“Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.” ― Leonard Cohen Featured Image Above: taken from the lookout at the Moorabool Valley Chocolate Cafe, overling the emerald valley …
An Emerald Tapestry
I resumed living last decade
Narrowly surviving gravities finality
Now, I lean against my tower’s balustrade
That overlooks an emerald valley
Echoing from my castle’s balcony
I hear Leonard Cohen’s words about life’s pagentry
Today’s poem, is a piece I originally wrote in June 2017, and the words were influenced by Leonard Cohen’s song, “Show Me The Place”, and this being the 5rd anniversary of his passing, I thought it an appropriated day to re-post my poem. I’ve revised the poem a couple of times, the original title was “Violin Strings”, but overall, the meaning of my words have stayed intact.. The Featured Image above, is scanned copy from, “The Wordless Songbook”, Leonard Cohen, by George A. Walker, book cover print, (A book, in my personal library)
This Sunday 7th of November, will be the fifth anniversay of Leonard Cohen’s passing. On that day 2016, I wrote this poem “Home”, as my little tribute to the man who was my personal muse and mentor for over fifty years. Back then my words were inspired by his song, “Show Me The Place” … and now I have to add “Thank You For Dance” Leonard Cohen …
I see you in windows that open so wide
There’s nothing beyond them and no one inside
You kick off your sandals and shake out your hair
The salt on your shoulders like sparks in the air
There’s silt on your ankles and sand on your feet
The river too shallow, the ocean too deep
You smile at your suffering, the sweetest reprieve
Why did you leave us, why did you leave
You kick off your sandals and shake out your hair
It’s torn where you’re dancing, it’s torn everywhere
It’s torn on the right and it’s torn on the left
It’s torn in the centre which few can accept
It’s torn where there’s beauty, it’s torn where there’s death
It’s torn where there’s mercy but torn somewhat less
It’s torn in the highest from kingdom to crown
The messages fly but the network is down
Bruised at the shoulder and cut at the wrist
The sea rushes home to its thimble of mist
The opposites falter, the spirals reverse
And Eve must re-enter the sleep of her birth
And up through the system the worlds are withdrawn
From every dominion the mind stood upon
And now that it’s over and now that it’s done
The name has no number, not even the one
Come gather the pieces all scattered and lost
The lie in what’s holy, the light in what’s not
The story’s been written the letter’s been sealed
You gave me a lily but now it’s a field
You kick off your sandals and shake out your hair
It’s torn where you’re dancing, it’s torn everywhere
Today’s poem, is a piece I originally wrote in June 2017, and the words were influenced by Leonard Cohen’s song, “Show Me The Place”, and this being the 3rd anniversary of his passing, I thought it an appropriated week to re-post my poem. I’ve slightly revised the poem, but overall the meaning of my words have stayed intact.. The Featured Image above, is scanned copy from, “The Wordless Songbook, Leonard Cohen, by George A. Walker, page/113, (A book, in my personal library)
And below, I’ve attach the entire music/video of the ‘Leonard Cohen Memorial Concert’ from, Centre Bell, Montreal, QC, Canada | November 6, 2017. The video goes for 1 hour and 30 minutes, and is certainly well worth watching. Enjoy !!
Hello dear readers, I’ve been having trouble comprehending and concentrating on reading your articles/posts, of more than two stanza’s or one short paragraph in length. So my physiotherapist has given me some tasks to help improve my situation. Today I’m typing up one of favourite longer poem’s, by Leonard Cohen, called the “Ballad Of The Absent Mare”. I hope you enjoy his brilliant writing here.
Ballad Of The Absent Mare: By Leonard Cohen
Say a prayer for the cowboy, his mare’s run away
and he’ll walk till he finds her, his darling, his stray
But the river’s in flood and the roads are awash
and the bridges break up in the panic of loss
And there’s nothing to follow, there’s nowhere to go
She’s gone like the summer, she’s gone like the snow
And the crickets are breaking his heart with their song
as the day caves in and the night is all wrong
Did he dream, was it she who went galloping past
and bent down the fern and broke open the grass
and printed the mud with the iron and the gold
that he nailed to her feet when he was the lord
And though she goes grazing a minute away
he tracks her all night and he tracks her all day;
blind to her presence except to compare
his injury here with her punishment there
Then at home on his branch in the highest tree
a songbird sings out so suddenly
Oh the sun is warm and the soft winds ride
on the willow trees by the riverside
And the world is sweet and the world is wide
and she’s there where the light and the darkness divide
and steam’s coming off her, she’s huge and she’s shy
and she steps on the moon when she paws at the sky
And she comes to his hand but she’s not really tame
She longs to be lost and he longs for the same
And she’ll bolt and she’ll plunge through the first open pass
to roll and to feed in the sweet mountain grass
Or she’ll make a break for the high plateau
where there’s nothing above and there’s nothing below
And it’s time for their burden, it’s time for the whip
Will she walk through the flame, can he shoot from the hip
So he binds himself to the galloping mare
and she binds herself to the rider there
and there is no space but there’s left and right
and there is no time but there’s day and night
And he leans on her neck and he whispers low
Whither thou goest I will go
And they turn as one and they head for the plain
no need for the whip, no need for the rein
Now the clasp of this union, who fastens it tight
who snaps it asunder the very next night ?
Some say the rider, some say the mare
some say love’s like the smoke, beyond all repair
But my darling says, Leonard, just let it go by,
that old silhouette on the great Western sky
So I pick out a tune and they move right along
and they’re gone like the smoke, they’re gone like this song
Extracted from the book: Leonard Cohen, Poems And Songs, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 