Leonard Cohen

“GIFT You tell me that silenceis nearer to peace than poemsbut if for my giftI brought you silence(for I know silence)you would say This is not silencethis is another poemand you would hand it back to me”

“I walk through the old yellow sunlightto get to my kitchen tablethe poem about melying there with the booksin which I am listedamong the dead and future Dylans”

“Who could have foretoldthe heart grows oldfrom touching others”

“there's no forsaking what you loveno existential leapas witnessed here in time and blooda thousand kisses deep”

“I’ll be marching through the morning,Marching through the night,Moving 'cross the bordersOf My Secret Life.”

“As I grew older, I understood that instructions came with this voice. What were these instructions? 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.”

“this is not a Quote it's a poem. "A Thousand Kisses Deep"The ponies run, the girls are young,The odds are there to beat.You win a while, and then it’s done –Your little winning streak.And summoned now to dealWith your invincible defeat,You live your life as if it’s real,A Thousand Kisses Deep.I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,I’m back on Boogie Street.You lose your grip, and then you slipInto the Masterpiece.And maybe I had miles to drive,And promises to keep:You ditch it all to stay alive,A Thousand Kisses Deep.And sometimes when the night is slow,The wretched and the meek,We gather up our hearts and go,A Thousand Kisses Deep.Confined to sex, we pressed againstThe limits of the sea:I saw there were no oceans leftFor scavengers like me.I made it to the forward deck.I blessed our remnant fleet –And then consented to be wrecked,A Thousand Kisses Deep.I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,I’m back on Boogie Street.I guess they won’t exchange the giftsThat you were meant to keep.And quiet is the thought of you,The file on you complete,Except what we forgot to do,A Thousand Kisses Deep.And sometimes when the night is slow,The wretched and the meek,We gather up our hearts and go,A Thousand Kisses Deep.The ponies run, the girls are young,The odds are there to beat . . .”

“As the mist leaves no scarOn the dark green hillSo my body leaves no scarOn you and never will”

“The maestro says it's Mozart but it sounds like bubble gum”

“I will not be held like a drunkard / under the cold tap of facts”

“I told the truth, I didn't come to fool you”

“The first star tonight insanely high, virgin, calm.I have one hour of peace before the documented planets burn me down.”

“My abandoned narcotics have abandoned me.”

“Love me this first day of June.I'd rather sleep with ashes than priestly wisdom.Of all the lonely places in the world this is best where debris is human.I kiss the precious ashes that fall from fiery flesh.On these familiar shapes I lay my kisses down.”

“so much of the world is plunged in darkness and chaos...So ring the bells that still can ringForget your perfect offeringThere is a crack in everythingThat’s how the light gets in.”

“Then I start to struggleWith a feeble songWhich will overcome meMany miles from home”

“I dreamed about you baby.It was just the other night. Most of you was nakedAh, but some of you was light.”

“The Dream""O I had such a wonderful dream, she said. I dreamed you made love to me.At last, he said to himself, the spirithas taken up some of the heavy work.”

“I'm afraid to live any place but in expectation. I'm no life-risk.”

“Kärlek kan man inte samla i lador. Finns det en del av Jesus i vartenda massfabricerat krucifix?Alla offer som vi inte själva mördar eller spärrar in är inbillade offer.Och F. sa: Jag bär mitt hjärta som en krona. Så försvann de, de spetälskevita metoperna och trygliferna och alla de andra snirkliga namnen som står för renhet; bleka tempel och förfallna altaren försvann under den scharlakansröda glasyren.Det ursprungligaste i en människas natur är ofta det som är det mest desperata. Således påtvingas världen nya system av människor som helt enkelt inte står ut med att leva med det som är. Det enda som betyder något för en skapare är att hans system är unikt.Mitt hat till smärtan är nåt så extra kolossalt fantastisk, mycket viktigare än ditt hat till smärtan, men min kropp är så mycket mera central, jag är smärtans Moskva, du är bara en väderstation på landet.Var med mig, religiösa amuletter av alla slag, ni smo hänger i silverkedjor, ni som sitter fastmålade på underkläder med en säkerhetsnål, ni som gömmer er i svart brösthår, ni som löper som spårvagnshjul i springan mellan gamla lyckliga kvinnors bröst, ni som av misstag pressas in i skinnet när någon älskar, ni som fingras som mynt och på vilka man letar efter silverstäplar, ni som har kommit bort bland kläderna för kelande femtonåringar, ni som stoppas i mun medan man tänker, ni mycket dyrbara som bara spinkiga små flickebarn för lov att bära, ni som hänger i skärpkammare tillsammans med uppknutna slipsar, ni som blir kyssta för att bringa tur, ni som rycks från halsen i vredesmod, ni som är pressade, ni som är graverade, ni som blir lagda på spårvägsspår för att få en ny och lustig form, ni som sitter fast i innerklädseln i taxitak...Vi ljuger alla dröm efter dröm i varandras armar. Morgon efter morgon finner vintern mig ensam bland slitna löv med fruset snor och frusna tårar i ögonbrynnen.”

“-You know how to call mealthough such a noise nowwould only confuse the airNeither of us can forgetthe steps we dancedthe words you stretchedto call me out of dustYes I long for younot just as a leaf for weatheror vase for handsbut with a narrow human longingthat makes a man refuseany fields but his ownI wait for you at anunexpected place in your journeylike the rusted keyor the feather you do not pick up.--I WILL NEVER FIND THE FACESFOR ALL GOODBYES I'VE MADE.-For Anyone Dressed in MarbleThe miracle we all are waiting foris waiting till the Parthenon falls downand House of Birthdays is a house no moreand fathers are unpoisoned by renown.The medals and the records of abusecan't help us on our pilgrimage to lust,but like whips certain perverts never use,compel our flesh in paralysing trust.I see an orphan, lawless and serene,standing in a corner of the sky,body something like bodies that have been,but not the scar of naming in his eye.Bred close to the ovens, he's burnt inside.Light, wind, cold, dark -- they use him like a bride.I Had It for a MomentI had it for a momentI knew why I must thank youI saw powerful governing men in black suitsI saw them undressedin the arms of young mistressesthe men more naked than the naked womenthe men crying quietlyNo that is not itI'm losing why I must thank youwhich means I'm left with pure longingHow old are youDo you like your thighsI had it for a momentI had a reason for letting the pictureof your mouth destroy my conversationSomething on the radiothe end of a Mexican songI saw the musicians getting paidthey are not even surprisedthey knew it was only a jobNow I've lost it completelyA lot of people think you are beautifulHow do I feel about thatI have no feeling about thatI had a wonderful reason for not merelycourting youIt was tied up with the newspapersI saw secret arrangements in high officesI saw men who loved their worldlinesseven though they had looked throughbig electric telescopesthey still thought their worldliness was seriousnot just a hobby a taste a harmless affectationthey thought the cosmos listenedI was suddenly fearfulone of their obscure regulationscould separate usI was ready to beg for mercyNow I'm getting into humiliationI've lost why I began thisI wanted to talk about your eyesI know nothing about your eyesand you've noticed how little I knowI want you somewhere safefar from high officesI'll study you laterSo many people want to cry quietly beside you”

“A Kite is a VictimA kite is a victim you are sure of.You love it because it pullsgentle enough to call you master,strong enough to call you fool;because it liveslike a desperate trained falconin the high sweet air,and you can always haul it downto tame it in your drawer.A kite is a fish you have already caughtin a pool where no fish come,so you play him carefully and long,and hope he won't give up,or the wind die down.A kite is the last poem you've writtenso you give it to the wind,but you don't let it gountil someone finds yousomething else to do.A kite is a contract of glorythat must be made with the sun,so you make friends with the fieldthe river and the wind,then you pray the whole cold night before,under the travelling cordless moon,to make you worthy and lyric and pure.GiftYou tell me that silenceis nearer to peace than poemsbut if for my giftI brought you silence(for I know silence)you would sayThis is not silencethis is another poemand you would hand it back to meThere are some menThere are some menwho should have mountainsto bear their names through timeGrave markers are not high enoughor greenand sons go far away to lose the fisttheir father’s hand will always seemI had a friend he lived and diedin mighty silence and with dignityleft no book son or lover to mourn.Nor is this a mourning songbut only a naming of this mountainon which I walkfragrant, dark and softly whiteunder the pale of mistI name this mountain after him.-Believe nothing of meExcept that I felt your beautymore closely than my own.I did not see any cities burn,I heard no promises of endless night,I felt your beautymore closely than my own.Promise me that I will return.--When you call me closeto tell meyour body is not beautifulI want to summonthe eyes and hidden mouthsof stone and light and waterto testify against you.-SongI almost went to bedwithout rememberingthe four white violetsI put in the button-holeof your green sweaterand how i kissed you thenand you kissed meshy as though I'dnever been your lover -Reach into the vineyard of arteries for my heart.Eat the fruit of ignorance and share with me the mist andfragrance of dying.-”

“I'm planning a catastrophe.”

“Coroner's inquest: death by drowning. And he hasn't been to the sea-shore in ten years.”

“Your body will never be familiar.”

“It doesn't matter how anything happens.”

“Anything I tell you is an alibi for something else."Then let's be quiet together.”

“Comic books, movies, radio programmes centered their entertainment around the fact of torture. With the clearest of consciences, with a patriotic intensity, children dreamed, talked, acted orgies of physical abuse. Imaginations were released to wander on a reconnaissance mission from Cavalry to Dachau. European children starved and watched their parents scheme and die. Here we grew up with toy whips. Early warning against our future leaders, the war babies.”

“Well, I've been waiting, I was surewe'd meet between the trains we're waiting forI think it's time to board anotherPlease understand, I never had a secret chartto get me to the heart of thisor any other matter”

“I am running through a snowfall which is her thighs, he dramatized in purple. Her thighs are filling up the street. Wide as a snowfall, heavy as huge falling Zeppelins, her damp thighs are settling on the sharp roofs and wooden balconies. Weather-vanes press the shape of roosters and sail-boats into the skin. The faces of famous statues are preserved like intaglios....”

“He hated the men floating in sleep in the big stone houses. Because their lives were ordered and their rooms tidy. Because they got up every morning and did their public work. Because they weren't going to dynamite their factories and have naked parties in the fire.”

“Deprivation is the mother of poetry.”

“Steam coming off the planet, clouds of fleecy steam as boy and girl populations clash in religious riots, hot and whistling like a graveyard sodomist our little planet embraces its fragile yo-yo destiny, tuned in the secular mind like a dying engine. But some do not hear it this way, some flying successful moon-shot eyes do not see it this way. They do not hear the individual noises shhh,hiss, they hear the sound of the sounds together, they behold the interstices flashing up and down the cone of the flowering whirlwind.”

“What is a saint? A saint is someone who has achieved a remote human possibility. It is impossible to say what that possibility is. I think it has something to do with the energy of love. Contact with this energy results in the exercise of a kind of balance in the chaos of existence. A saint does not dissolve the chaos; if he did the world would have changed long ago. I do not think that a saint dissolves the chaos even for himself, for there is something arrogant and warlike in the notion of a man setting the universe in order. It is a kind of balance that is his glory. He rides the drifts like an escaped ski. His course is a caress of the hill. His track is a drawing of the snow in a moment of its particular arrangement with wind and rock. Something in him so loves the world that he gives himself to the laws of gravity and chance. Far from flying with the angels, he traces with the fidelity of a seismograph needle the state of the solid bloody landscape.”

“Hallelujah" "Your faith was strong but you needed proof.You saw her bathing on the roof.Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you.She tied you to a kitchen chair,she broke your throne, and she cut your hair.And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah....”

“Maybe there's a God above,As for me, all I've ever seemed to learn from loveIs how to shoot at someone who outdrew you.Yeah but it's not a complaint that you hear tonight,It's not the laughter of someone who claims to have seen the lightNo it's a cold and it's a very lonely Hallelujah.”

“They ended every speech with the word hiro, which means: like I said. Thus each man took responsibility for intruding into the inarticulate murmur of the spheres. To hiro they added the word koue, a cry of joy or distress, according to whether it was sung or howled. Thus they essayed to piece the mysterious curtain which hangs between all talking men: at the end of every utterance a man stepped back, so to speak, and attempted to interpret his words to the listener, attempted to subvert the beguiling intellect with the noise of true emotion.”

“Love is not a victory marchIt's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah”

“My reputation as a ladies' man was a joke that caused me to laugh bitterly through the ten thousand nights I spent alone.”

“Remember when I moved in you and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was, "Hallelujah.”

“It's hard to hold the hand of anyone who is reaching for the sky just to surrender”

“I'm not a very nostalgic person. I don't really look at the past and summon up regrets, or self-congratulations, it just is not a mechanism that operates very strongly in me. So I neither have regrets nor occasions for self-congratulations.”

“You go to Heaven once you've been to Hell”

“If you want a lover I'll do anything you ask.If you want a different kind of love I'll wear a mask.If you want to strike me down in anger here I stand.If you want a partner in life take my hand.I'm your man.”

“It’s a depressing habit you have of loving to sneeze and of eating apples as if they were juicier for you and being the first one to exclaim how good the movie is. You depress people. We like apples too.”

“what is the expression which the age demands? the age demands no expression whatever. we have seen photographs of bereaved asian mothers. we are not interested in the agony of your fumbled organs. there is nothing you can show on your face that can match the horror of this time. do not even try. you will only hold yourself up to the scorn of those who have felt things deeply. we have seen newsreels of humans in the extremities of pain and dislocation.you are playing to people who have experienced a catastrophe. this should make you very quiet. speak the words, convey the data, step aside. everyone knows you are in pain. you cannot tell the audience everything you know about love in every line of love you speak. step aside and they will know what you know because you know it already. you have nothing to teach them. you are not more beautiful than they are. you are not wiser.do not shout at them. do not force a dry entry. that is bad sex. if you show the lines of your genitals, then deliver what you promise. and remember that people do not really want an acrobat in bed. what is our need? to be close to the natural man, to be close to the natural woman. do not pretend that you are a beloved singer with a vast loyal audience which has followed the ups and downs of your life to this very moment. the bombs, flame-throwers, and all the shit have destroyed more than just the trees and villages. they have also destroyed the stage. did you think that your profession would escape the general destruction? there is no more stage. there are no more footlights. you are among the people. then be modest. speak the words, convey the data, step aside. be by yourself. be in your own room. do not put yourself on.do not act out words. never act out words. never try to leave the floor when you talk about flying. never close your eyes and jerk your head to one side when you talk about death. do not fix your burning eyes on me when you speak about love. if you want to impress me when you speak about love put your hand in your pocket or under your dress and play with yourself. if ambition and the hunger for applause have driven you to speak about love you should learn how to do it without disgracing yourself or the material.this is an interior landscape. it is inside. it is private. respect the privacy of the material. these pieces were written in silence. the courage of the play is to speak them. the discipline of the play is not to violate them. let the audience feel your love of privacy even though there is no privacy. be good whores. the poem is not a slogan. it cannot advertise you. it cannot promote your reputation for sensitivity. you are students of discipline. do not act out the words. the words die when you act them out, they wither, and we are left with nothing but your ambition.the poem is nothing but information. it is the constitution of the inner country. if you declaim it and blow it up with noble intentions then you are no better than the politicians whom you despise. you are just someone waving a flag and making the cheapest kind of appeal to a kind of emotional patriotism. think of the words as science, not as art. they are a report. you are speaking before a meeting of the explorers' club of the national geographic society. these people know all the risks of mountain climbing. they honour you by taking this for granted. if you rub their faces in it that is an insult to their hospitality. do not work the audience for gasps ans sighs. if you are worthy of gasps and sighs it will not be from your appreciation of the event but from theirs. it will be in the statistics and not the trembling of the voice or the cutting of the air with your hands. it will be in the data and the quiet organization of your presence.avoid the flourish. do not be afraid to be weak. do not be ashamed to be tired. you look good when you're tired. you look like you could go on forever. now come into my arms. you are the image of my beauty.”

“When you're not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you've sinned. ”

“Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack in everything That's how the light gets in.”

“If you don't become the ocean, you'll be seasick every day.”

“It doesn't matter what you do because it's going to happen anyway.”