"There are heros in the seaweed": Goodbye Lenard Cohen

Dad first played me the album "The Songs of Leonard Cohen"

some time in the early 1980's. 

Its still one of favorite albums, thirty-five years later. 

I was immediately taken by the words, strikingly spiritual, 

touching on the ephemeral, as well as the feeling 

that we have to listen to the crazies, the person who feeds 

 you tea and oranges from some strange unknown places, 

and reminds you that there are heros everywhere, 

in the seaweed, treasures to be found

in the most unlikely places: 

"And she shows you where to look among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed, there are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love and they wil lean that way forever"

I quote from it in my books. It sends me to church, to talk

with the homeless, with everyone, to sit with the song of my life.

He reminded me I could feel eros and spirituality,

love and hate, war and peace. 

Jesus said only drownding men could see him.

So we all had to keep faith, even in the everyday. 

Yet, not everyone was going to see it. 

Over the years, I put the songs on mix tape after mix tape, for 

girlfriends, comrades, buddies, played it in California and Texas, 

driving up the California coast, up to the Mohonk Mountain House,

growing up, painting the house here in Brooklyn. 

Nina sang Susanne like no one else.

She always took us to the river. 

She shared her crazy with us as she sang, 

losing and finding herself. 

Suzanne

Leonard Cohen

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by, you can spend the night forever
And you know that she's half-crazy but that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her that you have no love to give her
Then he gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer that you've always been her lover

And you want to travel with her, and you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind

And Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain only drowning men could see him
He said all men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them
But he himself was broken, long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human, he sank beneath your wisdom like a stone

And you want to travel with him, and you want to travel blind
And you think you maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with her mind

Now, Suzanne takes your hand and she leads you to the river
She's wearing rags and feathers from Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey on our lady of the harbor
And she shows you where to look among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed, there are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love and they wil lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds her mirror

And you want to travel with her, and you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind

My friend Cleve Jones played me Songs of Love and Hate

as we got stoned and drove around Northern California

in 1995.  He was sick and didn't know if he would live. 

So we smiled and looked out at the sunshine and enjoyed

a perfect buzz, victories past, present and future buzzing

through time. 

Caroline and I listened to album after album of his when we 

first met.  Its been road trip music ever since, marking the 

contours of our life together. 

"We met when we were almost young
deep in the green lilac park.

You held on to me like I was a crucifix..."

It was a way of connecting our present life, those past days listening with Dad,

with the present and where it was going. 

Caroline never "held me like I was a crucifix" but that

was ok.  Loving his music did not mean i had to understand it.

He recalled writing So Long Marianne. 

"I began this on Aylmer Street in Montreal and finished 

it a yaer or solater at the Chelsea Hotel in New York. I

 didn't think I was saying goodbye but I guess I was. She

 gave me many songs, and she has given songs to others too.

 She is a Muse. A lot of people I know think that there is 

nothing more importantthan making a song. Fortunately, this

 belief arises infrequently  in their conversation."

    /A          /                 /Bm      /    /
Come over to the window, my little darling,
D          /D               /A      /
I'd like to try to read your palm.
G              /                  /D          /
I used to think I was some kind of Gypsy boy,
F#m      /               /E    Esus4/
before I let you take me home.
E  E7 /A        /        /F#m           /
   Now so long, Marianne, it's time that we began
   /E  Esus4 /E E7  /E  Esus4/E       E7       /A     /Asus4  /A  /Asus4 /A
to laugh and cry and cry and laugh about it all again.
    
    
    /A   etc.
Well you know that I love to live with you,
but you make me forget so very much.
I forget to pray for the angels
and then the angels forget to pray for us.

Now so long, Marianne, it's time that we began ...

We met when we were almost young
deep in the green lilac park.
You held on to me like I was a crucifix,
as we went kneeling through the dark.

Oh so long, Marianne, it's time that we began ...

Your letters they all say that you're beside me now.
Then why do I feel alone?
I'm standing on a ledge and your fine spider web
is fastening my ankle to a stone.

Now so long, Marianne, it's time that we began ...

For now I need your hidden love.
I'm cold as a new razor blade.
You left when I told you I was curious,
I never said that I was brave.

Oh so long, Marianne, it's time that we began ...

Oh, you are really such a pretty one.
I see you've gone and changed your name again.
And just when I climbed this whole mountainside,
to wash my eyelids in the rain!

Oh so long, Marianne, it's time that we began ...

(last two verses not on CD)

Oh your eyes, well I forgot Your eyes
Your body's at home in every sea.
How come you gave away your news to everyone
That you said was a secret for me.

Oh so long, Marianne, it's time that we began ... 

If you leave, where will I keep you then
In my heart as some men say
But I who was born to love everyone
Why should I keep you so far away?

Oh so long, Marianne, it's time that we began ... 

He wrote song after song about the Chelsea Hotel, 

where Dad and i used to talk all night. He recalled

Janis Joplin, "I remember you well in the Chelsea

Hotel, giving me head in an unmade bed..."

It was messy sensuous spiritual music that reminded

us that we love each other, kill each other, and 

come back to each other.



"There is a war" he sang. "Come on 

back to the war. Don't be a tourist."




"There is a war between the ones who say there is a war
And the ones who say there isn't.



There is a war between the rich and poor,
A war between the man and the woman.
There is a war between the left and right,
A war between the black and white,
A war between the odd and the even.

Why don't you come on back to the war, pick up your tiny burden,
Why don't you come on back to the war, let's all get even,
Why don't you come on back to the war, can't you hear me speaking?"

I always loved his older stuff.  

But today, when i hear him sing "everybody knows" i think he may have

been onto something.  "Everybody knows the plague is coming."






Everybody knows that the dice are loaded










Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That's how it goes
Everybody knows















Cleve Jones posted a link to "Story of Isaac" on facebook writing:









I think that this is probably my favorite Leonard Cohen song. 



It has haunted me since I first heard it while still a teenager. 



In light of this week's events, it seems a particularly appropriate 



song to remember him with on this already very sad day.  







"
You who build these altars now
To sacrifice these children
You must not do it anymore"



Some people embody poetry. 

It teemed from his life.  

He left the day after Trump ascended 

in a final grand poetic gesture. 



And now the songs remain. 



Hallelujah.