Mar. 27th, 2006 07:42 pm
cinema_babe: (Flash. cleavage)
My mind has forged a link between this Leonard Cohen poem and my feelings about kissing. I suspect it's because for me, this poem captures the inner monologue that swirls through the a lover's mind during a final kiss.

Or maybe not.

This is one of his poems; I don't know if he ever set it to music. Every time I read it a Celtic/modal tune plays in my head. Maybe I'll write it down one day or even record it.

Or maybe not.

This piece always makes me think of the sea in autumn; brine and woodsmoke in my nose. At the same time it reminds me of an Irish landscape, like something from Ryan's Daughter. This poem haunts me because in it I see the faces of some of the men I left and some of the men who left me.

TRAVEL by Leonard Cohen

Loving you, flesh to flesh, I often thought
Of traveling penniless to some mud throne
Where a master might instruct me how to plot
My life away from pain, to love alone
In the bruiseless embrace of stone and lake.

Lost in the fields of your hair I was never lost
Enough to lose a way I had to take;
Breathless beside your body I could not exhaust
The will that forbid me contract, vow,
Or promise, and often while you slept
I looked in awe beyond your beauty.

Now I know why many men have stopped and wept
Halfway between the loves they leave and seek,
And wondered if travel leads them anywhere -
Horizons keep the soft line of your cheek,
The windy sky's a locket for your hair.
cinema_babe: (Default)
This year, Autumn seems to be a figment of the calender's imagination. I post this in honor of the real Autumn, wherever she might be.

How do I explain the morning?
Traveling mile after mile
Leaving pieces of me in the pavement below -
Chunks and slivers leaving a trail from DC to New England
Leaving pieces of me behind until I’m lean and all bone,
Clean and hard and blanched.
Dribs and drabs of me left behind.
And then I meet myself,
In the morning
On the mountain
Surrounded by old pine and
No one - no thing - to encumber me
Just the water and the rocky soil that stretches
High, high
High and touches God’s heart.
(I’m all soft inside but for the
Snap of the air that stiffens my spine and keeps me erect
And even my tears are sweet like a baby’s
Like water my blood runs pure
And clean I breath deep and spew flowers and milk.)
No clock or meter will fix my place or time.
I am naked in the midst of the elements and
I resonate like a chime.
And now I am the mountain
And the rocky soil
And the icy waters.
And now I am the chinks and slivers I left behind and
They are
With me
On the mountain
In the morning

Okay, I can't believe I'm posting poetry two days in a row but I guess I'm just in that sort of mood.

I was fresh off of a breakup and decided to take a few days off from the job to pull myself together. I packed a small suitcase and drove north one day in late October. Somewhere around the end of the Garden State Parkway, I decided to go to Vermont, no reason, it just seemed like a good idea. I was somewhere in the White Mountains, near Waterbury (home of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream) and this is what came out. The funny thing is that I'm not even a morning person. Who knows, maybe I would be if I lived in Vermont I would be.

I've always thought of the Fall as being very female; the colors, the harvest; the genteel slide from the aggressive heat of summer into the sweater cool days and 2 blanket nights. I miss her and if someone happens to see Autumn, please tell her I miss her terribly and ask her to stop by Jersey even if it's only for a week or two.

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