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reflections (2)

Leonard Cohen - Flame

Article - Romance, regrets and notebooks in the freezer: Leonard Cohen’s son on his father’s final poems

 

Enjoyable article , I remember how the kids grand father would talk the time he met Leonard Cohen in Montreal. Memories, he lived his music and it got  his spirit moving. I rather like many of Cohen’s songs, not realizing the poetic side of him. Reflecting know, it makes perfect sense. Maybe I should revisit my own poem book. 

Was he, in the end, a musician or a poet? A grave philosopher or a grim sort of comedian? A cosmopolitan lady’s man or a profound, ascetic seeker? Jew or Buddhist? Hedonist or hermit? Across his 82 years, the Montreal-born Leonard Cohen was all of these things – and in his posthumous book of poetry, given the Lawrentian title The Flame by his son Adam, all sides of the man are present.”

 

Will have to get this book for the library and glean some inspiration from it. Maybe I get two and send a copy to Maurice for his enjoyment. 

Timothy Ross

#ImprovingFutures

“He’d call himself slow. He’d write poems about how Leonard Cohen was a lazy bastard living in a suit”

Adam Cohen

Happens to the Heart

I was always working steady
But I never called it art
I was funding my depression
Meeting Jesus reading Marx
Sure it failed my little fire
But it’s bright the dying spark
Go tell the young messiah
What happens to the heart

There’s a mist of summer kisses
Where I tried to double-park
The rivalry was vicious
And the women were in charge
It was nothing, it was business
But it left an ugly mark
So I’ve come here to revisit
What happens to the heart

I was selling holy trinkets
I was dressing kind of sharp
Had a pussy in the kitchen
And a panther in the yard
In the prison of the gifted
I was friendly with the guard
So I never had to witness
What happens to the heart

I should have seen it coming
You could say I wrote the chart
Just to look at her was trouble
It was trouble from the start
Sure we played a stunning couple
But I never liked the part
It ain’t pretty, it ain’t subtle
What happens to the heart

Now the angel’s got a fiddle
And the devil’s got a harp
Every soul is like a minnow
Every mind is like a shark
I’ve opened every window
But the house, the house is dark
Just say Uncle, then it’s simple
What happens to the heart

I was always working steady
But I never called it art
The slaves were there already
The singers chained and charred
Now the arc of justice bending
And the injured soon to march
I lost my job defending
What happens to the heart

I studied with this beggar
He was filthy he was scarred
By the claws of many women
He had failed to disregard
No fable here no lesson
No singing meadowlark
Just a filthy beggar blessing
What happens to the heart

I was always working steady
But I never called it art
I could lift, but nothing heavy
Almost lost my union card
I was handy with a rifle
My father’s .303
We fought for something final
Not the right to disagree

Sure it failed my little fire
But it’s bright the dying spark
Go tell the young messiah
What happens to the heart

June 24, 2016

Flying Over Iceland

over Reykjavik, the “smokey bay” 
where W.H. Auden went
to discover the background
of all our songs,
where I myself was received
by the Mayor and the President
(600 miles an hour
30,000 feet
599 miles an hour
my old street number on Belmont Ave) 
where I, a second-rater
by any estimation,
was honoured by the noblest
and handsomest people of the West 
served with lobster
and strong drink,
and I never cared about eyes
but the eyes of the waitress
were so alarmingly mauve
that I fell into a trance
and ate the forbidden shellfish

I Pray for Courage

I pray for courage
Now I’m old
To greet the sickness
And the cold

I pray for courage
In the night
To bear the burden
Make it light

I pray for courage
In the time
When suffering comes and
Starts to climb

I pray for courage
At the end
To see death coming
As a friend

The Flame is published by Canongate on 2 October.

Hallelujah- Leonard Cohen London

 

Order Book

https://www.amazon.ca/Flame-Leonard-Cohen/dp/077102441X

 

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Another Seasons Promise

https://www.playwrightsguild.ca/play/another-seasons-promise

I was reading a story  in the Ontario Farmer this evening about Keith Roulson and his career and life events. I came across this part that spoke about the farm crisis in 1980 with the high interest rates and the impact that had on so many farmers and how they lost their farms because of this.  Interest rates peaked at 23% and it was crippling , it was a painful, too painful at times.  This kinda hit home as I was one of those farm kids that was effected by this. I don't know the full effect it actually had on my mental being, since I am reminded about it, I plan to reflect on this and let it touch me once again and grow and deal with any ill effects it had. In the mean time, I'm going to find out some more about this play and seek  some peace in my heart regarding that time of my life and my parents life and my siblings lives. As the paper said, peole cae to watch the play as " they needed to unload this" .

Some other words of wisdom gleaned from the article.

Keith learned that people were more likely to support something that was community owned than an enterprise owned by n individual. He raised money for a new paper by selling shares to community members, many of his sales where considered simple donations for their community than an investment. 

He understood what was good about rural life and he did what he could to protect it. 

He was driven to maintain small papers and a rural voice in the face of a hostile world. ( remind me of the small Amish newsletter my dad subscribes to ) 

After 50 years he has stepped away from managing the magazine "The Rural Voice"  , thinking I should check that one out, I do not currently get it. 

City life did not appal to him, he missed being surrounded by nature. 

A strong interest in farming and admiration for what farmers do.

www.northhuron.on.ca/rural-voice

www.northhuron.on.ca/subscriptions

https://books.google.ca/books?id=wIRI2PDEEyQC&pg=PA7&lpg=PA7&dq=another+seasons+promise&source=bl&ots=vjHgOPfSoF&sig=qy-I2IZLn1FYiitRKqiYwjsGMfE&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjM4-brqKbYAhUE2oMKHWwQBhkQ6AEITTAH#v=onepage&q=another%20seasons%20promise&f=false

The Field Behind The Plow 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUM8mXJre1c&index=31&list=PLhhVyaUmOQuq-3ZjWsulDtaPt02fRFC0B

Stan Rogers – Field Behind The Plow Lyrics

Watch the field behind the plow turn to straight, dark rows
Feel the trickle in your clothes, blow the dust cake from your nose
Hear the tractor's steady roar, Oh you can't stop now
There's a quarter section more or less to go

And it figures that the rain keeps it's own sweet time
You can watch it come for miles, but you guess you've got a while
So ease the throttle out a hair, every rod's a gain
And there's victory in every quarter mile

Poor old Kuzyk down the road
The heartache, hail and hoppers brought him down
He gave it up and went to town

And Emmett Pierce the other day
Took a heart attack and died at forty two
You could see it coming on 'cause he worked as hard as you

In an hour, maybe more, you'll be wet clear through
The air is cooler now, pull you hat brim further down
And watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows
Put another season's promise in the ground

And if the harvest's any good
The money just might cover all the loans
You've mortgaged all you own

Buy the kids a winter coat
Take the wife back east for Christmas if you can
All summer she hangs on when you're so tied to the land

For the good times come and go, but at least there's rain
So this won't be barren ground when September rolls around
So watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows
Put another season's promise in the ground

Watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows
Put another season's promise in the ground

 

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