Tuesday, July 21, 2009

B.I.L.F.- Leonard Cohen

I would hit it.

I don't care that he's 74. I don't care if he's all loose skin and old balls. To this day, I would hit it and make no apologies. Because Leonard Cohen possesses the kind of rare brilliance that makes any other man, young or old, seem like a drooling troll in comparison.

I discovered Leonard for myself when I was 14. My Dad had been insisting that "the man is a national f*cking treasure!" for years, but I wasn't having it. Here was the problem: I heard him sing before I read his poetry. Big mistake. He is not a gifted singer, and that is the biggest understatement since Batface Nicole Kidman admitted to getting "a little botox".

Anyway, it was my good fortune that my angsty friend Mike gave me a volume of Cohen poetry to read and...oh God. That was it. It was the beginning of a beautiful obsession that has outlasted all of my fleeting culturelust phases.

Nobody has a way with words like L.C. He can take an act that would make you punch a guy in the mouth for even hinting at in bed and make it sound like the purest and most obvious next step on the path to spiritual self-discovery. Pretty suave for a Jewish boy from Montreal, non?

In addition to all this, he is perhaps one of the most interesting men in the world; he has lived everywhere (including a Zen monastery), done all kinds of unseemly and seemly things with vagabonds, royalty and the everyman and documented it all with the most raw and powerful emotional force you can imagine. If you think I'm laying it on a little thick, try reading his novel "Beautiful Losers", then we'll talk.

Here's a short example of what I'm going on about:

If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for

If it be your will
That a voice be true
From this broken hill
I will sing to you
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it be your will
To let me sing

If it be your will
If there is a choice
Let the rivers fill
Let the hills rejoice
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell
If it be your will
To make us well

And draw us near
And bind us tight
All your children here
In their rags of light
In our rags of light
All dressed to kill
And end this night
If it be your will

Leonard, if you're reading this, come find me.


Shabs said...
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