I Have Not Lingered In European Monosteries

I Have Not Lingered In European Monosteries
and discovered among the tall grasses tombs of knights
who fell as beautifully as their ballads tell;
I have not parted the grasses
or purposefully left them thatched.
I have not held my breath
so that I might hear the breathing of God
or tamed my heartbeat with an exercise,
or starved for visions.
Although I have watched him often
I have not become the heron,
leaving my body on the shore,
and I have not become the luminous trout,
leaving my body in the air.
I have not worshipped wounds and relics,
or combs of iron,
or bodies wrapped and burnt in scrolls.
I have not been unhappy for ten thousands years.
During the day I laugh and during the night I sleep.
My favourite cooks prepare my meals,
my body cleans and repairs itself,
and all my work goes well.

Leonard Cohen from "The Spice-Box of Earth"

THE PRO 1973

Lost my voice in New York City
never heard it again after sixty-seven
Now I talk like you
Now I sing like you
Cigarette and coffee to make me sick
Couple of families to make me think
Going to see my lawyer
Going to read my mail
Lost my voice in New York City
Guess you always knew

L.Cohen from "Death of a Lady's Man"

For Annie

For Annie

With Annie gone,
whose eyes to compare
with the morning sun?

Not that I did compare,
But I do compare
Now that she's gone.

Leonard Cohen

Now of sleeping

Now of Sleeping
Under her grandmother's patchwork quilt
a calico bird's-eye view
of crops and boundaries
naming dimly the districts of her body
sleeps my Annie like a perfect lady


Like ages of weightless snow
on tiny oceans filled with light
her eyelids enclose deeply
a shade tree of birthday candles
one for every morning
until the now of sleeping


The small banner of blood
kept and flown by Brother Wind
long after the pierced bird fell down
is like her red mouth
among the squalls of pillow


Bearers of evil fancy
of dark intention and corrupting fashion
who come to rend the quilt
plough the eye and ground the mouth
will contend with mighty Mother Goose
and Farmer Brown and all good stories
of invincible belief
which surround her sleep
like the golden wheather of a halo


Well-wishers and her true lover
may stay to watch my Annie
sleeping like a perfect lady
under her grandmother's patchwork quilt
but they must promise to whisper
and to vanish by morning -
all but her one true lover.

L.Cohen from The Spice Box of Earth

On the path

On the path of loneliness
I came to the place of song
and tarried there
for half my life
Now I leave my guitar
and my keyboards
my friends and s-x companions
and I stumble out again
on the path of loneliness
I am old but I have no regrets
not one
even though I am angry and alone
and filled with fear and desire
Bend down to me
from your mist and vines
O high one, long-fingered
and deep-seeing
Bend down to this sack of poison
and rotting teeth
and press your lips
to the light of my heart

Leonard Cohen from "Book of Longing"

Poem 50 ("I lost my way, I forgot ...")

I lost my way, I forgot to call on your name. The raw heart beat against the world, and the tears were for my lost victory. But you are here. You have always been here. The world is all forgetting, and the heart is a rage of directions, but your name unifies the heart, and the world is lifted into its place. Blessed is the one who waits in the traveller's heart for his turning.

Leonard Cohen from "Book of Mercy"

Song ("I almost went to bed ...")

I almost went to bed
without remembering
the four white violets
I put in the button-hole
of your green sweater


and how i kissed you then
and you kissed me
shy as though I'd
never been your lover

L.Cohen from "The Spice-Box of Earth"

Poem 1 ("I stopped to listen, but he did not come ...")

I stopped to listen, but he did not come. I begain again with a sense of loss. As this sense deepened I heard him again. I stopped stopping and I stopped starting, and I allowed myself to be crushed by ignorance. This was a strategy, and didn't work at all. Much time, years were wasted in such a minor mode. I bargain now. I offer buttons for his love. I beg for mercy. Slowly he yields. Haltingly he moves toward his throne. Reluctantly the angels grant to one another permission to sing. In a transition so delicate it cannot be marked, the court is established on beams of golden symmetry, and once again I am a singer in the lower choirs, born fifty years ago to raise my voice this high, and no higher.

L.Cohen from "Book of Mercy"

Poem 111

Each man
has a way to betray
the revolution
This is mine

L.Cohen from "The Energy of Slaves"

My lady can sleep from

My lady can sleep
Upon a handkerchief
Or if it be Fall
Upon a fallen leaf.

I have seen the hunters
kneel before her hem
Even in her sleep
She turns away from them.

The only gift they offer
Is their abiding grief
I pull out my pockets
For a handkerchief or leaf.

L.Cohen "The Spice-Box of Earth"

I heard of a man ...

I heard of a man
who says words so beautifully
that if he only speaks their name
women give themselves to him.

If I am dumb beside your body
while silence blossoms like tumors on our lips.
it is because I hear a man climb stairs and clear his throat outside the door.

L.Cohen from "Let Us Compare Mythologies"

I Wonder How Many People in This City

I wonder how many people in this city
live in furnished rooms.
Late at night when i look out at the buildings
I swear I see a face in every window
looking back at me
and when I turn away
I wonder how many go back to their desks
and write this down.

L.Cohen from "The Spice-Box of Earth"

THE PRO

I leave my silence to a co-operative of poetswho have already bruised their mouths against it.
I leave my homesick charm to the scavengers ofspare change who work the old artistic corners.
I leave the shadow of my manly groin to those whowrite for pay.
I leave to several jealous men a second-rate legendof my life.
To those few high school girlswho preferred my work to Dylan'sI leave my stone earand my disposable Franciscan ambitions

L.Cohen from the Nashville Notebooks of 1969

Waiting for Marianne

I have lost a telephone

with your smell in it

I am living beside the radio

all the stations at once

but I pick out a Polish lullaby

I pick it out of the static

it fades I wait I keep the beat

it comes back almost alseep

Did you take the telephone

knowing I'd sniff it immoderately

maybe heat up the plastic

to get all the crumbs of your breath

and if you won't come back

how will you phone to say

you won't come back

so that I could at least argue

L.Cohen from "Flowers for Hitler"

Millennium

This could be my little

book about love

if I wrote it--

but my good demon said:

'Lay off documents!

'Everybody was watching me

burn my books--

I swung my liberty torch

happy as a gestapo brute;

the only thing I wanted to save

was a scar

a burn or two--

but my good demon said:

'Lay off documents!

The fire's not important!

'The pile was safely blazing.

I went home to take a bath.

I phoned my grandmother.

She is suffering from arthritis.

'Keep well,' I said, 'don't mind the pain.

''You neither,' she said.

Hours later I wondered

did she mean

don't mind my pain

or don't mind her pain?

Whereupon my good demon said:

'Is that all you can do?'

Well was it?

Was it all I could do?

There was the old lady

eating alone, thinking about

Prince Albert, Flanders Field,Kishenev,

her fingers too sore for TV knobs;

but how could I get there ?

The books were gone my address lists--

My good demon said again:

'Lay off documents!

You know how to get there!

' And suddenly I did!

I remembered it from memory!

I found her pouring over the royal family tree,

'Grandma,' I almost said, 'you've got it upside down--

''Take a look,' she said,

'it only goes to George V.'

'That's far enough you sweet old blood!'

'You're right!'

she sang and burned the London Illustrated Souvenir

I did not understand the day

it was till I looked outside

and saw a fire in every window

on the street and crowds of humans

crazy to talk and cats and dogs

and birds smiling at each other!

L.Cohen from Flowers for Hitler

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


L.Cohen from Book of Longing