Leonard, I know I'm violating copyright. Somehow I don't think you need the money, sorry. Quotations following are from my memory and may be not as published by you, since I haven't bothered with verifying them. I know that I am very grateful to you for your continuing inspiration. If site management has to delete the thread, I'll understand.
I came upon a butcher. He was slaughtering a lamb. I accused him there, with his tortured lamb. He said listen, listen to me now, I go round and round. And you, you are my only son. I saw a flower growing up where that lamb fell down. Am I supposed to praise my Lord? Make some kind of joyful sound? He said listen, listen to me now, I am what I am, And you, you are my only child. I took a silver needle. I stuck it into my arm. It did some good. It did some harm. But the night was cold, and it almost kept me warm. Why must the night be long? Do not leave me now, do not leave me now. I am broken down from a recent fall. Blood upon my body, ice upon my soul. Lead on my son, it is your world.
I thought this to be one of my better reads, I say leave it for I don't understand as too who wrote it, or if it was your own work, it compliments whichever.
Leonard Cohen is a poet/songwriter who made big waves, especially in Canada, in the sixties and seventies. That might well be before your time, hippie. Cohen did a comeback in the late nineties which was not a success in my humble opinion, although others probably liked it. If you can get his original records ("Songs From A Room" and other albums) you'll definitely get your money's worth if your values are anything like mine. If you're more into heavy metal and hard rock, forget it, don't waste your time. Or I should say, you're already wasting your time, so it makes no difference. Bad dog, mean dog, dirty dog.
Please translate. Are you calling him a jerk-off artist? He's laid more women than you'd have a chance to look at on a hot day in Miami. I only wish I could be as lucky. And, his music makes calls to my spirit that I can hardly express in a print medium. So, Sentient, Sir, what's your claim to fame, that you're throwing peoples' names around?
A bunch of lonesome and very quarrelsome heroes Was camping out along a lonesome road. The night was very dark and thick between them Each man beneath his ordinary load. 'I'd like to tell my story." Said one of them, so young and bold. 'I'd like to tell my story. For you know I feel I'm turning into gold.' "But no one could even really hear him. The night so dark and thick and green. Yes I guess these heroes must always live there. Where you and I have only been. Put out your cigarette, my love. You've been away too long. And some of us are very anxious now, To hear what it was you did that was so wrong. "I sing this for the crickets. I sing this for the army. I sing this for the children. And for all who do not need me. 'I'd like to tell my story.' Said one of them, so young and bold. 'I'd like to tell my story. For you know I feel I'm turning into gold.'"
Dylan was miles better, all that Leonard Cohen did was to lighten up and take some of the load off Dylans lyrics. He was at best not league 1 but the top of league 2. and BTW the number of women someone has screwed is never really stating much about how much of a man someone is. I doubt cohen really wants to be remembered for shagging a dozen women a week. which is why I wont argue with you anymore as you are clearly under the delusion that Cohen screwed his way to the bottom of the top. I prefer to think he was at least in the charts for his abilities, even though he's not one of the all time greats. Why I called him a tosser is because he's one of the people who took the hippy movement away from being revolutionary and into a sex and drugs fest - bourgeois But its Not a great indictment of your hero is it? He's great he shagged more women than you can shake a stick at? ha! ha ha! ha ha ha ha ha! But I bet his nob turned green and his balls fell off with syphilis maybe if he concentrated on his music more he would have been better and the revolution would be more advanced - free love is for bourgeois animals
Well, when I went through my phase of riding freights and hitching and lurking around communes in Northern California, and staying stoned, and doing a little jail time for being stoned in public, Cohen was not on my radar. And I don't attach that much importance actually to how often someone gets laid, because I'd finish dead last in that kind of contest. Let's just say I find his music joyful and relaxing. Everything that hard rock, punk rock, rap, heavy metal, whatever, is not. Of course there were and are a lot of equally talented performers out there who also make great listening. When making music becomes a money making/celebrity contest, that kind of makes a mockery of the exercise. I think many performers would agree.
Come over to the window, my little darling, I'd like to try to read your palm. I used to think I was some kind of Gypsy boy before I let you take me home. Now so long, Marianne, it's time that we began to laugh and cry and cry and laugh about it all again. Well you know that I love to live with you, but you make me forget so very much. I forget to pray for the angels and then the angels forget to pray for us. We met when we were almost young deep in the green lilac park. You held on to me like I was a crucifix, as we went kneeling through the dark. Your letters they all say that you're beside me now. Then why do I feel alone? I'm standing on a ledge and your fine spider web is fastening my ankle to a stone. For now I need your hidden love. I'm cold as a new razor blade. You left when I told you I was curious, I never said that I was brave. Oh, you are really such a pretty one. I see you've gone and changed your name again. And just when I climbed this whole mountainside, to wash my eyelids in the rain!
I never heard of Leanord Cohen before. His writting is some of the best I've. heard for sure from what is posted in this thred? Kind of Bob Dylanesque.
If you're 34 now, you were born around '72, making Cohen's period of popularity a little before your time. Go to a good music store that has a selection from the sixties and seventies, and buy any of his work done at that time. Like I say, Cohen tried a comeback in the nineties, and I (speaking only for myself) wasn't that impressed. Quite a few people didn't like Cohen, then or now, because his work is not really upbeat or positive to some extent. Quite a few other people (such as myself) liked him for that very reason: my feelings are sometimes moody, not always positive, and Cohen put my feelings into music in a way that other performers did not. Similar comments have been made about Paul Simon and Bob Dylan, among others. Like everyone else, Cohen has been marketed on-line, and can be purchased on-line for those who have the equipment and software to listen. A photo of "Marianne" was published in one of Cohen's songbooks. She looks like a girl named Carol I dated about that time. Blonde, happy, curvy, innocent, and very sexy. Some things never change.
Sometimes I find I get to thinking of the past. We swore to each other then our love would surely last. You kept right on loving, and I went on a fast. Now I am too thin and your love is too vast. (chorus) But I know from your eyes, And I know from your smile, That tonight will be fine, will be fine, will be fine, For awhile. I choose the rooms that I live in with care. The windows are small, and the walls must be bare, And there's only one bed, and there's only one prayer. And I listen all night for your step on the stair. Sometimes I see you undressing for me. You're the soft naked lady love meant you to be, And you're moving your body so brave and so free. If I have to remember that's a fine memory.
There is no meaning to Dylan's songwriting. He said it himself. That's part of the beauty of his music. But we're talking about the poetic quality of lyrics. And if you compare Cohen's poetry to Dylan's... Well, there is no comparison. Dylan pulled shit out his ass. Beautiful shit, no doubt, but shit nonetheless. I, personally, find so much more meaning in Cohen's words. Not because they're more coherent, but because I can tell he meant something in those words. They're very important to me, words, and I sometimes feel like Dylan took them for granted.
By the way, dirtydog, Marianne is one of my favorites. This one, too: 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.
In fact, I don't compare one poet/songwriter to the next. "At dawn my lover comes to me and tells me of her dreams, With no attempt to shovel the glimpse into the ditch of what each one means." -- Bob Dylan, Gates of Eden Both of these poets/songwriters have had successful careers spanning forty years or so, so if someone doesn't like their work, I'm sure Bob and Leonard are going to cry all the way to the bank. A radio host on CKUA made a good point recently. He said, if you don't like someone's work, don't review him. Only by being reviewed do performers gain recognition, status and money. If you like someone well enough to review him, you don't have to say only good things, but your positive statement should clearly outweigh your negatives. A lot of people buy AC/DC's music, for example. No doubt the band members are a lot richer than I am. I think their music is not worth listening to, but I don't spend time and energy badmouthing them or expecting others to read the same.
I met a woman long ago Her hair the gold that gold can grow. "Are you a teacher of the heart?" Soft, she answered, "No." I met a girl across the sea Her hair the black that black can be. "Are you a teacher of the heart?" "Yes, but not for thee." I met a man who lost his mind In some lost place I had to find. "Follow me," the wise man, said But he walked behind. I was handsome, I was strong, I knew the words to every song. "Did my singing please you?" "No, the words you sang were wrong." Some people wander by mistake Into the mess that scapels make. "Are you a teacher of the heart?" "We teach old hearts to break." I woke up in a hospital Where none were sick and none were well, When at last the nurses came I could not walk at all. Morning came and then came noon, Dinner time a scapel blade Lay beside My silver spoon. I ate and ate and ate and ate I could not touch another plate. "How much do these suppers cost?" "We'll take it out in hate." I spent my hatred every place, On every work, on every face. Someone gave me wishes and I Wished for an embrace. Several girls embraced me And then I was embraced by men. "Is my passion perfect?" "No, do it once again." One evening I woke up alone, The hospital and nurses gone. "Have I carved enough my lord?" "Child, you are a bone." "Oh teachers are my lessons done? I cannot do another one." They laughed and laughed and said "Well, child, are your lessons done? "Are your lessons done? Are your lessons done?"
It's true that all the men you knew were dealers Who said they were through with dealing Everytime you gave them shelter. I know that type of man, it's hard to hold the hand of anyone Who is reaching for the sky just to surrender. Who is reaching for the sky just to surrender. And then leaning on your window sill He'll say one day you caused his will To weaken with your love and warmth and shelter. And then taking from his pocket an old schedule of trains, he says "I told you when I came I was a stranger. I told you when I came I was a stranger." But now another stranger seems To want you to ignore his dreams As though they were the burden of some other. You've seen that man before, the golden arm dispatching cards But now it's rusted from the elbow to the finger. And he wants to trade the game he knows for shelter. Yes he wants to trade the game he knows for shelter. You hate to see another tired man lay down his hand Like he was giving up the holy game of poker. And while he talks his dreams to sleep You notice there's a highway and It's curling up like smoke above his shoulder. It's curling up like smoke above his shoulder. You tell him to come in , sit down, But something makes you turn around. The door is open, you can't close your shelter. You try the handle of the road, It opens, "Do not be afraid, It's you my love, you who are the stranger. It's you my love, you who are the stranger. "Well I've been waiting, I was sure We'd meet between the trains we're waiting for. I think it's time to board another. Please understand I never had a secret chart To get me to the heart of this or any other matter." When he talks like this, you don't know what he's after. When he speaks like this, you don't know what he's after. "Let's meet tomorrow if you choose Upon the shore, beneath a bridge that they are building On some endless river." Then he leaves the platform for the sleeping car that's warm. You finally realize he's only advertising one more shelter. And it comes to you he never was a stranger. And you say, "Okay, the bridge or someplace later." And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind You find he did not leave you very much, not even laughter. Like any dealer, he was watching for the card, that is so High and wild, he'll never need to deal another. He was just some Joseph looking for a manger. He was just some Joseph looking for a manger.
I believe I heard your Master sing When I was sick in bed. I believe you told him everything That I keep locked away in my head. Your Master took you travelling. Yes at least that's what you said. And now do you return to bring your prisoner Wine and bread? You met him at some temple Where they take your clothes at the door. He was just a numberless man in a chair Who had just come back from the war. And you wrap up his tired face in your hair And he hands you the apple core. Then he touches your lips, now so suddenly bare Of all the kisses We put on before. And he bought you a German Shepherd to walk With a collar of leather and nails. And he never once made you explain or talk About all of the little details. Such as who had a worm, and who had a rock, And who had you through the mails. Now your love is a secret all over the block and it never stops, Not even when your Master fails. And he took you up in his aeroplane, Which he flew without any hands. And you cruised above the ribbons of rain That drove the crowd from the stands. Then he killed the lights in a lonely lane And an ape with angel glands Removed the final wisps of pain To the music of rubber bands. I loved your Master perfectly And I taught him all that he knew. He was starving in some deep mystery, Like a man who is sure what is true. And I sent you to him with my guarantee You could teach him something new. And you taught him how you would long for me, No matter what he said, No matter what you do. And will you kneel beside this bed That we polished so long ago? Before your Master chose instead, To make my bed of snow? And your eyes are wild and your knuckles are red And you're speaking far too low. No I can't make out what your Master said Before he bid you go. I believe you're playing far too rough For a lady who's been to the moon. And I've laid by this window long enough. You get used to an empty room. And your love is the dust in an old man's cup, And he's tapping his foot to a tune. And your thighs are a ruin, you want too much, Let's say you came back sometime too soon. I believe I heard your Master sing When I was sick in bed. I believe you told him everything That I keep locked away in my head. Your Master took you travelling. Yes at least that's what you said. And now do you return to bring your prisoner Wine and bread? Wine and bread?
To each huh?..... I took thee advice of another and declined the show, with the joke on me, no others did I see, still my choice I know. "Zealous enough to anger at my attempts at trying, causing sounds that soothe, and satisfied sighing, you see me in my words and it distorts the meaning you find, a true understanding would be found minus me I know in time, see it for what it is, don't be afraid, muse over the meaning, and the sound that it made, acceptance of ink, and the path that it chooses, these just simple quilled thoughts of one that muses........." Devon Knight ~
