The rain falls down on last year's man,
that's a jew's harp on the table,
that's a crayon in his hand.
And the corners of the blueprint are ruined since they rolled
far past the stems of thumbtacks
that still throw shadows on the wood.
And the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend
and all the rain falls down amen
on the works of last year's man.
I met a lady, she was playing with her soldiers in the dark
oh one by one she had to tell them
that her name was Joan of Arc.
I was in that army, yes I stayed a little while;
I want to thank you, Joan of Arc,
for treating me so well.
And though I wear a uniform I was not born to fight;
all these wounded boys you lie beside,
goodnight, my friends, goodnight.
I came upon a wedding that old families had contrived;
Bethlehem the bridegroom,
Babylon the bride.
Great Babylon was naked, oh she stood there trembling for me,
and Bethlehem inflamed us both
like the shy one at some orgy.
And when we fell together all our flesh was like a veil
that I had to draw aside to see
the serpent eat its tail.
Some women wait for Jesus, and some women wait for Cain
so I hang upon my altar
and I hoist my axe again.
And I take the one who finds me back to where it all began
when Jesus was the honeymoon
and Cain was just the man.
And we read from pleasant Bibles that are bound in blood and skin
that the wilderness is gathering
all its children back again.
The rain falls down on last year's man,
an hour has gone by
and he has not moved his hand.
But everything will happen if he only gives the word;
the lovers will rise up
and the mountains touch the ground.
But the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mend
and all the rain falls down amen
on the works of last year's man.
Cohen stays calm as $5m pension disappears
· Manager accused of spending all his money
· Singer starts working again to make ends meet
Dan Glaister in Los Angeles
Saturday October 8, 2005
The Guardian
He has been called the "poet laureate of pessimism". His songs, delivered in a slow, haunting monotone, tell of death, betrayal and depression. Now, earthly matters have caught up with Leonard Cohen: his manager, he alleges, has spent all his money.
A lawsuit filed by the 71-year-old singer and poet in a Los Angeles court describes a tangled web of deceit, allegation and legal chicanery. Cohen claims Kelley Lynch, his manager for 16 years, stole more than $5m (£2.8m) from a fund set up for his retirement. There is only $150,000 left in the fund and Cohen has mortgaged his house to pay his legal costs and is selling his assets. He cannot touch the money in the fund because of the legal dispute.
Tonight Will Be Fine
Sometimes I find I get to thinking of the past.
We swore to each other then that our love would surely last.
You kept right on loving, I went on a fast,
now I am too thin and your love is too vast.
But I know from your eyes
and I know from your smile
that tonight will be fine,
will be fine, will be fine, will be fine
for a while.
I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there's only one bed and there's only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair.
But I know from your eyes
and I know from your smile
that tonight will be fine,
will be fine, will be fine, will be fine
for a while.
Oh sometimes I see her undressing for me,
she's the soft naked lady love meant her to be
and she's moving her body so brave and so free.
If I've got to remember that's a fine memory.
And I know from her eyes
and I know from her smile
that tonight will be fine,
will be fine, will be fine, will be fine
for a while.
Edgar, glad to see this thread again:
The Guests Lyrics
by Leonard Cohen
One by one, the guests arrive
The guests are coming through
The open-hearted many
The broken-hearted few
And no one knows where the night is going
And no one knows why the wine is flowing
Oh love I need you
I need you
I need you
I need you
Oh . . . I need you now
And those who dance, begin to dance
Those who weep begin
And "Welcome, welcome" cries a voice
"Let all my guests come in."
And no one knows where the night is going ...
And all go stumbling through that house
in lonely secrecy
Saying "Do reveal yourself"
or "Why has thou forsaken me?"
And no one knows where the night is going ...
All at once the torches flare
The inner door flies open
One by one they enter there
In every style of passion
And no one knows where the night is going ...
And here they take their sweet repast
While house and grounds dissolve
And one by one the guests are cast
Beyond the garden wall
And no one knows where the night is going ...
Those who dance, begin to dance
Those who weep begin
Those who earnestly are lost
Are lost and lost again
And no one knows where the night is going ...
One by the guests arrive
The guests are coming through
The broken-hearted many
The open-hearted few
And no one knows where the night is going ...
The album containing The Guests is one of my favorite all time albums. Especially The Traitor.
Do you know the title of his most recent album? Unlike Dylan, he has retained his muse, at least as far as I know. Dylan said on an interview that he lost the capability to write with such ease when he was still fairly young.
The Traitor Lyrics
by Leonard Cohen
Now the Swan it floated on the English river
Ah the Rose of High Romance it opened wide
A sun tanned woman yearned me through the summer
and the judges watched us from the other side
I told my mother "Mother I must leave you
preserve my room but do not shed a tear
Should rumour of a shabby ending reach you
it was half my fault and half the atmosphere"
But the Rose I sickened with a scarlet fever
and the Swan I tempted with a sense of shame
She said at last I was her finest lover
and if she withered I would be to blame
The judges said you missed it by a fraction
rise up and brace your troops for the attack
Ah the dreamers ride against the men of action
Oh see the men of action falling back
But I lingered on her thighs a fatal moment
I kissed her lips as though I thirsted still
My falsity had stung me like a hornet
The poison sank and it paralysed my will
I could not move to warn all the younger soldiers
that they had been deserted from above
So on battlefields from here to Barcelona
I'm listed with the enemies of love
And long ago she said "I must be leaving,
Ah but keep my body here to lie upon
You can move it up and down and when I'm sleeping
Run some wire through that Rose and wind the Swan"
So daily I renew my idle duty
I touch her here and there -- I know my place
I kiss her open mouth and I praise her beauty
and people call me traitor to my face
His most recent album, released a bit over a year ago, is titled
Dear Heather. I like it; personally, I think it reflects the fact Leonard has aged - and reveals he's aged well, firming in character and growing in nuance.
It's nice to hear that Timber. I love Dylan, and his music is classic, but he never seemed to have the personal depth of character Cohen seems always to have had. Perhaps because he didn't become a super star. That had to have caused Dylan to pay a huge price.
Cohen has adapted well to older age. He shows a surprising resilience.
Dear Heather is very good, but it is a quiet album. I must have solitude when I play it.
Solitude is necessary for certain music. Maybe I'll start a thread on the subject.
Solitude.
Van Dyke Parks - Song Cycle
Belafonte - Love is a Gentle Thing
Dylan - New Morning
Cohen - Songs of Love and Hate
Here is a link to the thread on solitude I started.
http://www.able2know.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=1703962#1703962
I hope you will post.
Seems So Long Ago, Nancy
It seems so long ago,
Nancy was alone,
looking at the Late Late show
through a semi-precious stone.
In the House of Honesty
her father was on trial,
in the House of Mystery
there was no one at all,
there was no one at all.
It seems so long ago,
none of us were strong;
Nancy wore green stockings
and she slept with everyone.
She never said she'd wait for us
although she was alone,
I think she fell in love for us
in nineteen sixty one,
in nineteen sixty one.
It seems so long ago,
Nancy was alone,
a forty five beside her head,
an open telephone.
We told her she was beautiful,
we told her she was free
but none of us would meet her in
the House of Mystery,
the House of Mystery.
And now you look around you,
see her everywhere,
many use her body,
many comb her hair.
In the hollow of the night
when you are cold and numb
you hear her talking freely then,
she's happy that you've come,
she's happy that you've come.
Lover Lover Lover
I asked my father,
I said, "Father change my name."
The one I'm using now it's covered up
with fear and filth and cowardice and shame.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
He said, "I locked you in this body,
I meant it as a kind of trial.
You can use it for a weapon,
or to make some woman smile."
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me
yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
"Then let me start again," I cried,
"please let me start again,
I want a face that's fair this time,
I want a spirit that is calm."
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me
yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
"I never never turned aside," he said,
"I never walked away.
It was you who built the temple,
it was you who covered up my face."
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me
yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
And may the spirit of this song,
may it rise up pure and free.
May it be a shield for you,
a shield against the enemy.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me
yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me
yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Cohen's newest album. It's too quiet to listen to in my truck. I just put it on if I'm home alone.
His song Chelsea Hotel No 2, about Janis Joplin, may be the only song overtly written by one pop star about sex with another. "You said to me then, you preferred handsome men, but for me you would make an exception ... giving me head on the unmade bed, while the limousines wait in the street
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dx11oNHPDrA
@edgarblythe,
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
@edgarblythe,
thanks for this thread, Edgar
it's one of the best
