When I heard the news of Leonard Cohen’s death last night, my stomach knotted. I immediately got on YouTube to see if I could find clips of my favorite Cohen masterpieces. With closed eyes, I let the long-familiar cadences of his Suzanne wash over me.
Was it a dream, or did I see him play at SIU-Edwardsville, long ago in my misspent youth? I let my body rest against the pillows, eyes still closed, tablet falling from my hands. My feet in dreams crush the blades of grass beneath my boots as I maneuver around the blankets and the bottles of wine stuck in upturned buckets, contraband that the security guard did not really strive to find.
On our blanket, a few yards down the hill, my boyfriend gathers the pile of picnic remains. The opening act strikes its instruments in the golden light of the setting sun. As the dark gathers, the murmurs of the crowd subside, and Leonard Cohen moves slowly across the stage to take his place on the stool that a roadie hurries to set in front of a microphone.
Was it a dream? Or did his music sustain me for a decade, a decade during which my weight plunged below 80 and my mother fretted? A decade when I finished college early and decamped to Boston in a desperate act to escape my abysmal failures?
I will not complain about this loss, the passing of this fabulous writer and musician. His death belongs to others, to the family which mourns him and the friends who did more than idolize him. In fact I celebrate his life, because his music wrapped itself around my cells as I aged. I took my comfort from his art. We all have something which gets us through our loneliest hours. Though I have his music only on worn vinyl and in my mind, Leonard Cohen’s voice guided me through a dark decade. With my brother Kevin’s gruff encouragement, my mother’s constant mutterings of advice, and the musky fragrance of single malt Scotch, Leonard Cohen wove a net beneath me while I crossed the high wire between the bitter muck of my Catholic high school days and the rest of my life.
There would be other crises, and other saviors, but without the music of Leonard Cohen, I never would have seen them. So this morning, I bid him fare thee well, with eternal gratitude.
It’s the eleventh day of the thirty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.
LEONARD COHEN SINGING “SUZANNE”
Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
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 she 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 maybe you’ll trust him
For he’s touched your perfect body with his mind.
Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
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 will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the 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.
Lovely tribute, Corinne.