Showing posts with label Leonard Cohen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Leonard Cohen. Show all posts

Monday, August 22, 2011

Dance Me Through The Panic Till I'm Gathered Safely In



The collection is here!
 If you get a chance stop by The Fine Art of Design and visit Stacked Bookshop, located inside the shop if you wish for your copy. There is only five, yikes!

 The Un-Included Introduction, If You Will


There always is this yearning, almost dirty desire to be read and to be enjoyed. A sort of exploited desperation that exists within a writer when commissioned to create a collection. It seems almost necessary to title it i seem to have gone blind as well as cover it with headless naked women. Each poem dedicates itself to the idea that "the image of undistorted nature arises only in distortion, as its opposite." Nothing here can be claimed as fact, but nothing can be claimed as fiction.


I was told that this experience is something I will look back on and feel relief. And it really is a beautiful thing, in the way that beauty can be sick and intrusive. As for the recent pieces of poetry, a million thanks, dear Ireland. Finishing this collection brings me the release, the only path of escape. In the process during which I wrote the recent poems, I felt I did not create enough. But now I can remove myself and peer at what I did create, and although it is not much, I created something internally worthy for myself. For what has been created is exactly how I want to remember it.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Skin Debris as Microscopic Human Trace



The Suit


I am locked in a very expensive suit
old elegant and enduring
Only my hair has been able to get free
but someone has been leaving
their dandruff in it
Now I will tell you
all there is to know about optimism
Each day in hubcap mirror
in soup reflection
in other people's spectacles
I check my hair
for an army of Alpinists
for Indian rope trick masters
for tangled aviators
for dove and albatross
for insect suicides
for abominable snowmen
I check my hair
for aerialists of every kind
Dedicated as an automatic elevator
I comb my hair possibilities
I stick my neck out
I lean illegally from locomotive windows
and only for the barber
do I wear a hat



Leonard Cohen Selected Poems 1956-1968

Saturday, January 22, 2011

New Things


Poem


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 our door.

-Leonard Cohen



DIY: Business Cards! Self Promoting, Self Exploiting!

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Letters to the Devil




The Curiosities of Letters
Whoosh, shut, thud
destiny floor bound
alone it lays
abandoned in the hall
one hurrying along 
stomps over it
leaving a brownish
foot print
on its white flesh
for hours it remains
untouched, unopened
accompanying it
a newspaper, smothers
one entering
picks up the loose pages
tosses it in a bin



it goes unread
as if it never existed
as if the intent was blatantly
covered by never being 
revealed
and what is known
is that it is never known
no matter how you put it
no matter how you put it
the words are silent.






Thursday, October 21, 2010

Jouissance is Suffering



Poem

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 our door.

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

The Nightmares Do Not Suddenly

The nightmares do not suddenly
develop happy endings
I merely step out of them
as a five year old scientist
leaves the room
where he has dissected an alarm clock

Love wears out
like overused mirrors unsilvering
and parts of your faces
make room for the wall behind
If terror needs my round green eyes
for a masterpiece
let it lure them with nude keyholes
mounted on an egg

And should Love decide
I am not the one
to stand scratching his head
wondering what wall to lean on
send King Farouk to argue
or come to me dressed as a fast


Leonard Cohen Selected Poems 1956-1968


Saturday, October 2, 2010

We Call Him Our Saviour















Well I guess it is meant to be, I entered a second hand bookshop and the Book of Longing was propped up nicely on the poetry shelf. 

The Book of Longing

I can't make the hills
the system is shot
I'm living on pills
for which I thank God

I followed the course
from chaos to art
desire the horse
depression the cart

I sailed like a swan
I sank like a rock
but time is long gone
past my laughing stock

My page is too white
my ink is too thin
the day wouldn't write
what the night pencilled in

My animal howl
My angel's upset
But I'm not allowed
a trace of regret

For someone will use
what I couldn't be
my heart will be hers
impersonally

She'll step on the path
She'll see what I mean
my will cut in half
and freedom between

For less than a second
our lives will collide
the endless suspended
the door open wide

Then she will be born
to someone like you
what no one has done
she'll continue to do

I know she is coming
I know she will look
and that is the longing
and this is the book

Sweet Time
How sweet time feels
when it's too late

and you don't have to follow
her swinging hips

all the way into
your dying imagination

Fun

It is so much fun
to believe in God
you must try it sometime
try it now
and find out whether
or not
God wants you
to believe in Him

"I believe you are standing in the place where I am suppose to be standing"

The Sweetest Little Song

You go your way
I'll go your way too