Category Archives: Poems I like

Cohen’s ‘Love Itself’

I think that every once in a while, I shall share a piece that haunts me.

Leonard Cohen amazes me all the frikkin’ time. Everytime I read his poetry, I marvel at his ability to create a visual so striking so as to leave me gawking for the next few hours. And…not only do I gawk, I wonder how he does it and then, envy takes over. Here is a man who’s written things so profound that they make me question if I shall ever be able to even passingly experience anything the way he does. I don’t fool myself into even hoping that I’ll get to dip the tip of my tiny toe into the same stream that he drinks from…but I cannot keep hoping that maybe, just maybe oneday, I might get to see his stream.

Here is one of his works that is a particular favourite.

“Love Itself”

The light came through the window,
Straight from the sun above,
And so inside my little room
There plunged the rays of Love.

In streams of light I clearly saw
The dust you seldom see,
Out of which the Nameless makes
A Name for one like me.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love Itself
Love Itself was gone.

All busy in the sunlight
The flecks did float and dance,
And I was tumbled up with them
In formless circumstance.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love Itself
Love Itself was gone.

Then I came back from where I’d been.
My room, it looked the same –
But there was nothing left between
The Nameless and the Name.

All busy in the sunlight
The flecks did float and dance,
And I was tumbled up with them
In formless circumstance.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love itself,
Love Itself was gone.
Love Itself was gone.

Hear it here.

And it really doesn’t hurt that he has this perfect voice and that he sings his poetry out.

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A Prayer To Get You Through The Day

We all have those days when life just doesn’t go our way or we wake up feeling humdrum. For all those days, here is a “prayer” that a friend shared with me. It made me smile and just feel…nice. 🙂

Today…I wish you a day of ordinary miracles
A fresh pot of coffee you didn’t make yourself.
An unexpected phone call from an old friend.
Green stoplights on your way to work or shop.

I wish you a day of little things to rejoice in…
The fastest line at the grocery store.
A good sing along song on the radio.
Your keys right where you look.

A rainbow ahead of you.
I wish you a day of happiness and perfection,
little bite-size pieces of perfection that give you
the funny feeling that the Lord is smiling on you,
holding you so gently because you are someone special and rare.

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So so so true!

W.B. Yeats knew what he was talking about when he wrote this. 🙂

 

We sat together at one summer’s end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.’
 
. . . . . . . . . And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There’s many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied, ‘To be born woman is to know-
Although they do not talk of it at school-
That we must labour to be beautiful.’
I said, ‘It’s certain there is no fine thing
Since Adam’s fall but needs much labouring.
There have been lovers who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
Precedents out of beautiful old books;
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.’

We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fll
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon

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