Day 206 — The Only Poem
[for Wednesday, July 25]
My vacation from the internet earlier today (Wednesday) was actually quite nice. Granted, I was practically under house arrest while I waited for the landlord to call me back, but it was still a very quiet, contemplative morning and afternoon. I fetched Stranger Music from the bookshelf and reacquainted myself with the world of blank verse. It's a scary world, actually. But one I very much enjoy.
The words, if you're inclined to care about such things:
The only poem
This is the only poem
I can read
I am the only one
can write it
I didn't kill myself
when things went wrong
I didn't turn
to drugs or teaching
I tried to sleep
but when I couldn't sleep
I learned to write
I learned to write
what might be read
on nights like this
by one like me
It's not Sappho or Chaucer, but it is ... something. I can't quite place how I feel about Leonard Cohen. There are some of his poems that just give me a quick punch to the gut and make me sit down and smile. There are others that piss me off; "Is this it? This is shit!" But I get that. Not every poem a person writes is going to mean something to any- and everyone. Some things people write are meaningful only to the authors themselves, and perhaps to the select few people on the planet who happen to be in a similar situation. The hedged language makes sense. The metaphors aren't over-wrought. Etc.
So it goes with Cohen. His poetry is very specific, yet comes bundled with meanings that can be extrapolated again and again. I'm not sure I can explain it much better than that.
Funny that the other day as I was digging through my inbox, trying to discard the extraneous stuff, I found several poems I'd written that I'd sort of forgotten about. Here's one I actually kind of like, from mid-2006:
Dulcinea
I had you at nothing
No words
A flash of leg, perhaps
funny
I remember laughing
But I knew what I was doing
Priming the pump
so to speak
A pump that was not mine
and that I did not want
at the time
because I was busy
my hands in a trough
My vacation from the internet earlier today (Wednesday) was actually quite nice. Granted, I was practically under house arrest while I waited for the landlord to call me back, but it was still a very quiet, contemplative morning and afternoon. I fetched Stranger Music from the bookshelf and reacquainted myself with the world of blank verse. It's a scary world, actually. But one I very much enjoy.
The words, if you're inclined to care about such things:
The only poem
This is the only poem
I can read
I am the only one
can write it
I didn't kill myself
when things went wrong
I didn't turn
to drugs or teaching
I tried to sleep
but when I couldn't sleep
I learned to write
I learned to write
what might be read
on nights like this
by one like me
It's not Sappho or Chaucer, but it is ... something. I can't quite place how I feel about Leonard Cohen. There are some of his poems that just give me a quick punch to the gut and make me sit down and smile. There are others that piss me off; "Is this it? This is shit!" But I get that. Not every poem a person writes is going to mean something to any- and everyone. Some things people write are meaningful only to the authors themselves, and perhaps to the select few people on the planet who happen to be in a similar situation. The hedged language makes sense. The metaphors aren't over-wrought. Etc.
So it goes with Cohen. His poetry is very specific, yet comes bundled with meanings that can be extrapolated again and again. I'm not sure I can explain it much better than that.
Funny that the other day as I was digging through my inbox, trying to discard the extraneous stuff, I found several poems I'd written that I'd sort of forgotten about. Here's one I actually kind of like, from mid-2006:
Dulcinea
I had you at nothing
No words
A flash of leg, perhaps
funny
I remember laughing
But I knew what I was doing
Priming the pump
so to speak
A pump that was not mine
and that I did not want
at the time
because I was busy
my hands in a trough
Labels: Leonard Cohen, poetry, project 365
posted by theogeo | 7/26/2007 01:34:00 AM
2 Comments:
curiously, my old roommate in berkeley had this exact poem taped to the wall right above her bed - she adored it, it was her favorite poem in the world.
i've never really sat down and read much leonard cohen on the page, but i looooooove his music. (there's a lot of crap in there too, but you can't go wrong with a greatest hits collection) i am convinced that "hey that's no way to say goodbye" is hands down the SADDEST song EVER. which is a huge compliment coming from me; it's absolutely exquisite, and there have been times when i've just listened to it for hours on endless repeat. this couplet in particular absolutely kills me:
walk me to corner
our steps will always rhyme
*sigh*
That's awesome about your roommate!
I really do need to check out some of LC's music. "Our steps will always rhyme" — seems like I've seen that somewhere. Maybe your MySpace page or something. Very nice. :)
Post a Comment
<< Home