapped, and some of them were holy terrors. This is what he had the nerve to do: face what he had experienced for the sake of knowing who he was and could be. That's enough to make sane people into madmen.

That's enough to shine bright a genius intoxicated with LOVE.

David Bowie in a Poem

Don't You Wonder, Sometimes?

Related Poem Content Details

          1.

 

After dark, stars glisten like ice, and the distance they span

Hides something elemental. Not God, exactly. More like

Some thin-hipped glittering Bowie-being—a Starman

Or cosmic ace hovering, swaying, aching to make us see.

And what would we do, you and I, if we could know for sure

 

That someone was there squinting through the dust,

Saying nothing is lost, that everything lives on waiting only

To be wanted back badly enough? Would you go then,

Even for a few nights, into that other life where you

And that first she loved, blind to the future once, and happy?

 

Would I put on my coat and return to the kitchen where my

Mother and father sit waiting, dinner keeping warm on the stove?

Bowie will never die. Nothing will come for him in his sleep

Or charging through his veins. And he’ll never grow old,

Just like the woman you lost, who will always be dark-haired

 

And flush-faced, running toward an electronic screen

That clocks the minutes, the miles left to go. Just like the life

In which I’m forever a child looking out my window at the night sky

Thinking one day I’ll touch the world with bare hands

Even if it burns.

 

 

          2.

 

He leaves no tracks. Slips past, quick as a cat. That’s Bowie

For you: the Pope of Pop, coy as Christ. Like a play

Within a play, he’s trademarked twice. The hours

 

Plink past like water from a window A/C. We sweat it out,

Teach ourselves to wait. Silently, lazily, collapse happens.

But not for Bowie. He cocks his head, grins that wicked grin.

 

Time never stops, but does it end? And how many lives

Before take-off, before we find ourselves

Beyond ourselves, all glam-glow, all twinkle and gold?

 

The future isn’t what it used to be. Even Bowie thirsts

For something good and cold. Jets blink across the sky

Like migratory souls.

 

 

          3.

 

Bowie is among us. Right here

In New York City. In a baseball cap

And expensive jeans. Ducking into

A deli. Flashing all those teeth

At the doorman on his way back up.

Or he’s hailing a taxi on Lafayette

As the sky clouds over at dusk.

He’s in no rush. Doesn’t feel

The way you’d think he feels.

Doesn’t strut or gloat. Tells jokes.

 

I’ve lived here all these years

And never seen him. Like not knowing

A comet from a shooting star.

But I’ll bet he burns bright,

Dragging a tail of white-hot matter

The way some of us track tissue

Back from the toilet stall. He’s got

The whole world under his foot,

And we are small alongside,

Though there are occasions

 

When a man his size can meet

Your eyes for just a blip of time

And send a thought like SHINE

SHINE SHINE SHINE SHINE

Straight to your mind. Bowie,

I want to believe you. Want to feel

Your will like the wind before rain.

The kind everything simply obeys,

Swept up in that hypnotic dance

As if something with the power to do so

Had looked its way and said:

                                                     Go ahead.

From Life on Mars

By Tracy K. Smith

(Winner 2012 Pulitzer Prize)

David Bowie – I Can't Read (Live Paris 1999)

When you see a famous smile
to be right in that photograph

So much of David has been analyzed by his success and its opposites. This song written in 1988 has been described as a very dark lament about his lack of a muse and his inability to tap into something brilliant. I listen to this David and hear the painful sounds of a man who needs someone to love him. This song is his lonely heart, his stark desire to be loved in return, not adulated as an icon. Well, he knew some special someone was coming. But she was taking her time. 1990 produced the miracle of happiness  David Robert Jones had been waiting for all his life: Iman with the promise of Lexie in her kiss.
David's genius has always been about LOVE.