The Dove -- Leonard Cohen

Guest poem sent in by Laurie Edwards

(Poem #1949) The Dove I saw the dove come down, the dove with the green twig, the childish dove out of the storm and flood. It came towards me in the style of the Holy Spirit descending. I had been sitting in a cafe for twenty-five years waiting for this vision. It hovered over the great quarrel. I surrendered to the iron laws of the moral universe which make a boredom out of everything desired. Do not surrender, said the dove. I have come to make a nest in your shoe. I want your step to be light. -- Leonard Cohen

 From "Death of a Lady's Man" (1978)

I love this poem -- when I first encountered it, it provided some encouragement
to not surrender and allow everything desired to become "a boredom."

I think it's interesting that although Leonard Cohen was a poet before he was a
songwriter, some believe that he has only written song lyrics (cf Poem #624,
Gift).  It's certainly lucky, I think, that he did turn his creativity to
music, so that his gift became more widely known than it might otherwise have
been.

I've also alway wondered about the Catholic icons and images that twine through
his lyrics/poetry (as in The Dove, above), given that Cohen is a Jewish name.
He was born in Montreal in 1934, and is now a committed Buddhist, having been
ordained as a Buddhist monk and given the (ironic?  appropriate?) name Jikan
(Silent One).

Laurie D. Edwards

[Links]

Biography:
  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leonard_Cohen

Official Cohen website:
  http://www.leonardcohen.com/

Everybody Knows -- Leonard Cohen

Guest poem sent in by Matt Chanoff :

Here's another song lyric that I love and think people will enjoy.  Last
year, a group of people did a show of Leonard Cohen songs, which they
performed in New York and Sydney. It's the basis for a documentary about
Cohen that's in theaters now, called 'Came So Far for Beauty'.  I've been
listening to the soundtrack, which is phenomenal, and particularly love the
following song, performed on the album by Rufus Wainwright.

(Poem #1918) Everybody Knows Everybody knows that the dice are loaded Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed Everybody knows that the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost Everybody knows the fight was fixed The poor stay poor, the rich get rich That's how it goes Everybody knows Everybody knows that the boat is leaking Everybody knows that the captain lied Everybody got this broken feeling Like their father or their dog just died Everybody talking to their pockets Everybody wants a box of chocolates And a long stem rose Everybody knows Everybody knows that you love me baby Everybody knows that you really do Everybody knows that you've been faithful Ah give or take a night or two Everybody knows you've been discreet But there were so many people you just had to meet Without your clothes And everybody knows Everybody knows, everybody knows That's how it goes Everybody knows Everybody knows, everybody knows That's how it goes Everybody knows And everybody knows that it's now or never Everybody knows that it's me or you And everybody knows that you live forever Ah when you've done a line or two Everybody knows the deal is rotten Old black Joe's still pickin cotton For your ribbons and bows And everybody knows And everybody knows that the plague is coming Everybody knows that it's moving fast Everybody knows that the naked man and woman Are just a shining artifact of the past Everybody knows the scene is dead But there's gonna be a meter on your bed That will disclose What everybody knows And everybody knows that you're in trouble Everybody knows what you've been through From the bloody cross on top of Calvary To the beach of Malibu Everybody knows its coming apart Take one last look at this sacred heart Before it blows And everybody knows Everybody knows, everybody knows That's how it goes Everybody knows Oh everybody knows, everybody knows That's how it goes Everybody knows Everybody knows -- Leonard Cohen

Here's what I love about this song. The first three stanzas let up this
barbed, vicious view of human nature. The world is sick, they say, because
people are crooked.  Then with the next stanza the focus of all that
hostility shifts from the world at large to an unfaithful lover.  You
automatically reinterpret the stuff in the third stanza about 'everybody
wants a box of chocolates, a long stemmed rose' from belonging to the first
sentiment to belonging to the second.

More gradually, the meaning of the refrain, 'everybody knows' shifts too,
from 'everybody knows the sad truth of the world' to 'everybody knows that
you've been unfaithful to me.'

This terrific conflation of the individual, personal hurt and the grand
sense that the world is sinful works in a macro way - as a betrayed lover,
you do feel that you've been betrayed by the whole world.  Cohen emphasizes
the theme by conflating big and small things throughout the song.  For
example 'Everybody got this broken feeling/ Like their father or their dog
just died'. One would think that these would be different orders of grief,
but not in this song. Another example is 'Everybody knows what you've been
through/ From the bloody cross on top of Calvary/ To the beach of Malibu'.

The other thing I love about the song is just simply the great lines.  For
example, the run up to the instance of 'everybody knows' where you suddenly
realize it means 'everybody knows you've been unfaithful' goes like this

    Everybody knows you've been discreet
    But there were so many people you just had to meet
    Without your clothes
    And everybody knows

I also love

    Everybody knows the deal is rotten
    Old black Joe's still pickin cotton
    For your ribbons and bows

Leonard Cohen's got this deep unvarying monotone of a voice, that has turned
me off to his music for years.  This album of good (and some great) singers
has given me an appreciation for what a great lyricist he is.

Matt Chanoff

Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye -- Leonard Cohen

Guest poem submitted by Rama Rao:

(Poem #1823) Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm, your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm, yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new, in city and in forest they smiled like me and you, but now it's come to distances and both of us must try, your eyes are soft with sorrow, Hey, that's no way to say goodbye. I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time, walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me, it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea, but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie, your eyes are soft with sorrow, Hey, that's no way to say goodbye. I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm, your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm, yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new, in city and in forest they smiled like me and you, but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie, your eyes are soft with sorrow, Hey, that's no way to say goodbye. -- Leonard Cohen

I have hesitated for a long time to send this. One associates Cohen with the
haunting lyrics of Suzanne (Poem #116, where his bio is also included) or
his other songs (some of which are already on the Minstrels) and this poem
is mushy by comparision. But I'm encouraged by Martin's comment that
"sometimes even a single line" can make a poem. And ever since I first came
across the line "It's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the
sea" more than three decades ago, it has stuck in my mind as an example of
'sheer poetry'. What a simple but brilliant analogy of constant change in
togetherness.

Rama Rao.

Take This Waltz -- Leonard Cohen

Guest poem sent in by M. Karki

(Poem #1447) Take This Waltz Now in Vienna there's ten pretty women There's a shoulder where Death comes to cry There's a lobby with nine hundred windows There's a tree where the doves go to die There's a piece that was torn from the morning And it hangs in the Gallery of Frost Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Take this waltz, take this waltz Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws Oh I want you, I want you, I want you On a chair with a dead magazine In the cave at the tip of the lily In some hallways where love's never been On a bed where the moon has been sweating In a cry filled with footsteps and sand Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Take this waltz, take this waltz Take its broken waist in your hand This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz With its very own breath of brandy and Death Dragging its tail in the sea There's a concert hall in Vienna Where your mouth had a thousand reviews There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking They've been sentenced to death by the blues Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture With a garland of freshly cut tears? Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Take this waltz, take this waltz Take this waltz it's been dying for years There's an attic where children are playing Where I've got to lie down with you soon In a dream of Hungarian lanterns In the mist of some sweet afternoon And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow All your sheep and your lilies of snow Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay Take this waltz, take this waltz With its "I'll never forget you, you know!" This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz ... And I'll dance with you in Vienna I'll be wearing a river's disguise The hyacinth wild on my shoulder, My mouth on the dew of your thighs And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook, With the photographs there, and the moss And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty My cheap violin and my cross And you'll carry me down on your dancing To the pools that you lift on your wrist Oh my love, Oh my love Take this waltz, take this waltz It's yours now. It's all that there is -- Leonard Cohen

Note: This is Leonard Cohen's adaptation of Lorca's "Pequeño Vals Vienes"
  ("Little Viennese Waltz"). An ordinary English translation of the poem,
  along with Cohen's version, can be found at:
  http://www.webheights.net/speakingcohen/waltz.htm

The best measure of translated work's worth, as it has often been pointed
out, is to see how well it holds up as a poem in the translated language. By
that yardstick this poem should be counted among the very best ever.

Unfortunately, Cohen's reputation as a poet seems to have suffered much for
his taking up singing as a profession... Cohen manages to preserve both
Lorca's vision and form while taking many liberties with the words
themselves, and the end product is not only the best translation of Lorca in
English, but also a song/poem that is not only faithful to Lorca's original
but also uniquely Cohen's. Cohen's admiration of Lorca is, of course, quite
well known... I always like to think of this poem as Cohen's tribute to his
"master".

Cheers,
Manan.

Joan of Arc -- Leonard Cohen

I've always enjoyed poetry (and prose) that takes an established sequence of
events and offers a different way of interpreting them...

(Poem #744) Joan of Arc Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc as she came riding through the dark; no moon to keep her armour bright, no man to get her through this very smoky night. She said, "I'm tired of the war, I want the kind of work I had before, a wedding dress or something white to wear upon my swollen appetite." "Well, I'm glad to hear you talk this way, you know I've watched you riding every day and something in me yearns to win such a cold and lonesome heroine." "And who are you?" she sternly spoke to the one beneath the smoke. "Why, I'm fire," he replied, "And I love your solitude, I love your pride." "Then fire, make your body cold, I'm going to give you mine to hold," saying this she climbed inside to be his one, to be his only bride. And deep into his fiery heart he took the dust of Joan of Arc, and high above the wedding guests he hung the ashes of her wedding dress. It was deep into his fiery heart he took the dust of Joan of Arc, and then she clearly understood if he was fire, oh then she must be wood. I saw her wince, I saw her cry, I saw the glory in her eye. Myself I long for love and light, but must it come so cruel, and oh so bright? -- Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen's subject material has always been the beauty and pain of
human emotion, and he brings a sensitive and experienced eye to his study.
His songs are often anguished and lonely, yet they're rarely depressing or
bitter; instead, they're permeated by an intense, almost touching faith in
the power of love, an optimism that redeems his superficial bitterness and
brittlety.

Today's allegorical song/poem is very interesting [1]. The theme is handled
more directly than in several other of Cohen's offerings; at the same time,
the poem is less personal, and (perhaps for that very reason) less
gut-wrenching. At first reading it seems irrevocably, inexorably
pessimistic: Joan's death by fire betokens no hint of the healing effect of
love, only its agony. And yet... there seems to be an element of paradox
here, for after all, the historical figure of Joan of Arc [2] is almost the
canonical example of the power of faith in the face of overwhelming odds.
This insight leads us to another, more positive interpretation of the poem:
_despite_ the cruelty and brightness of the fire's embrace, Joan chooses to
accept it, to accept the pain and the suffering, in the hope of redemption
and salvation. This is Cohen's testament; it may be harsh, but it rings
true.

thomas.

[1] In other words, I completely misunderstood its meaning, the first time I
heard it <grin>.

[2] who, incidentally, figures in several of Cohen's song lyrics - see, for
example, "Last Year's Man".

[Moreover]

This the fourth in a series of poems which are actually the lyrics to
popular (or, as the case may be, obscure) songs. I forgot to mention that
the previous member of the series, "Conquistador", by Keith Reid, was a
guest poem submitted by Amit Chakrabarti. Sorry,
Amit.

Gift -- Leonard Cohen

Guest poem submitted by Reed C. Bowman:

(Poem #624) Gift You tell me that silence is nearer to peace than poems but if for my gift I brought you silence (for I know silence) you would say "This is not silence this is another poem" and you would hand it back to me. -- Leonard Cohen

One technical note: Where this appeared in a poetry book (_Sound and Sense_,
6th ed., by Laurence Perrine) the two lines I have placed in quotes were
unquoted but italic. Since that can't be done by many people's e-mail
systems, I used this punctuation. It is presumably a song lyric (it being
Leonard Cohen), so the typographic details are less important than with
other poems.

I don't know what I can say about this one. There's commentary on Leonard
Cohen elsewhere on the Minstrels archive. I assume it's actually a song
lyric, but I don't know the song. I just like it for its nice zen quality,
which makes you think more about the structure of poems, or the meaning of
"poem." Perhaps the best way to perform this as a song would be to record
silence (a la John Cage's 4'33") but include the lyrics on the album jacket
or CD booklet.

But apart from the self-reference (which I always like) the content of the
poem sets before us and yet gently twists a moment of potential stress
between the poet and the one for whom he writes. He can't get anything
right: the one for whom he writes prefers silence, yet recognizes any gift
he brings, even a poem's "negative space," as poetry in itself. Compliment
to the poet, sure, but makes it clear nonetheless that no gift from him is
acceptable... Respect is not, likely, all he wants from his special audience
and dedicatee. Or that's one way to take it.

RCB.

[Links]

Other Cohen poems:
poem #116
poem #339
poem #482

Who By fire -- Leonard Cohen

(Poem #481) Who By fire And who by fire, who by water, who in the sunshine, who in the night time, who by high ordeal, who by common trial, who in your merry merry month of may, who by very slow decay and who shall I say is calling? And who in her lonely slip, who by barbiturate, who in these realms of love, who by something blunt, and who by avalanche, who by powder, who for his greed, who for his hunger, and who shall I say is calling? And who by brave assent, who by accident, who in solitude, who in this mirror, who by his lady's command, who by his own hand, who in mortal chains, who in power, and who shall I say is calling? -- Leonard Cohen

from 'New Skin for Old Ceremony', 1974; also appears on 'The Best of Leonard
Cohen' (1975), which I'd recommend to Cohen tyros.

I spent most of yesterday listening to Leonard Cohen's spine-tinglingly deep
monotone and bewitching lyrics while reading Neal Stephenson... ooh (on both
counts).

I sometimes wonder if it's quite fair to run Cohen and Dylan and the like on the
Minstrels - after all, there's definitely more to their art than just words on
the printed page; by considering their lyrics as examples of poetry, we rob them
of what gives them much of their power (the underlying music) while at the same
time minimizing the many constraints under which they were written.

I've mentioned these points before, of course [1]. What makes it worse, though,
is the fact that I have no really objective way of judging whether, for example,
today's poem is actually a good one in its own right (and one that'll appeal to
an audience who haven't heard the song - not _you_, Gentle Reader, but others
less musically-knowledgeable <grin>), or if it's just an adequate set of lyrics,
granted power and immediacy by the music it's set to. I wish I knew... As usual,
your feedback would be appreciated.

thomas.

[1] The relationship between poetry and song lyrics has been talked about quite
a bit on the Minstrels; check out the essays accompanying Sting's
'The Soul Cages', poem #114
and Richard Thompson's 'Taking My Business Elsewhere', submitted by Amit
Chakrabarti; Hi Amit!), at poem #299

[Minstrels Links]

Footnote [1] above (is that an oxymoron, by the way?) has links to a couple of
examples of song lyrics; here are some more:
  poem #112, poem #227, poem #119.

In a sense, moving from the spoken (or sung) to the written word is a kind
of translation; some of my favourite examples of translated poetry are
listed at poem #472.

There's more about Cohen at poem #116.

And finally, 'The Music Crept By Us' is Cohen at his morbidly funny best:
poem #339 (Thanks to Zenobia Driver for suggesting that one).

[End Note]

All this meta-commentary about music and lyrics has left me without a great deal
to say about the poem itself. Suffice to say that I find Cohen's ironic
catalogue of ways to die pithy, yet not so direct as to be devoid of feeling or
subtle meaning. The counterpoint provided by the line 'and who shall I say is
calling?' is also very skilfully done; it's even more effective in the song.

The Music Crept By Us -- Leonard Cohen

Guest poem submitted by Zenobia Driver

(Poem #339) The Music Crept By Us I would like to remind the management that the drinks are watered and the hat-check girl has syphilis and the band is composed of former SS monsters However since it is New Year's Eve and I have lip cancer I will place my paper hat on my concussion and dance. -- Leonard Cohen

A friend and I read this while working on a project last night and at
first we wondered and wondered about how depressed and suicidal Cohen
must be (all his poems that I have read so far are dark), then we read
it again and looked at it differently and couldn't stop laughing. The
man's imagination is amazing. And I love the way the mood is maintained
till the very end with the 'paper hat on my concussion' instead of on
his head.

Zen.

[Minstrels Links]

Canadian singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen has been featured on the
Minstrels before - 'Suzanne', at poem #116

Suzanne -- Leonard Cohen

(Poem #116) Suzanne Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river You can hear the boats go by You can spend the night beside her And you know that she's half crazy But that's why you want to be there And she feeds you tea and oranges That come all the way from China And just when you mean to tell her That you have no love to give her Then she gets you on her wavelength And she lets the river answer That you've always been her lover And you want to travel with her And you want to travel blind And you know that she will trust you For you've touched her perfect body with your mind. And Jesus was a sailor When he walked upon the water And he spent a long time watching From his lonely wooden tower And when he knew for certain Only drowning men could see him He said "All men will be sailors then Until the sea shall free them" But he himself was broken Long before the sky would open Forsaken, almost human He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone And you want to travel with him And you want to travel blind And you think maybe you'll trust him For he's touched your perfect body with his mind. Now Suzanne takes your hand And she leads you to the river She is wearing rags and feathers From Salvation Army counters And the sun pours down like honey On our lady of the harbour And she shows you where to look Among the garbage and the flowers There are heroes in the seaweed There are children in the morning They are leaning out for love And they will lean that way forever While Suzanne holds the mirror And you want to travel with her And you want to travel blind And you know that you can trust her For she's touched your perfect body with her mind. -- Leonard Cohen

Dylan's only serious challenger for the title of greatest popular
lyricist ever is a Canadian singer-songwriter-poet named Leonard Cohen.
Who happens to be a genius. Absolutely.

Cohen started his career as a poet and writer; indeed, he finds
prominent mention in any number of anthologies of contemporary verse,
while his second novel prompted the reviewer of the Boston Globe to say
'James Joyce is alive and well and living under the name of Leonard
Cohen'. But when barely getting into his stride as a writer, he switched
to performance; armed with a guitar and minimalistic (yet poignant)
tunes, he hit home with a series of impassioned, truthful songs. He
concentrated on exploring relationships - 'the battles of the boudoirs'
- yet he was never out of touch with the social context of his lyrics;
songs like "Please don't pass me by" (a stunning 14-minute
improvisation, which can be found on the album "Cohen Live") and "First
we take Manhattan" (from "I'm your man") stand out as the defining
classics of his genre.

Todays' poem/song grows on you. Cohen himself once described it as being
'the best song he'd ever written', and looking at the simple, frank
lyrics, it's not hard to see why. Just read it aloud several times, or
(better yet) listen to it... beautiful.

thomas.

There are lots of Cohen websites out there (and I won't even mention the
number of Bob Dylan sites floating around in the ether :-)), but I think
the most comprehensive one is http://nebula.simplenet.com/cohen/

For an interview with the Suzanne of the title, go to
[broken link] http://nebula.simplenet.com/cohen/verdal.html

For a rather gushingly written but nonetheless comprehensive Cohen
biography, go to
[broken link] http://nebula.simplenet.com/cohen/yourman.html

And finally, many thanks to Movin Miranda, Rajeev Chakravarthy and
Sheetal Bahl for their suggestions for poems to run this week.

Next week: Aboriginal Poetry.