A chama: Poemas, letras, desenhos, notas

by Leonard Cohen, Caetano W. Galindo (Translator)

Último livro de Leonard Cohen, A chama confirma sua extraordinária vocação literária. Para Adam Cohen, filho do poeta e compositor, "escrever era o seu único consolo, o seu propósito mais verdadeiro". Edição bilíngue.

Seguindo as instruções deixadas por Leonard Cohen, falecido em 2016, este volume é dividido em três partes. A primeira reúne 63 poemas escritos ao longo de décadas, extraídos de um precioso baú de inéditos. A segunda abarca os poemas que viriam a se tornar letras de música, gravadas nos seus últimos quatro discos. Já a seção final recupera fragmentos dos cadernos do poeta e compositor — um material burilado a partir de três mil páginas, trabalhadas por cerca de sessenta anos.

A chama inclui ainda dezenas de autorretratos e outros desenhos, além do discurso que o compositor proferiu ao receber o prêmio Príncipe das Astúrias, na Espanha, em 2011. "Fui tão longe atrás da beleza, deixei tanto para trás", escreve Leonard Cohen em uma de suas músicas. Aqui estão os bastidores de um artista singular, cuja obra — capaz de descrever o arrebatamento, o desejo, a melancolia, a morte e a solidão — conquistou gerações de admiradores.

Genres: Poetry, Music, Nonfiction, Art, Canada, Audiobook, Philosophy

730 pages, Kindle Edition

First published October 2, 2018

About the author

Leonard Norman Cohen was a Canadian singer-songwriter, poet and novelist. Cohen published his first book of poetry in Montreal in 1956 and his first novel in 1963.

Cohen's earliest songs (many of which appeared on the 1968 album Songs of Leonard Cohen) were rooted in European folk music melodies and instrumentation, sung in a high baritone. The 1970s were a musically restless period in which his influences broadened to encompass pop, cabaret, and world music. Since the 1980s he has typically sung in lower registers (bass baritone, sometimes bass), with accompaniment from electronic synthesizers and female backing singers.

His work often explores the themes of religion, isolation, sexuality, and complex interpersonal relationships.

Cohen's songs and poetry have influenced many other singer-songwriters, and more than a thousand renditions of his work have been recorded. He has been inducted into the Canadian Music Hall of Fame and the Canadian Songwriters Hall of Fame and is also a Companion of the Order of Canada, the nation's highest civilian honour. Cohen was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on March 10, 2008 for his status among the "highest and most influential echelon of songwriters".

Reviews

[karen · Rating 5 out of 5]

HAPPY POETRY MONTH!

april is national poetry month,
so here come thirty floats!
the cynics here will call this plan
a shameless grab for votes.
and maybe there’s some truth to that—
i do love validation,
but charitably consider it
a rhyme-y celebration.
i don’t intend to flood your feed—
i’ll just post one a day.
endure four weeks of reruns
and then it will be may!

********************************************

fulfilling book riot's 2018 read harder challenge task #1: A book published posthumously

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

i mean, it’s leonard cohen, and it’s the last leonard cohen book we’re ever going to get, so even though i didn’t breathlessly love every single poem, lyric, scrawled note-to-self he may have been planning to polish at a later date, it gets five stars for legacy.

this book covers a great chunk of time, and some of the early writing here does in fact become something else later in his career; there’s even evidence of that occurring within this collection - echoes, phrases repurposed, the underghosts of familiar songs peeking out elsewhere.

if there had to be a farewell at all, this is a fitting one - the whole range of his writing is on display; all of his wit and erotic spirituality, his self-deprecation and his gratitude, his respect and his delight in the fluidity of language.

the book is almost like being at a memorial ceremony - there are humorous moments to stave off getting too gloomy or somber:

I sincerely hope
you have not
come to believe,
that simply because
you ran off & got
married behind
my back, you
are somehow
entitled to keep

my tape measure

***

GRATEFUL

The huge mauve jacaranda tree
down the street on South Tremaine
in full bloom
two stories high
It made me so happy
And then
the first cherries of the season
at the Palisades Farmers Market
Sunday morning
“What a blessing!”
I exclaimed to Anjani
And then the samples on waxed paper
of the banana cream cake
and the coconut cream cake
I am not a lover of pastry
but I recognized the genius of the baker
and touched my hat to her
A slight chill in the air
seemed to polish the sunlight
and confer the status of beauty
to every object I beheld
Faces bosoms fruits pickles green eggs
newborn babies
in clever expensive harnesses
I am so grateful
to my new anti-depressant

***
and also the gentle regret and wistfulness of remembrances:

We will be forgiven
the crummy things
we did to one another
because we
didn’t enjoy them

We’ll be leaving now
we’ll be leaving
for a good long time
and we want to say goodnight
we want to say goodnight
we want to say farewell

We had a little love
we had it for a while
It wasn’t quite enough
but thank you anyhow

Thank you for your kindness
in the field
and thank you for your kindness
in the room

The horses ran away
but we were not to blame
and when they
turned so beautiful
in their silver flight
it wasn’t our idea
at least it wasn’t mine

I want to be with other people
now I’m growing old
I want to be another drunk
who’s given up the bottle
I want to watch the lonely men
who still go out with women
I want to see the bridal gown
cover up the sequins
This is my very night of nights
the past was a rehearsal

***

You must have heard it in my voice
the sound that I no longer love you
I would never disguise that sound
I would never do that to you
O shining one
you have moved beyond my love
you have turned your face to others
I was not strong enough for this test
I turned away
I wear an iron collar
and I give my chain to anyone
but I never pretend that they are you
O shining one
who held my spirit like a match
in your cupped hands
while I thought I was warming you
O shining one
who teaches with her absence

***

it’s a beautiful collection, and so much better than the janked-up scansion and garbage word-salad passing itself off as poetry these days. oops, who said that?

also, i am choosing to believe, since there is precedence, that leonard cohen wrote this one about me. i refuse to be dissuaded from this belief, so don’t send me any documentation about some “other” karen with whom leonard cohen had a more deep and abiding relationship than the one we had, or even that there is another karen in the world out there, if there is. i’m not hearing it LALALALALAAAAAAAA:

Karen’s beauty is very great
it lies on her heart like a paperweight
She haunts the edges of her beauty
like a ghost on sentry duty
If beauty is the motherland
she lives on the furthest strand
Her back toward the capitol
that the pilgrims call so beautiful
She hears them make a joyous sound
but she cannot turn around
The lover’s song and the victim’s rack
they soar and creak behind her back
Through her beauty many pass
like penitents on broken glass
But once inside there is no cure
for hearts so wounded at the door

Trying to find a place to kneel
between the poets of pain
Trying to find a world to feel
that feels like the world again
My darling says her love is real
then why does she complain

***
there’s not much more to say - if you like leonard cohen, you will like this book. if you don’t like leonard cohen, i’m sorry you are such a broken person.



************************************

oooh, goodreads choice awards semifinalist for best poetry 2018! what will happen?

if lang leav wins over leonard cohen, i will burn down the world.

***********************************

a story that is one-half true

me when i did not win the goodreads giveaway for this book:



me when connor surprised me by having it shipped to my house the very same day:



one million ♥s

come to my blog!

[☘Misericordia☘ ⚡ϟ⚡⛈⚡☁ ❇️❤❣ · Rating 5 out of 5]

A true talent never dies.
Farewell 'My Secret Life', 'The Partisan', 'Nevermind'...
So many wonderful people are no longer with us... LC was one of the mavericks. RIP!

Christmas has come early this year for me. A postmortem edition of one of the most revered contemporary magicians of the word!

Choosing between reading and not reading this one is no choice at all! A must read and a must reread god knows how many times.

Q:
On rare occasions
The power was given me
To send waves of emotion
through the world. (c)
Q:
Let's say that on that lucky night
I found my house in order
and I could slip away unseen
tho' burning with desire

Escaping down a secret stair
I cross into the forest
the night is dark but I am safe -
my house at last in order

But luck or not, I do it right
and no one sees me leaving
hidden, blind and secret night -
my heart the only beacon

But O the beacon lights my way
more surely than the sun,
And She is waiting for me here -
of all and all the only One ... (c)

Q:
And now that I kneel
At the edge of my years
Let me fall through the mirror of love

And the things that I know
Let them drift like the snow
Let me dwell in the light that's above

In the radiant light
Where there's day and there's night
And truth is the widest embrace

That includes what is lost
Includes what is found
What you write and what you erase... (c)

Q:
I was always working steady
But I never called it art
I was funding my depression
Meeting Jesus reading Marx ...

It was nothing, it was business
But it left an ugly mark
So I've come here to revisit
What happens to the heart (c)

Q:
My guitar stood up today
and leaped into my arms to play
a Spanish tune for dancers proud
to stamp their feet and cry aloud
against the fate that bends us down
beneath the thorny bloody crown
of sickness, age, and paranoid
delusions I, for one, cannot avoid (c)

[Gerhard · Rating 5 out of 5]

I don’t want to greet
the morning light
with a night like this
in my heart soul
Have mercy on those shadows
that fall in love with shadows

The Observer wasn’t kidding when it called Leonard Cohen ‘the last word in love and despair’. This final collection from Cohen has an introduction written by his son Adam, who mentions that “In the last months of his life, despite severe physical limitations, Leonard Cohen made selections for what would be his final volume of poems.”

There are three sections: The first has 63 poems, ranging from the sublime to the ‘meh’ to the so-odd-it-has-to-be-genius; the second features the poems that became lyrics from his remarkable last four albums; and the third is an eclectic selection of writings and doodlings from Cohen’s notebooks.

In short, a great overview of his oeuvre, despite some odd repetitions. The least interesting section, for me, were the album poems, as any fan is quite familiar with the songs themselves. The strongest section is definitely the notebook entries, as it presents Cohen in a raw and unedited light that is tender and revealing.

[Shameless.bookslut · Rating 3 out of 5]

I like the way he always talk about sad love like he is standing between regreting how he loved and glad how he never loved before.

someone I always share quotes and poetries with, him after reading these said, "𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮".

[Dave Schaafsma · Rating 4 out of 5]

“. . . evidence of a burning soul. . .” Adam Cohen, about The Flame, the last writings of his father, Leonard Cohen

I have had Leonard Cohen’s last (? Maybe they will dig up more?) collection of poetry/lyrics/notebook thoughts by my bedside for many weeks now. It’s a beautiful book produced by Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, including sketches Cohen made of himself and many women he has known. Most of the poems are about love, written late, evidence of a great life (and love life) ended without regret. But he knows he’s in decline, and notes that, too.

The best Goodreads review is of course by Karen; check it out.

Of course, at the end, these pieces are not his very best writing, but if you love Cohen, you want to know his last will and testament, and I have enjoyed it. And included are the lyrics from his last albums, too. Though interiority has always been central for Cohen, he’s mostly talking to himself in this book, with an awareness that we are reading over his shoulder, or after he is gone. Occasionally I pick up the book and read a poem or two. As with Dylan, he’s less good on the page without his music. But his themes of love and death, sex and laughter and despair, they’re all here, and I am glad I have it. I’ll keep it close to me, to keep reading as I listen and learn.

There’s some humor:

I sincerely hope
you have not
come to believe,
that simply because
you ran off & got
married behind
my back, you
are somehow
entitled to keep

my tape measure

And some insight:

And now that I kneel
At the edge of my years
Let me fall through the mirror of love

And the things that I know
Let them drift like the snow
Let me dwell in the light that's above

In the radiant light
Where there's day and there's night
And truth is the widest embrace

That includes what is lost
Includes what is found
What you write and what you erase.

Here's a complete one:

Antique Song

Too old, too old to play the part,
Too old, God only knows!
I’ll keep the little silver heart,
The red and folded rose.
And in the arms of someone strong
You’ll have what we had none.
I’ll finish up my winter song
For you. It’s almost done.
But oh! the kisses that we kissed,
That swept me to the shore
Of seas where hardly I exist,
Except to kiss you more.
I have the little silver heart,
The red and folded rose.
The one you gave me at the start.
The other at the close.
He waited for you all night long.
Go run to him, go run.
I’ll finish up my winter song,
For you. It’s almost done.

A couple of his lovelier songs, though you would do well to listen to several of them:

Bird on a Wire:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8fT7...

Joan of Arc:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPf5K...

[Julie · Rating 5 out of 5]

You came to me
You wear your widow clothes
I ask who are you mourning for
you say, The man you were before
The man you were before
I loved you

I remember him

Didn't he live
on an island in
the Mediterranean sea
with a mandate from God
to enter the dark

~~~~~
"... we're busted in the blinding lights of Closing Time."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7-0lV...

[Maria Bikaki · Rating 4 out of 5]

Σκοτάδι
Έφτασα στο σκοτάδι
Πίνοντας απ’ την κούπα σου
Έφτασα στο σκοτάδι
Πίνοντας απ’ την κούπα σου
Είπα: Είναι μεταδοτικό;
Είπες: Πιες το, μόνο αυτό
Δεν έχω μέλλον
Ξέρω οι μέρες μου είναι λιγοστές
Το παρόν δεν είναι ευχάριστο πια
Απλώς έχω να κάνω κάποια πράγματα
Πίστεψα ότι θα μου έφτανε το παρελθόν
Αλλα και αυτό το έχει αρπάξει η σκοτεινιά.
Θα πρεπε να το χω δει
Ήταν πίσω από τα μάτια σου, εκεί
Ήσουν νέα κι ήταν καλοκαίρι
Άλλο δεν είχα απ’ το να κάνω μια βουτιά.
Για να σε κάνω δική μου, να σε πάρω απ’ το χέρι
Ήταν εύκολο αλλά το τίμημα ήταν η σκοτεινιά
Τισγάρα δεν καπνίζω τώρα
Πέρασε και του αλκοόλ η ώρα
Δεν χόρτασα τον έρωτα ακόμα
Αλλά πάντα δικό σου είναι το κάλεσμα
Και δεν το χάνω ποτέ, μωρό μου
Δεν έχω διάθεση για τίποτε άλλο
Το ουράνιο τόξο μ’ άρεσε πολύ
Μ’ άρεσε να βλέπω την πρωινή αχλή
Θα καμωνόμουν ότι ήταν πάλι αρχή
Αλλά έφτασα στο σκοτάδι
Κι έφτασα από σένα πιο νωρίς εκεί
Έφτασα στο σκοτάδι
Πίνοντας απ’ την κούπα σου
Έφτασα στο σκοτάδι
Πίνοντας απ’ την κούπα σου
Είπα: Είναι μεταδοτικό;
Είπες: Πιες το, μόνο αυτό.
Μελωδικός, ρομαντικός, χιουμοριστικός, αισθαντικός Λεοναρντ Κοεν. Υποδειγματική μετάφραση από τον άξιο Γιώργο-Ίκαρο Μπαμπασάκη

[Alex O'Brien · Rating 4 out of 5]

As a big Leonard Cohen fan, I loved this collection of poems, lyrics, notes, and drawings. When you love an artist and their work this much, it can be hard to be objective-you end up treasuring every little glimpse into the author's life and work, especially after they have passed.

The Flame is a generous collection filled with many poems, the lyrics to his last four albums, and extensive notes from his journals including many revealing passages from throughout his long career. His poem about Kanye West, 'Kanye West is Not Picasso,' was very entertaining. Like one writer at Slate.com, I think the poem is a tribute, not a diss; it is Leonard having fun with the nature of egos in rap and poetry, both his own and Kanye's.

It was wonderful to hear Leonard's voice again, and a pleasure to revisit the lyrics to his later period masterpieces: 'Old Ideas,' 'Popular Problems,' and 'You Want it Darker.' This book was a lot of fun.

[Barb H · Rating 4 out of 5]

A few days ago, I heard an interview on NPR with Adam Cohen, Leonard Cohen's son. It was a tender, loving picture of his father, filled with admiration. Although I am not usually attracted to poetry, Cohen's music and poetry have always held an appeal for me. I look forward to reading this book.

[Janet · Rating 5 out of 5]

The memorable last collection of poetry from Leonard Cohen, who began life as a poet and continued to his last breath. The book is divided into enigmatic sections only he would understand: 'Poems' including subsections titled 'Old Ideas', 'Popular Problems', 'You Want it Darker'--the names of his final three albums-- and 'Leonard and Peter,' a poet's exchange of a verse argument in texts; 'Lyrics' and 'Selections from the Notebooks'... which are also poems. Dozens of self-portraits and drawings of women accompany it all.

In the forward to this big, varied collection, his son Adam said that the writing of these poems and the collecting of the book occupied the last years of Cohen's life. In the end, "Writing was his reason for being," As for the title, he said. "There are many themes and words that repeat throughout my father's work: frozen, broken, naked, fire and flame."

Of course, flame. Flame is desire, the spirit within the matter, that's what Cohen is all about--the human moment, inspiration, yearning, also the flame that goes out...

I fell in love with L.Cohen listening to his first album, that dark poetry, and on the album cover a woman in chains in the flames, reaching heavenwards... that fire, burning within it, reaching up to God, a woman of course--Cohen is nothing if not one of the great romantics... the anima in the flames. That intensity and beauty, fire, darkness and light, man's brokenness and desire, the presence of God which he spelled G-d in the sanctity of the name, his gratitude for the love of women, the Sisters of Mercy, admittedly often undeserved. The sense of being undeserving of the richness of the world. His bitterness and darkness is here too, as it's a portrait of a man racked and torn between the two poles of being--love's rapture and loss, a world both beautiful and fiendish, both of which are God. It's all here. All of it.

The poems are not uniformly fine, and none, I think, is great all the way through like the verse of Sexton or Plath or Eliot, but there are stanzas and lines that grip you that hard, as hard as any L. Cohen song. What a treasurehouse! The poems tend to short, rhythmic lines and often with echoes of rhyme., of love and despair, honest, self-aware, loss and departures, the brutal sweetness of existence. Here's just a small example, from the middle of a long poem called Never Mind:

"...The High Indifference
Some call Fate
But we had Names
More intimate

Names so deep
and Names so true
They're blood to me
They're dust to you

There is no need
That this survive
There's truth that lives
There's truth that dies.

Never mind
Never mind
I live the life
I left behind..."

I hear his voice in every poem, often there's the rhythmic echo of "Take this Waltz' 'this waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz...' it's stuck in my head. "Thanks for the Dance"--one of Cohen's wonderful late songs--could well be another title for the book--rueful, grateful, an edge of loss...

At the end, the editors have appended Cohen's speech when he received the Prince of Asturias prize from Spain, where he talks about Lorca having been his muse:

"As I grew older, I understood that instructions came with this voice... the instructions were never to lament casually. And if one is to express the great inevitable defeat [wow!] that awaits us all, it must be done with in the strict confines of beauty and dignity."

What a fabulous gift (Valentine's?) for the romantic and the lover of the music of L.Cohen--Venn diagrams which intersect almost perfectly.

[Kent Winward · Rating 5 out of 5]

Poems, lyrics, emails, drawings, and notebook entries from the incomparable Leonard Cohen. I read the book and was hit by the joint feeling of meeting with an old friend and a strong sense of loss -- or maybe it felt more like this:

I caught the darkness, it was drinking from your cup
I caught the darkness, drinking from your cup
I said is this contagious?
You said just drink it up.

[Nancy · Rating 4 out of 5]

In the last days of his life, Leonard Cohen prepared his last book, gathering drawings, unpublished material, and the lyrics from his last albums. He was a man who knew he was in his last days and an artist who needed to send out one last envoy to the world. That book has been published as The Flame.

The image on the cover is the burning bush, a green tree surrounded by fire and yet is not burned by the flames. Cohen's "flame burned bright within him to the very end," said Robert Kory, manager and trustee of the Cohen estate, “this book, finished only days before his death, reveals the intensity of his inner fire to all.”

One of the first record albums I bought as an early teen was The Songs of Leonard Cohen. I later bought the songbook. I grew up listening to those songs, singing those songs, strumming chords on my guitar. When an ARC of Cohen's final book The Flame arrived I downloaded the digital album and revisited those songs while opening the book to read.

As I worked my way through the book I researched Cohen's life and work online. I discovered the poets who he admired and influenced him, including Frederico Garcia Lorca; Cohen even named his daughter Lorca.

The drawings are primarily self-portraits, his face deeply creased and intense, and of women, spiritual imagery, and a few still lifes. Facsimiles of his manuscripts are also included.

The selections are confessional, addressing his personal struggles with depression, relationships, and spiritual meaning. Rhythm is more important than rhyme. The imagery is very personal, arcane, but also with references to Biblical stories and Jewish history.

The message I gather is this: When love fails to save us and faith fails to bring grace, and the world has become merciless, music and poetry become acts of resistance rebellion. The creative urge engenders the flame that can not be quenched or dimmed by the world.

I received an ARC from the publisher through a Goodreads giveaway.

[Kasa Cotugno · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book of poems and sketches was the last thing Leonard Cohen was working on prior to his death in 2016. His prolific output continued throughout his life, and he was forever sketching and jotting ideas down. It is really uncertain whether or not he had a book in mind -- some of the poems are dated much earlier, but they carry his trademark rhythms and I enjoyed envisioning him reading them with his world weary but warm and distinctive style. Several even made me laugh out loud (particularly when he takes a swipe at the vainglorious Kanye West), but several others brought tears ("I loved your face, I loved your hair/Your T-shirts and your eveningwear." "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." and my favorite of all: SICILY CAFE, written in 2007, in which he encompasses his themes of regret and the elusiveness of memory.) Most of the sketches are of his most dependable model, himself. I met a woman once who had written a biography of him and had been granted access over a period of years. She said he continued creating even while they were just chatting, and that he loved to cook for people. Loved food, its preparation, presentation, and sharing. Several poems address this topic. Thanks to his sons who compiled these materials and allowed us to enjoy his company once again.

[Veronika Sebechlebská · Rating 4 out of 5]

I caught the darkness
Drinking from your cup
I said: Is this contagious?
You said: Just drink it up

[Miroslav Maričić · Rating 5 out of 5]

„Ова књига садржи закључне радове мог оца као песника. Волео бих да их је он видео овако сабране- не само зато што би из његових руку изашла боља, остваренија, издашнија и лепше уобличена књига, нити зато што би тада још више наликовала њему и облику који је имао на уму за овакву понуду својим читаоцима, него зато што га је управо све поменуто држало у животу, као сам разлог да дише до краја. (...) Умро је 7. Новембра 2016. године. Сад се осећа више таме, али пламен није убијен. Свака страница папира који је он зацрнио трајно је сведочанство једне горуће душе.“

До последњег даха славни канадски песник, кантаутор, цртач или једном речју уметник, бавио се оним што га је испуњавало и чему је посветио читав живот, али и ономе захваљујући чему је његов живот имао смисао и обогатио сваки нови удисај. Последње дело Ленарда Коена представља неку врсту бележнице живота, јер у овој књизи налазе се песме, текстови песама, најразличитије мисли и белешке и све то украшено цртежима и коментарима славног аутора. Ленард је књигу обликовао, вршио избор за своје завршно дело, али није дочекао да идеја буде до краја реализована. То су урадили његови сарадници који су на основу рукописа верно реализовали Коенову идеју, а сам наслов књиге дао је његов син Адам. Књига је подељена по поглављима која носе називе Поезија, Песме, Ленард и Питер, Избор из бележница, уз додатке у виду Предговора, који је написао његов син, Уредничку белешку и Говор на уручењу награде Принц од Астурије. У првом делу налазе се поетска дела за која нису урађени музички аранжмани и која нису препевана.

МОЛИМ ЗА ХРАБРОСТ

Молим за храброст
Стар сам сад
Да поздравим болест
И хлад
Молим за храброст
У ноћ и мрак
Док носим терет нек буде лак
Молим за храброст
У оно време
Кад патња почне
Да се пење
Молим за храброст
Да кад сврши се пут
Видим смрт како долази
Као друг

Оде љубави, бележнице живота, опроштај од живота и свих нас који смо га поштовали и који га поштујемо, онима који уживају у његовој уметности, упражњавају је и смештају је на посебну полицу намењену за хедонизам. Књига садржи сву његову лепоту, духовитост, узвишену еротику зачињену љубављом, његову веру и поштовање, бави се депресијом и међуљудским односима, историјом и поново љубављу.
А после поезије долази поезија са музичком пратњом, аранжманима, она поезија која има звук његовог звонког зарђалог баса. Ређа се хит за хитом, ређа се нота за нотом, обнављају се, неке и заборављене, старе песме и оживљавају дивне мелодије које не могу да досаде.

ХВАЛА ЗА ПЛЕС

(...) Хвала за овај плес
Био је паклен, сјајан, забавн
Хвала за сваки плес
Јен два три, јен два три један
Било је фино, било је брзо
Били смо прави, последњи уз то
У реду поред
Храмом Уживања
Али зелено је било тако зелено
И плаво тако плаво
Ја сам био тако ја
А ти си била ти тако здраво
И криза лака
Као перо
Хвала за овај плес
Био је пкален, сјајан, забаван
Хвала за сваки
Плес
Јен два три, јен два три један

Поезија за уживање гарнирана оригиналним рукописима на енглеском, цртежима, често портретима, разним жврљотинам и свиме оним што је Ленарда чинило великим уметником. Опроштајни валцер попут магичног Плеса до краја љубави, са плесачима огрнутим Плавим кишним капутом, са оним који желе да корачају са песником који је Пожелео мрачније, који се играо на граници живота и смрти и живео пуним плућима као што сви желимо, волео, грешио, поштовао, опијао се алкохолом, опијатима и женама, грлио религију и поштовао свевишњег, и оставио Платонове идеје достојну поезију.

Узвишено и свето
Нек Свето је Твоје Име
Оклеветано и разапето
Кад људи баве се тиме
Милион свећа пламти
За помоћ што не стигне до нас
Ако пожелиш мрачније
Утрнућемо плам.

[Brandon Montgomery · Rating 5 out of 5]

In June 2016, a new poem by Leonard Cohen was quietly published in The New Yorker. In fact, the poem was almost buried - I'd read the article and had the copy for about a month, I only found it because I was flipping through old(ish) magazines out of boredom. It was a gem, and a small joy to discover. It was titled Steer Your Way and it's reprinted here.

"Steer your way through the ruins of the Altar and the Mall
steer your way through the fables of Creation and the Fall
steer your way past the Palaces that rise above the rot...

Here Cohen juxtaposes the sacred and the commercial, the eternal and the temporal. He chooses to capitalize both the words "Altar" and "Mall" suggesting that the narrator (probably sarcastically) considers them on the same level, each worthy of the same reverence. All of course, is not well by the time we reach the third verse - We pull back and see the palaces of the rich that "rise above the rot" the slums, the ghettos. Something has went terribly wrong in our consumerist society, causing most everything to rot, to decay. The coup de grâce comes later in the poem, when he references what was one of the most popular civil war songs among the Union soldiers, John Brown's body, which, in itself, references Christ

"As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free."

It's a beautiful and powerful line, but Cohen replaces the value of making men free with the value of making things cheap,


As he died to make men holy, let us die to make things cheap"

essentially perverting and updating the line for our modern consumerist society while rendering "our" death essentially useless; The idealized sacrifice of today is not for mankind, but for production. Not exactly as lofty or noble as setting men free.

Though this collection contains the lyrics from Cohen's last three records, the vast majority of material here has never appeared in print (or on tape) before. The author is able to reach (contented) heights and (miserable) lows. He oscillates between between warmth and anger, between total devotion to God (rendered here, as in his other books, as "G-d") and frustration that God has abandoned him in his time of need

"...And we who cried for mercy
from the bottom of the pit
was our prayer so damn unworthy
that the Son rejected it?"

It's a reoccurring motif in these poems and it's a struggle many people who are intensely devoted to a faith are forced to confront in the wake of tragedies, be they personal or global. It isn't easy.

Cohen's wry humor is on his display in many pieces, my favorite among them being "KANYE WEST IS NOT PICASSO" the whole poem is a great parody of egomania, and as the English say, it takes the piss out of Kanye and to a certain extent, Cohen himself. Still, if I had to pick a favorite line from this one it would have to be

" I Am the Kanye West Kanye West thinks he is."

True.

Even when he confronts his impending death, he usually does it with a grim smile, as in the poem "I Think I'll Blame"

"I think I'll blame
my death on you
but I don't know you
well enough
if I did
we'd be married now."

We occasionally see him in moments of desperation, where he addresses his mortality with the seriousness you'd expect from a dying man. He also ruminates on pining for women from the past, or candidly talks about medication, infected teeth, or his legacy Consider "If I Took A Pill"

If I took a pill
I'd feel so much better
I'd write you a poem
that sounds like a letter
...
I'm trying to finish
my shabby career
with a little truth
in the now and here."

The section last section, "Selections from the notebooks" comprises the bulk of the book. I initially feared the worst about this section - That it would be raided bits from his journals he never intended anyone to read, or perhaps some fragments of poem that were ultimately left unfinished. Thankfully, that's not what this is. Nevertheless, it's not surprising that these poems aren't as polished as the ones that came in the pages before them, nor are they titled. Despite the obvious flaws, there are a great many gems here. One of the most powerful pieces, certainly in this section and perhaps in the entire book, reads, in part:

"I was second to none
but I was never best
I was old and broke
so I could not rest
You can call it luck
be it good or bad
but you don't give up
when your heart is dead."

Or consider this, from perhaps the rawest poem he ever wrote:

...And what did you do
with my god
and my church
and my car
and my dick
was I supposed
to like
living on my fucking knees?"

From context, we can see that he's addressing his ex-wife. Regardless, goddamn.
There are many more poems, poems about aging, love, falling out of love, the author's children, Dylan stealing his girl back in the sixties, farmers markets, making and writing music, dying, worship, blasphemy, hate, warmth, sin, "G-d," depression, medication - What makes this collection a five star book in my opinion is that Cohen is able to take all these seemingly incongruous feelings and themes and weave them into relatable, beautiful and accessible poems that make logical and emotional sense. It's a task he often attempted to tackle throughout his career, but it's here in his final work that he succeeds the most at it, making it a perfect capstone for his career, a logical end, a book to which the others had been building.

You owe it to yourself to read this one, you won't regret it.

[Stefania · Rating 3 out of 5]

Kαμιά φορά τραβάω με το αμάξι μου στη δημοσιά
Γέρος είμαι κι οι καθρέφτες δεν ψεύδονται πια
Αλλά η τρέλα έχει μέρη να με κρύψει πιο βαθιά
Απ΄το να λες αντίο,γειά χαρά, παντοτινά

[Wout Landuyt · Rating 4 out of 5]

Gisterennacht het bed gedeeld met Leonard Cohen, tot m’n ogen dichtvielen. Als ik wakker werd lag hij nog steeds naast m’n hoofdkussen, iets wat ik niet gewoon ben, dus deden we gwn verder tot de laatste bladzijde.

[Max Nemtsov · Rating 5 out of 5]

Его стихи и тексты чем дальше — тем более общи и абстрактны: такое ощущение, что он смывает с них все лишнее, образность, метафорику, лишние слова и смыслы. Остается лишь самое простое и основное. И наверняка главное.

[Aitana Monzón]

leer un libro titulado “The Flame” durante el apagón eléctrico… mi Romantic core

[Lazaros Karavasilis · Rating 4 out of 5]

Τελευταίο βιβλίο για το 2019, τελευταίο βιβλίο δεκαετίας (Ουάου.)
Ιδανικό κλείσιμο πιστεύω, καθώς η ποίηση του Κόεν κατάφερε να με αγγίξει σε σημαντικό βαθμό. Ο άνθρωπος ήξερε πως να μιλήσει μέσα σε αυτό το κάτι που αισθανόμαστε είτε λέγεται αγάπη προς τον άλλον, είτε (χαρμο)λύπη, είτε το αίσθημα της απουσίας και της μελαγχολίας. Είτε σε αυτό που δεν μπορούμε να προσδιορίσουμε ούτε εμείς οι ίδιοι.
��πράβο Κόεν, right in the feels.
Thanks for the dance.

[Dustin the wind Crazy little brown owl · Rating 5 out of 5]

The splinters that you carry
The cross you left behind
Come healing of the body
Come healing of the mind
. . . .
Behold the gates of mercy
In arbitrary space
And none of us deserving
The cruelty or the grace
-Leonard Cohen, Come Healing

After watching some biographical films, I've recently taken an interest in the poetry and music of Leonard Cohen. My favorite song is COME HEALING, which was featured in the 2019 film, THE FAREWELL. Honestly, I would like Come Healing played at my funeral and The Nightingale recited.
The Flame is the final work of Leonard Cohen published (2018) two years after his death. His last album was You Want It Darker (2016). The audiobook of THE FLAME is narrated by an all-star cast.
My least favorite section of the book is "Selections From The Notebooks", but the other content makes up for and balances this out.
Read in 2022 and 2024.

Favorite Passages:
Foreword by Adam Cohen
He often remarked to me that, through all the strategies of art and living that he had employed during his rich and complicated life, he wished that he had more completely stayed steadfast to the recognition that writing was his only solace, his truest purpose.
My father, before he was anything else, was a poet.
_______

Indeed, to know my father was (among many other wondrous things) to know a man with papers, notebooks, and cocktail napkins - a distinguished handwriting on each - scattered (neatly) everywhere. They came from nightstands in hotels, or from 99-cent stores; the ones that were gilded, leather-bound, fancy, or otherwise had a look of importance were never used. My father preferred humble vessels.
_______

There are fires and flames, for creation and destruction, for heat and light, for desire and consummation, throughout his work. He lit the flames and he tended to them diligently. He studied and recorded their consequences. He was stimulated by their danger - he often spoke of other people's art as not having enough "danger," and he praised the "excitement of a thought that was in flames."
This fiery preoccupation lasted until the very end. "You want it darker, we kill the flame," he intoned on his last album, his parting album. He died on November 7, 2016. It feels darker now, but the flame was not killed. Each page of paper that he blackened was lasting evidence of a burning soul.

Editorial Note
All the lyrics for Leonard's songs begin as poems, and thus they can be appreciated as poems in their own right more than those of most songwriters.
. . . .
Careful readers will note differences between how these poems appear in The Flame and how the lyrics appear in the lyrics accompanying the albums.

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.
. . . .
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

Jan 15, 2007 Sicily Cafe
In the radiant light
Where there's day and there's night
And truth is the widest embrace

That includes what is lost
Includes what is found
What you write and what you erase

Dimensions of Love
Then I remember
the uncrossable dimensions of love
and I prepare myself
for the consequences of memory
and longing
but memory with its list of years
turns gracefully aside
and longing kneels down
like a calf
in the straw of amazement
and for the moment that it takes
to keep your death alive
we are refreshed
in each other's timeless company

Kanye West is not Picasso
Kanye West is not Picasso
I am Picasso
Kanye West is not Edison
I am Edison
I am Tesla
Jay-Z is not the Dylan of anything
I am the Dylan of anything
I am the Kanye West of Kanye West
The Kanye West
Of the great bogus shift of bullshit culture
From one boutique to another
I am Tesla
I am his coil
The coil that made electricity soft as a bed
I am the Kanye West Kanye West thinks he is
When he shoves your ass off the stage
I am the real Kanye West
I don't get around much anymore
I never have
I only come alive after a war
And we have not had it yet

Watching The Nature Channel
the boredom of God
is heartbreaking
fiddle fiddle fiddle

When You Wake Up
When you wake up into the panic
and the tulips from Ralph's
have almost had it,
why don't you change the water
and cut the stems,
maybe find a vase a little taller
to help them stand up straight?
When you wake up into the panic
and the Devil's almost got you
to throw yourself off the cliffs of religion,
why don't you lie down
in front of the ferocious traffic
of your daily life
and get creamed by some of the details?

What is Coming
your anger against the war
your horror of death
your calm strategies
your bold plans
to rearrange
the middle east
to overthrow the dollar
to establish
the 4th Reich
to live forever
to silence the Jews
to order the cosmos
to tidy up your life
to improve religion
they count for nothing
you have no understanding
of the consequences
of what you do
oh and one more thing
you aren't going to like
what comes after
America

School Days
I headed the school
I was the school head
John was the arms
Peggy was the asshole
and Jennifer the toes.
I loved the asshole best.

The Flowers Hate Us
the flowers hate us
the animals pray for our death
as soon as i found out
i murdered my dog

Winter on Mount Baldy
It's cold and dark and dangerous
And slippery as a lie
Nobody wants to be here
And me, I'd rather die

All the food is second-hand
And everyone complains
The priceless shit of yesteryear
Is frozen in the drains

Grateful
The huge mauve jacaranda tree
down the street on South Tremaine
in full bloom
two stories high
It made me so happy
And then
the first cherries of the season
at the Palisades Farmers Market
Sunday morning
"What a blessing!"
I exclaimed to Anjani
and then the samples on waxed paper
of the banana cream cake
and the coconut cream cake
I am not a lover of pastry
but I recognized the genius of the baker
and touched my hat to her
A slight chill in the air
seemed to polish the sunlight
and confer the status of beauty
to every object I beheld
Faces bosoms fruits pickles green eggs
newborn babies
in clever expensive harnesses
I am so grateful
to my new anti-depressant

Listen to the Hummingbird
Listen to the hummingbird
Whose wings you cannot see
Listen to the hummingbird
Don't listen to me.

Listen to the butterfly
Whose days number but three
Listen to the butterfly
Don't listen to me.

I Think I'll Blame
I think I'll blame
my death on you
but I don't know you
well enough
if I did
we'd be married now

Never Gave Nobody Trouble
i couldn't pay the mortgage
and i broke my baby's heart
i couldn't pay the mortgage
and i broke my baby's heart
never gave nobody trouble
but it ain't too late to start

Drank A Lot
i drank a lot. i lost my job.
i lived like nothing mattered.
then you stopped, and came across
my little bridge of fallen answers.
. . . .
and not because of what' i'd lost
and not for what i'd mastered
you stopped for me, and came across
the bridge of fallen answers.
. . . .
And now it's one, and now it's two,
And now the whole disaster.
We cry for help, as humans do -
Before the truth, and after.

If I Took A Pill
If I took a pill
I'd feel you so much better
I'd write you a poem
That sounds like a letter

I'd kill someone mean
And I'd cut off his ear
And I'd send it to you
With "I wish you were here."

Innermost Door
When I am alone
You'll come back to me
It's happened before
It's called memory

Nightingale
I built my house beside the wood
So I could hear you singing
And it was sweet and it was good
And love was all beginning

Fare thee well my nightingale
'Twas long ago I found you
Now all your songs of beauty fail
The forest gathers round you

The sun goes down behind a veil
'Tis now when you would call me
So rest in peace my nightingale
Beneath your branch of holly

Fare thee well my nightingale
I lived but to be near you
Though you are singing somewhere still
I can no longer hear you

Never Got To Love You
The parking lot is empty
They killed the neon sign
It's dark from here to St. Jovite
It's dark all down the line
They ought to hand the night a ticket
For speeding: it's a crime
I had so much to tell you
But now it's closing time

I never got to love you
Like I heard it can be done
Where the differences are many
But the heart is always one

The memories come back empty
Like their batteries are low
It feels like you just left me
Tho' it happened years ago
They're stacking up the chairs
Wiping down the bar
I never got to tell you
How beautiful you are


Come Healing
O gather up the brokenness
And bring it to me now
The fragrance of those
promises
You never dared to vow

The splinters that you carry
The cross you left behind
Come healing of the body
Come healing of the mind

And let the heavens hear it
The penitential hymn
Come healing of the spirit
Come healing of the limb

Behold the gates of mercy
in arbitrary space
And none of us deserving
The cruelty or the grace


O solitude of longing
Where love has been confined
Come healing of the body
Come healing of the mind

O see the darkness yielding
That tore the light apart
Come healing of the reason
Come healing of the heart

O troubled dust concealing
An undivided love
The Heart beneath is teaching
To the broken Heart above

O let the heavens falter
And let the earth proclaim:
Come healing of the Altar
Come healing of the Name

O longing of the branches
To lift the little bud
O longing of the arteries
To purify the blood

And let the heavens hear it
The penitential hymn
Come healing of the spirit
Come healing of the limb

O let the heavens hear it
The penitential hymn
Come healing of the spirit
Come healing of the limb

SLOW
I'm slowing down the tune
I never liked it fast
You want to get there soon
I want to get there last

It's not because I'm old
It's not the life I led
I always liked it slow
That's what my momma said

I'm lacing up my shoe
But I don't want to run
I'll get here when I do
Don't need no starting gun

It's not because I'm old
It's not what dying does
I always liked it slow
Slow is in my blood

Almost Like The Blues
I saw some people starving
There was murder, there was rape
Their villages were burning
They were trying to escape
I couldn't meet their glances
I was staring at my shoes
It was acid, it was tragic
It was almost like the blues

I have to die a little
Between each murderous thought
And when I'm finished thinking
I have to die a lot
There's torture and there's killing
There's all my bad reviews
The war, the children missing
Lord, it's almost like the blues

I let my heart get frozen
To keep away the rot
My father says I'm chosen
My mother says I'm not
I listened to their story
Of the Gypsies and the Jews
It was good, it wasn't boring
It was almost like the blues

There is no G-d in Heaven
And there is no Hell below
So says the great professor
Of all there is to know
But I've had the invitation
That a sinner can't refuse
And it's almost like salvation
It's almost like the blues

Did I Ever Love You
Did I ever love you
Did I ever need you
Did I ever fight you
Did I ever want to

Did I ever leave you
Was I ever able
Are we still leaning
Across the old table
. . . .
Was it ever settled
Was it ever over
And is it still raining
Back in November

My Oh My
Wasn't hard to love you
Didn't have to try
Wasn't hard to love you
Didn't have to try
Held you for a little while
My Oh My Oh My

Drove you to the station
Never asked you why
Drove you to the station
Never asked you why
Held you for a little while
My Oh My Oh My

Never Mind
The war was lost
The treaty signed
I was not caught
I crossed the line

I was not caught
Though many tried
I live among you
Well disguised

I had to leave
My life behind
I dug some graves
You'll never find

The story's told
With facts and lies
I had a name
but never mind

Never mind
Never mind
The war was lost
The treaty signed

There's truth that lives
and truth that dies
I don't know which
So never mind
. . .
Names so deep
and Names so true
They're blood to me
They're dust to you

You Want it Darker
If you are the dealer
I'm out of the game
If you are the healer
I'm broken and lame
If thine is the glory
Then mine must be the shame
You want it darker
We kill the flame

Magnified and sanctified
Be Thy Holy Name
Vilified and crucified
In the human frame
A million candles burning
For the help that never came
You want it darker
We kill the flame

Hineni Hineni
I'm ready, my Lord

There's a lover in the story
But the story is still the same
There's a lullaby for suffering
And a paradox to blame
But it's written in the scriptures
And it's not some idle claim
You want it darker
We kill the flame

Treaty
I wish there was a treaty we could sign
I do not care who takes this bloody hill
I'm angry and I'm tired all the time
I wish there was a treaty
I wish there was a treaty
Between your love and mine

They're dancing in the street - it's Jubilee
We sold ourselves for love but now we're free
I'm so sorry for the ghost I made you be
Only one of us was real - and that was me.

On the Level
Let's keep it on the level
When I walked away from you
I turned my back on the devil
Turned my back on the angel too

Traveling Light
I'm traveling light
It's au revoir
My once so bright
My fallen star
. . . .
I'm just a fool
A dreamer who
Forgot to dream
Of the me and you
I am not alone
I've met a few
Traveling light like
We used to do

Steer Your Way
Steer your way through the ruins of the Altar and the Mall
Steer your way through the fables of Creation and The Fall
Steer your way past the Palaces that rise above the rot
Year by year
Month by month
Day by day
Thought by thought

Steer your heart past the Truth you believed in yesterday
Such as Fundamental Goodness and the Wisdom of the Way
Steer your heart, precious heart, past the women whom you bought
Year by year
Month by month
Day by day
Thought by thought
. . .
They whisper still, the injured stones, the blunted mountains weep
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make things cheap
And say the Mea Culpa, which you've probably forgot
Year by year
Month by Month
Day by day
Thought by thought

Leonard and Peter
Leonard (October 3, 2016):
who says "i" want it darker?
who says the "you" is "me"?
_______

Leonard (November 6, 2016, 3 p.m., in response to a photo of Peter and Sophia De Mornay-O'Neal):
Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.


SEE REVIEW COMMENTS FOR MORE FAVORITE PASSAGES

[Frank · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wie immer bei Lyrik gibt es Texte, die vielleicht dem Autor, nicht aber dem Leser viel geben. Daneben echte Perlen. Besonders die als "Notebook" gekennzeichneten Gedichte sind oft einfach Klasse. Womit ich weniger anfangen kann, das ist die Religiosität, die sich in den letzten Lebensmonaten - der Zeit der Zusammenstellung - vielleicht etwas in den Vordergrund geschoben hat. Natürlich gibt es auch hier Aussagen von allgemeiner Gültigkeit, solche, in denen religiöse Anspielungen quasi als "Symbolsprache" fungieren. Da ist Cohen stark. Wo er explizit wird... Siehe oben. Im Ganzen bleibt nach der Lektüre die Frage, ob Dylan als Songschreiber so viel mehr überzeugt, dass ausgerechnet er den Nobelpreis bekommen hat. Cohen ist schon nicht schlecht. (Musikalisch- stimmlich mag ich ihn ohnehin mehr als Dylan.) Sehr gelungen ist die Buchgestaltung. Einfach ein schönes Buch! Der Satz ist ansprechend, das Papier gut gewählt und die Gestaltung (mit Handzeichnungen des Autors) eine Augenweide. Dafür gibt es fünf Sterne. Sehr unterschiedlich hingegen die Qualität der Übersetzungen. Aber da die Textauswahl zweisprachig ist, kann man drüber hinwegsehen.

[Taylor · Rating 3 out of 5]

There's a slight urge to give this a fourth star out of sentimentality, but it's best to refrain. Though there is a fair amount of material from his final decade following 'Book of Longing' (2006), one wonders if his last great poetic works were in fact collected there, and what's left was to serve as the bulk of this final assemblage which seems to reflect the most simplistic decades in his discography (post-The Future, 1992 and pre-Old Ideas, 2012). There is little to engage with on any deep level, much as Ten New Songs and (especially) Dear Heather, both from the era in question, are the most adult-contemporary and flat-out basic "mom-music" albums of his career.

What 'The Flame' does highlight, however, is how strong the songwriting is on Old Ideas - his best album in over 20 years - and how the album that followed, Popular Problems, wasn't only plagued by the gratingly repetitive nature of the backing singers doing a call and response to what feels like every line in every song, nor was it the overall song structure / production in general that made it one of his weakest albums, but it's the lyrics themselves that indeed leave a lot to be desired. There's almost nothing there when you look at the words on paper, shadowed and sandwiched between the incredible words on Old Ideas and the worthy final effort, You Want It Darker, which elevate those albums (especially the former) to where they deserve to be (along side some of his greatest works).

I will never deny the potency of his lyrics - sometimes it's hard to listen to Songs from a Room, and Songs of Love and Hate is devastating in its own right, not to mention so much of what came after - and the themes present throughout his works remained right until the end, but sometimes people just get to growing old and begin looking for simpler pleasures and simpler despairs, and relating those pleasures and despairs in simpler ways that may best be appreciated by those of a similar age, while those of us still very far behind are still searching for that which is most evocative.

The penultimate section, 'Selections from the Notebooks', boasts some great unfinished poems that upon first reading felt more potent than the majority of what Cohen had actually completed and selected for inclusion in this volume. Closing out the book is the incredible tale of what became the foundation of his life's work in song.

It's nice to have a final word, both in book and in song, and it's pleasing to know that he was able to (mostly) complete everything himself before the end. Living in Montreal he's still always within some sort of reach, and there will undoubtedly be many more trips past his old front porch and visits to his grave site.

[Grace Burns · Rating 4 out of 5]

“if the crazy god did not want us to eat one another
why make our flesh so sweet”

“I did not dare to kneel
Where I did not belong”

“I need to be weightless
But I never am.”

“And here She is:
Fully born from herself
Urgent and accommodating”

“ love to hear you laugh
It takes the world away
I live to hear you laugh
I don't even have to pray
But now the world is coming back
It's coming back to stay”

“we cry aloud, as humans do:
we cry to one another.”

“I loved your face, I loved your hair
Your T-shirts and your eveningwear
As for the world, the job, the war
I ditched them all to love you more”

“And all of this
Expressions of
The Sweet Indifference
Some call Love”

“and someone said there's nothing left, there's nothing next, be human in the human world, be calm, be calm, and in my
heart I hated this vast tyranny of peace. I could not hear the judgement and I fell in love with everyone who fell in leve with me.”

“If it rains, the rain's got to be silver
got to hear it in the arms of my lover
no other place will do. I want it all,
the whole fucking cross, not just a splinter.”

“she of what I could not be
me of whom she mustn't love”

“True love is what happens between two people who no longer need to know each other”

“I have my hand on both our bodies
It's the bridge I cannot find
through the razorblades and daisies
to the birth we leave behind”

[Robert Yokoyama · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Flame is an appropriate title for this book because it describes Leonard's passion for writing and art. There are lyrics to some of his songs that I enjoy. There is a song entitled "Half The Perfect World". It is a beautiful love song that I've enjoyed for years, but I never paid attention to the words until I read them in this book. I also love the song entitled "Nightingale". This is a kind of song that makes me appreciate the physical beauty of nature. I also enjoy looking at his self portraits in this book. I did not know that Leonard also wrote poetry. I love his poem entitled "I Pray For Courage" because it reminds me to approach death without fear and with dignity and grace. I also love the poem "Flying Over Iceland". I love to visit Iceland to eat lobster and look at beautiful people like Leonard did. I also enjoy the poem entitled "Winter on Mount Baldy". I learned this mountain is very close to where my family lives in San Gabriel in California. I have never seen snow where my family lives, and I would like to see it. The poetry of Leonard Cohen is both visual and heartfelt. I love his poems and everything about this book.

[Ellen · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you're a Leonard Cohen fan (is there anyone here who isn't?), then this is an essential read. Of course, if you are, I'm sure you already have or on your way to so doing.

This is a collection of poems, lyrics and notebooks. It is illustrated with little pen and ink drawing Cohen did, mostly of himself, that are moving in their own way.

The lyrics are unfinished and so not complete in the way his published work is but there are all his themes present: love, self-loathing, hope, faith, his Jewish faith as well as his Buddhist background. There are many lyrics touching on despair and darkness as well.

For those of us still mourning his death, this book provides comfort and a glimpse into his mind and the beginnings that his great songs came from.

[Kayley · Rating 5 out of 5]

yeah this was good

[Terence · Rating 2 out of 5]

The Ex introduced me to Leonard Cohen a bit over 20 years ago when she let me read her copy of Beautiful Losers. I enjoyed that novel but wasn’t so moved by it that I actively sought out more of his work, either his writings or his songs (though I too liked what snatches I heard of the latter). As happens, though, serendipity puts things in my hands like the current volume, which I discovered on the New shelf at my library.

After reading The Flame, I’m still in the “I like his stuff but not enough to be enthusiastic about it” camp. Little in this posthumous collection of poetry, lyrics and fragments grabbed me and I can’t give it more than two stars – it was OK. Probably more for the true Cohen fan than someone like me.

There were some three+ star passages that did speak to me, and it’s that material that keeps me interested in reading more Cohen if, like this book, it happens to fall into my lap.

Some examples:

“The Indian Girl”
…she took me in one of her last embraces, because she saw how simple I would be to comfort, and I was so grateful to be numbered among her last generous activities on this earth. And I went back to my wife, my young wife, the one who would never thaw, who would bear me children, who would hate me for one good reason or another all the days of her life….

“You Want to Strike Back and You Can’t”
You want to strike back and you can’t
And you want to help but you can’t…

And you’re not leading your life
You’re leading someone else’s life
Someone you don’t know or like
And it’s ending soon
And it’s too late to begin again
Armed with what you know now…

And you can’t explain anymore
And you can’t dig in
Because the surface is like steel
And all your fine emotions
Your subtle insights
Your famous understanding
Evaporate into stunning
… irrelevance….

“Doesn’t Matter”
it doesn’t matter darling,
it really doesn’t matter,
and i don’t say
it doesn’t matter,
in order to hurt you into feeling:
that it DOES MATTER
that it REALLY DOES MATTER
not at all,
not at all….

“The Mist”
As the mist leaves no scar
On the dark green hill
So my body leaves no scar
On you, nor ever will

When wind and hawk encounter
What remains to keep?
So you and I encounter
Then turn then fall to sleep

As many nights endure
Without a moon or star
So will we endure
When one is gone and far

“—”
everything will come back
in the wrong light
completely misunderstood
and I will be seen
as the man
I devoted much of my life
to not being

“—” (reminds me of Carl Sandburg’s “The Fog”)

out of the night
the trees step forward
a solitary bird
sharpens its song
on the stone-grey dawn

“—”
You must have heard it in my voice
the sound that I no longer love you
I would never disguise that sound
I would never do that to you
O shining one
you have moved beyond my love
you have turned your face to others
I was not strong enough for this test
I turned away
I wear an iron collar
and I give my chain to anyone
but I never pretend that they are you
O shining one
who held my spirit like a match
in you cupped hands
while I thought I was warming you
O shining one
who teaches with her absence

[J.C. · Rating 4 out of 5]

I have dipped in and out of two collections of Leonard Cohen’s poems and songs over the last year or so, one from his youth and this one from his age. I have really struggled to start reviewing them. I wondered how to treat them separately when I really wanted to think about them together. So the earlier collection, entitled simply “Leonard Cohen” has influenced my comments on this book.
The first section of “The Flame” contains poems previously unpublished, some honed over decades, and Section 2 presents lyrics that became songs for Cohen’s last four albums. I find myself wanting to write this review backwards, because Section 3, which opens weakly and ends strongly, seems to sum up what I want to say. Random jottings from Cohen’s notebooks, some selected by others after his death, and some, as far as I was concerned, not worthy of inclusion, lead to the magnificent final line, where Cohen sees himself as a man “with a mandate from God to enter the dark”. The closing piece is Cohen’s acceptance address for the Prince of Asturias Award. In the speech he takes us right back to his beginnings as a poet, describing the “voice” of the poet Lorca, who was his greatest influence:
“The instructions were never to lament casually. And if one is to express the great inevitable defeat that awaits us all, it must be done within the strict confines of dignity and beauty.”
The paradox of Cohen seems at first to be that he achieves this dignity and this beauty against the bulwark of what I want to call the naked side of his writing, the black humour, the grossness, the lack of compromise and the enormous self-absorption that fuel the passion of his writing. In “The Flame” the cascades of lightning sketches of pen-and-ink self-portraits force us to look at the man behind the writings, and serve to harmonise the gross with the sublime. The drawings are often annotated, as in this example:
“Just because we can’t see straight need not stop us from plunging forward”.
It is as if the “dignity and beauty” are drawn out of him with a scalpel. Their face is his pain. His face in the drawings has been etched from sacrifice, from raw engagement with the darkest of personal tribulation, with a scoring upon the heart, with the tread into despair. The poems (apparently all the songs began as poems) blast out with the power of his raw honesty and unashamed passion. In the earlier collection particularly, I was taken up into the haunting songs, “Suzanne”, “Bird on the Wire”, “So Long, Marianne”, “Hallelujah”, and so on, even without the sensual power of his voice; but I was stunned by the presence, frequency and force of his incisive religious poetry, of which I knew nothing. The best ones are too long to quote here, but try finding “Isaiah”, “Prayer for Messiah” or “Hallelujah”. Thanks to my GR friend Ian for pointing me to the recording of “Hallelujah” live in London.
“It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah . . . .”.
Right to the end of “The Flame”, this bursting through the limits of a religious construct emerges, even in what looks like momentary scribbling. This was written at Frankfurt Airport in 2002:
“I’d like to pray
five times a day
in fact I do
I’d like to live
as though G-d lived
through me and you
in fact I do”.
The ‘G-d’ is an inheritance from his Jewish faith, where the name of the Deity is avoided. Other than that, there is no reticence in his challenge to The Almighty, as in the incredible “You want it darker”:
“Magnified and sanctified
Be Thy Holy Name
Vilified and crucified
In the human frame
A million candles burning
For the love that never came
You want it darker
We kill the flame

If you are the dealer
I’m out of the game
If you are the healer
I’m broken and lame
If thine is the glory
Then mine must be the shame
You want it darker
We kill the flame”
After this sublimity I felt it was a shame that some of the jottings from the notebooks illuminated no more than an old man’s fixation on carnality, or on the trailing dust of his personal life. However his lurch into the frailties of age serves to vindicate this work of abrasive self-destruction, poetic genius and searing vision. For me he could be a modern incarnation of a earlier poet and spiritual warrior:
“like David bent down
On his bed of all despair
I come to you now
I call out your name
I ask to be done
With this darkness of love
With this burden of heart
With this shame
That the heart cannot bear.”
I’ll end with a quotation from a prose description in the earlier collection I mentioned above. The piece is entitled, “What is a saint?”. The lines below might almost have referred to himself:
“Far from flying with the angels, he traces with the fidelity of a seismograph needle the state of the solid bloody landscape . . . It is good to have amongst us such men, such balancing monsters of love.”
I say “almost” because his agony is personal, not what we might regard as of the saints. His self-absorbed and self-motivated love is dominant. However, when he come to the expression of “agape”, the Greek word for the selfless love of others, he takes it to himself, and transforms it into something intensely personal. Perhaps it is in this that we can identify his paradox, and his genius.