Poetry Yes- More Leonard Cohen
Some additional Leonard Cohen poems
Breaking a self-imposed rule to send a few extra Leonard Cohen poems. These are from the Book of Longing. I’d forgotten how excellent they are. I’ll re-include the reading info so you can get there Saturday via either post.
Poetry Reading and Discussion Sat. July 20, 2:00 PM PDT
To Join by Phone:
Meeting ID: 824 7777 6981
Passcode: 591438
THE BOOK OF LONGING I can't make the hills The system is shot I’m living on pills For which I thank G—d I followed the course From chaos to art Desire the horse Depression the cart I sailed like a swan I sank like a rock But time is long gone Past my laughing stock My page was too white My ink was too thin The day wouldn’t write What the night pencilled in My animal howls My angel’s upset But I'm not allowed A trace of regret For someone will use What I couldn’t be My heart will be hers Impersonally She’ll step on the path She’ll see what I mean My will cut in half And freedom between For less than a second Our lives will collide The endless suspended The door open wide Then she will be born To someone like you What no one has done She'll continue to do I know she is coming I know she will look And that is the longing And this is the book ~ S.O.S. 1995 Take a long time with your anger, sleepyhead. Don’t waste it in riots. Don’t tangle it with ideas. The Devil won’t let me speak, will only let me hint that you are a slave, your misery a deliberate policy of those in whose thrall you suffer, and who are sustained by your misfortune. The atrocities over there, the interior paralysis over here — Pleased with the better deal? You are clamped down. You are being bred for pain. The Devil ties my tongue. I’m speaking to you, ‘friend of my scribbled life.’ You have been conquered by those who know how to conquer invisibly. The curtains move so beautifully, lace curtains of some sweet o1d intrigue: the Devil tempting me to turn away from alarming you. So I must say it quickly: Whoever is in your life, those who harm you, those who help you; those whom you know and those whom you do not know — let them off the hook, help them off the hook. Recognize the hook. You are listening to Radio Resistance. ~ TO A YOUNG NUN This undemanding love that our staggered births have purchased for us — You in your generation, I in mine. I am not the one you are looking for. You are not the one I’ve stopped looking for. How sweetly time disposes of us as we go arm in arm over the Bridge of Details: Your turn to chop. My turn to cook. Your turn to die for love. My turn to resurrect. ~ LORCA LIVES Lorca lives in New York City He never went back to Spain He went to Cuba for a while But he’s back in town again He’s tired of the gypsies And he’s tired of the sea He hates to play his old guitar It only has one key He heard that he was shot and killed He never was, you know He lives in New York City He doesn’t like it though ~ YOU ARE RIGHT, SAHARA You are right, Sahara. There are no mists. or veils, or distances. But the mist is surrounded by a mist; and the veil is hidden behind a veil; and the distance continually draws away from the distance. That is why there are no mists, or veils. or distances. That is why it is called The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. It is here that The Traveller becomes The Wanderer, and The Wanderer becomes The One Who Is Lost, and The One Who Is Lost becomes The Seeker, and The Seeker becomes The Passionate Lover, and The Passionate Lover becomes The Beggar. and The Beggar becomes The Wretch, and The Wretch becomes The One Who Must Be Sacrificed, and The One Who Must Be Sacrificed becomes The Resurrected One, and The Resurrected One becomes The One Who Has Transcended The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. Then for a thousand years, or the rest of the afternoon, such a One spins in the Blazing Fire of Changes, embodying all the transformations, one after the other, and then beginning again, and then ending again, 86,000 times a second. Then such a One, if he is a man, is ready to love the woman Sahara; and such a One, if she is a woman, is ready to love the man who can put into song The Great Distance of Mist and Veils. Is it You who is waiting, Sahara, or is it me? ~ BASKET You should go from place to place recovering the poems that have been written for you, to which you can affix your signature. Don’t discuss these matters with anyone. Retrieve. Retrieve. When the basket is full someone will appear to whom you can present it. She will spread her wide skirt and sit down on a black stone and your basket will bounce like a speck in sunlight on the immense landscape of her lap. ~
if you are young and don’t happen to be Arthur Rimbaud
we would prefer not to hear from you
and if you do happen to be Arthur Rimbaud
we definitely do not want to hear from you
MISSION I've worked at my work I’ve slept at my sleep I've died at my death And now I can leave Leave what is needed And leave what is full Need in the Spirit And need in the Hole Beloved, I'm yours As I’ve always been From marrow to pore From longing to skin Now that my mission Has come to its end: Pray I’m forgiven The life that I’ve led The Body I chased It chased me as well My longing's a place My dying a sail ~ BY THE RIVERS DARK By the rivers dark I wandered on I lived my life in Babylon and I did forget my holy song and I had no strength in Babylon by the rivers dark where I could not see who was waiting there who was hunting me and he cut my lip and he cut my heart so I could not drink from the river dark and he covered me and I saw within my lawless heart and my wedding ring I did not know and I could not see who was waiting there who was hunting me by the rivers dark I panicked on I belonged at last to Babylon then he struck my heart with a deadly force and he said, “This heart it is not yours.” and he gave the wind my wedding ring and he circled me with everything by the rivers dark in a wounded dawn I live my life in Babylon tho’ I take my song from a withered limb both song and tree they sing for him be the truth unsaid and the blessing gone if I forget my Babylon I did not know and I could not see who was waiting there who was hunting me by the rivers dark where it all goes on by the rivers dark in Babylon ~
Our weekly workshop events are sponsored by Nevada Humanities and the National Endowment for the Humanities. Thank you!
Bruce Isaacson
Poetry Promise, Inc.
a 501 (c)(3) Corporation
Phone: (702) 205-7100
Bruce@PoetryPromise.org 