Leonard Cohen Is Dead

Holy shit someone as ignorant as you deserves to be sad

I have literally never heard of him before Dylan won the Nobel.
People said that he deserved it more. It made sense because Dylan can not sing or write lyrics for shit.

Explain.

I never met him ;_____;

>I have literally never heard of him before Dylan won the Nobel.

You were Marlon Brando
I was Steve McQueen

You were K-Y Jelly
I was Vaseline

Hallelujah

wtf literally today I was listen to his first album and reading some of his poetry.

Only reason why Dylan won it was becasue he's more popular in the states.

>ignorant

Unlike everyone else who releases albums with 1-2 good songs on the album, Leonard cohen was a master at writing and creating melodies which made almost his entire albums spectacular.

I don't know who he was.

Post your favourite Cohen song

It's coming through a hole in the air
From those nights in Tiananmen Square
It's coming from the feel
That this ain't exactly real
Or it's real, but it ain't exactly there
From the wars against disorder
From the sirens night and day
From the fires of the homeless
From the ashes of the gay
Democracy is coming to the USA
It's coming through a crack in the wall
On a visionary flood of alcohol
From the staggering account
Of the Sermon on the Mount
Which I don't pretend to understand at all
It's coming from the silence
On the dock of the bay,
From the brave, the bold, the battered
Heart of Chevrolet
Democracy is coming to the USA
It's coming from the sorrow in the street
The holy places where the races meet
From the homicidal bitchin'
That goes down in every kitchen
To determine who will serve and who will eat
From the wells of disappointment
Where the women kneel to pray
For the grace of God in the desert here
And the desert far away:
Democracy is coming to the USA
Sail on, sail on
Oh mighty ship of State
To the shores of need
Past the reefs of greed
Through the Squalls of hate
Sail on, sail on, sail on, sail on
It's coming to America first
The cradle of the best and of the worst
It's here they got the range
And the machinery for change
And it's here they got the spiritual thirst
It's here the family's broken
And it's here the lonely say
That the heart has got to open
In a fundamental way
Democracy is coming to the USA
It's coming from the women and the men
Oh baby, we'll be making love again
We'll be going down so deep
The river's going to weep,
And the mountain's going to shout Amen
It's coming like the tidal flood
Beneath the lunar sway
Imperial, mysterious
In amorous array
Democracy is coming to the USA
Sail on, sail on
O mighty ship of State
To the shores of need
Past the reefs of greed
Through the squalls of hate
Sail on, sail on, sail on, sail on
I'm sentimental, if you know what I mean
I love the country but I can't stand the scene
And I'm neither left or right
I'm just staying home tonight
Getting lost in that hopeless little screen
But I'm stubborn as those garbage bags
As time cannot decay
I'm junk but I'm still holding up this little wild bouquet
Democracy is coming to the USA
To the USA

I'm saddened. I never considered him a particularly good poet or musician, but he brought some modicum of taste and poetry to the unwashed million. His earlier, acoustic stuff is better in my opinion. I feel that he tried to conceal a fundamental literary mediocrity with sparse orchestration, and both lyrics and music ended up being sparse in the worst sense. Nonetheless, we're so much the worse off without him. It seems somehow suiting that he should die just after Trump is elected. The time is out of joint.

Without trying to sound like a 'le born in the wrong generation'. Its sad that there arnt really any (good) musicians that speak with lyrics in a literature style anymore

Such a thing has always been rare. After all, why should someone with a really profound musical gift stoop to the inherently less satisfying art of poesy?

Jinx

>Such a thing has always been rare
No. You're wrong.
So many of these people do these same concept.
Debatable whether or not it's actually good.

I liked all of his albums. Sure, he wasn't the best poet, but his whole shtick fit together real nice. Even off the newest one, shit like this is sentimental and not subtle, and still manages to work

If the sea were sand alone
And the flowers made of stone
And no one that you hurt
Could ever heal
Well that’s how broken I would be
What my life would seem to me
If I didn’t have your love

Are you fucking kidding me with the way you write?

What's the problem? I ultimately prefer poetry to music, but you can't deny that music is "fuller" in a sense. Poetry, or at least good poetry, always strives to be music, which is obviously an impossible goal. I think Pater is basically right when he says that all art constantly aspires towards the state of music. Then again many musicians try to make their music somehow "poetic," which is an even more absurd conception than musical poetry.

Alright, name me one American who was both a good musician and a superb poet.

>ignorant

I have memorized whole poems by Geoffrey Hill, Dante Alighieri, Guido Cavalcanti, Luís de Camões, Calderón de la Barca, and Ezra Pound, all in the original.

I agree with the one you quoted. Cohen was one of the greatest living poets, and the greatest songwriter of the second half of the 20th century, in the popular tradition at least.

BALLAD OF THE ABSENT MARE - 1/2

Say a prayer for the cowboy
His mare's run away
And he'll walk til he finds her
His darling, his stray
But the river's in flood
And the roads are awash
And the bridges break up
In the panic of loss.

And there's nothing to follow
There's nowhere to go
She's gone like the summer
Gone like the snow
And the crickets are breaking
His heart with their song
As the day caves in
And the night is all wrong

Did he dream, was it she
Who went galloping past
And bent down the fern
Broke open the grass
And printed the mud with
The iron and the gold
That he nailed to her feet
When he was the lord

And although she goes grazing
A minute away
He tracks her all night
He tracks her all day
Oh blind to her presence
Except to compare
His injury here
With her punishment there

Then at home on a branch
In the highest tree
A songbird sings out
So suddenly
Ah the sun is warm
And the soft winds ride
On the willow trees
By the river side

Oh the world is sweet
The world is wide
And she's there where
The light and the darkness divide
And the steam's coming off her
She's huge and she's shy
And she steps on the moon
When she paws at the sky

And she comes to his hand
But she's not really tame
She longs to be lost
He longs for the same
And she'll bolt and she'll plunge
Through the first open pass
To roll and to feed
In the sweet mountain grass

Or she'll make a break
For the high plateau
Where there's nothing above
And there's nothing below
And it's time for the burden
It's time for the whip
Will she walk through the flame
Can he shoot from the hip

So he binds himself
To the galloping mare
And she binds herself
To the rider there
And there is no space
But there's left and right
And there is no time
But there's day and night

And he leans on her neck
And he whispers low
"Whither thou goest
I will go"
And they turn as one
And they head for the plain
No need for the whip
Ah, no need for the rein

I don't have an opinion on whether poetry is better than music, but come on, you're referring to it as "poesy."

I finally broke into the prison,
I found my place in the chain.
Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows,
all the brave young men
they're waiting now to see a signal
which some killer will be lighting for pay.
Into this furnace I ask you now to venture,
you whom I cannot betray.

I fought in the old revolution
on the side of the ghost and the King.
Of course I was very young
and I thought that we were winning;
I can't pretend I still feel very much like singing
as they carry the bodies away.

Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...

Lately you've started to stutter
as though you had nothing to say.
To all of my architects let me be traitor.
Now let me say I myself gave the order
to sleep and to search and to destroy.

Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...

Yes, you who are broken by power,
you who are absent all day,
you who are kings for the sake of your children's story,
the hand of your beggar is burdened down with money,
the hand of your lover is clay.

Into this furnace I ask you now to venture...

2/2

Now the clasp of this union
Who fastens it tight?
Who snaps it asunder
The very next night
Some say the rider
Some say the mare
Or that love's like the smoke
Beyond all repair

But my darling says
"Leonard, just let it go by
That old silhouette
On the great western sky"
So I pick out a tune
And they move right along
And they're gone like the smoke
And they're gone like this song

Well, this is an antique subject, so I figured I'd use an antique term.

your mistake was not referring to it as poésie instead

my fav:

youtube.com/watch?v=J3HTvlDFbm4

Alright, name me one American who was both a good musician and a superb poet.

Seth Putnam

You're a Cop

powdered sugar on your fingers, coffee on your shirt
bribes in your pocket, you never do any work
you fat fucking slob you just sit in a car
until you get off work then it's back to the bar

you fucking pig-pig
you're a fucking cop-cop

you never catch any crooks but harass everyone else
your fat fingers don't fit the trigger you're too slow to catch a nigger
you're a suburban cop because you're scared of the city
you broke a stool at dunkin donuts because you're so fucking fat

youtube.com/watch?v=wsTGSDTrqXU

>vvith accente

An uerie grete Absurdytie. Doth not one knovv, thatte in the current tyme alle this manner of Latinityes are an parte of English proper, and not any moe at all Frankophone? Uerilye is this an sedytion moste grave, to so abvse the tong of Oure Majestye.

This thread proves that
Music is a greater and mature art from than literature.

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm
Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm
Yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new
In city and in forest, they smiled like me and you
But now it's come to distances and both of us must try

Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time
Walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
You know my love goes with you as your love stays with me
It's just the way it changes like the shoreline and the sea
But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie

Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm
Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm
Yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new
In city and in forest they smiled like me and you
But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie

Your eyes are soft with sorrow
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye

Outmoste uulgaritie! Suche, suche, is the State of oure latest Colonies, that this muchel filthe shovlde becomme as regarded as oure Milton or oure Chaucer.

Nay, but it is thine oune ineloqvencie and svbseqvente ignorance, thatte strongarmes thee into this moste infelicitovs blundere of opinion. May I suggeste, thatte thou read'st yon moste celebrated Tract of the masterfvll Sir Phillip Sidney, The Defense of Poesie.

I'm so sad
RIP

When they poured across the border
I was cautioned to surrender
This I could not do
I took my gun and vanished.

I have changed my name so often
I've lost my wife and children
But I have many friends
And some of them are with me

An old woman gave us shelter
Kept us hidden in the garret
Then the soldiers came
She died without a whisper

There were three of us this morning
I'm the only one this evening
But I must go on
The frontiers are my prison

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing
Through the graves the wind is blowing
Freedom soon will come
Then we'll come from the shadows

Les Allemands étaient chez moi
Ils me dirent, "résigne toi"
Mais je n'ai pas peur
J'ai repris mon âme

J'ai changé cent fois de nom
J'ai perdu femme et enfants
Mais j'ai tant d'amis
J'ai la France entière

Un vieil homme dans un grenier
Pour la nuit nous a caché
Les Allemands l'ont pris
Il est mort sans surprise

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing
Through the graves the wind is blowing
Freedom soon will come
Then we'll come from the shadows

>thatte thou read'st yon moste celebrated Tract of the masterfvll Sir Phillip Sidney, The Defense of Poesie.
Okie.
Maybe after I eat my chicken tendies and watch Drive.

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.

I lit a thin green candle
To make you jealous of me
But the room just filled up with mosquitoes
They heard that my body was free
Then I took the dust of a long sleepless night
And I put it in your little shoe
And then I confess that I tortured the dress
That you wore for the world to look through

I showed my heart to the doctor
He said I'd just have to quit
Then he wrote himself a prescription
and your name was mentioned in it
Then he locked himself in a library shelf
With the details our honeymoon
And I hear from the nurse that he's gotten much worse
and his practice is all in a ruin

I heard of a saint who had loved you
So I studied all night in his school
He taught that the duty of lovers
Is to tarnish the golden rule
And just when I was sure that his teachings were pure
He drowned himself in the pool
His body is gone but back here on the lawn his spirit continues to drool

An Eskimo showed me a movie
He'd recently taken of you
The poor man could hardly stop shivering
His lips and his fingers were blue
I suppose that he froze when the wind took your clothes
And I guess he just never got warm
But you stand there so nice in your blizzard of ice
Oh please let me come into the storm

>almost could recall all the lyrics correctly
love this song

Love that track. I sing along with the backup female vocals like a retard every time.

He was a good lad but depressed as fuck for most of his life.

He don't think he went unwillingly.

Chelsea Hotel No. 2 was best song btw.

Every second, every minute, man I swear that she can get it
Say if you a bad bitch put your hands up high, hands up high, hands up high
Tell 'em dim the lights down right now, put me in the mood
I'm talking 'bout dark room, perfume
Go, go!
I recognize your fragrance (hol' up!)
You ain't never gotta say shit (woo!)
And I know your taste is
A little bit (mmm) high maintenance (ooh)
Everybody else basic
You live life on an everyday basis
With poetic justice, poetic justice
If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?
I mean I write poems in these songs dedicated to you
When you're in the mood for empathy, theres blood in my pen
Better yet where your friends and them?
I really wanna know you all
I really wanna show you off
Fuck that, pour up plenty of champagne
Cold nights when you curse this name
You called up your girlfriends and
Y'all curled in that little bitty Range I heard that
She wanna go and party, she wanna go and party
Nigga don't approach her with that Atari
Nigga that ain't good game, homie, sorry
They say conversation, rule a nation, I can tell
But I could never right my wrongs
'less I write it down for real, P.S

And I know just, know just, know just, know just, know just what you want
Poetic justice, put it in a song
You can get it, you can get it
You can get it, you can get it
And I know just, know just, know just, know just, know just what you want
Poetic justice, put it in a song
I really hope you play this
'Cause ol' girl you test my patience
With all these seductive photographs and all these one off vacations
You've been taken
Clearly a lot for me to take in
It don't make sense
Young East African Girl, you too busy fucking with your other man
I was trying to put you on game, put you on a plane
Take you and your mama to the motherland
I could do it, maybe one day
When you figure out you're gonna need someone
When you figure out it's all right here in the city
And you don't run from where we come from
That sound like poetic justice, poetic justice
You were so new to this life but God damn you got adjusted
I mean I write poems in these songs, dedicated to the fun sex
Your natural hair and your soft skin, and your big ass in that sundress (ooh!)
Good God, what you doing that walk for?
When I see that thing move, I just wish we would fight less
And we would talk more
And they say communication save relations, I can tell
But I can never right my wrongs unless I write them down for real
P.S
You can get it, you can get it
You can get it, you can get it
And I know just, know just, know just, know just, know just what you want
Poetic justice, put it in a song
Every time I write these words they become a taboo
Making sure my punctuation curve, every letter is true
Living my life in the margin and that metaphor was proof
I'm talking poetic justice, poetic justice
If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?
I mean you need to hear this

Is it? I want to read it.

Cohen was well-regarded as a writer much before he went into song.

Check the first reviews of his first book, published when he was just 22.

Northrop Frye, the great critic, praised it highly.

>Caring about some jew fuck dying

Veeky Forums really is the most cucked board.

It's four in the morning, the end of December
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better
New York is cold, but I like where I'm living
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening.
I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert
You're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record.

Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?

Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You'd been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without Lili Marlene

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody's wife.

Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane's awake --

She sends her regards.

And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I'm glad you stood in my way.

If you ever come by here, for Jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free.

Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear

>inb4 song about literally getting cucked

I really like this one, too.

He did a lot of stuff about infidelity, Master Song is probably the hardest hitting song about it. One of his books of poetry has a poem titled "The Cuckold's Song"

not literature

>>/mu/

I really enjoy that one too. Not enough musicians explore infidelity at any depth or with any nuance.

I know, I usually skip Master Song because it makes me too uncomfrotable

And?????
We should give him the Noble Prize of Literature or something?

DELET THIS

this is my favourite as well, I'm drunk and I just got home. Close to tears

literally who

When they poured across the border
I was cautioned to surrender,
this I could not do;
I took my gun and vanished.
I have changed my name so often,
I've lost my wife and children
but I have many friends,
and some of them are with me.

An old woman gave us shelter,
kept us hidden in the garret,
then the soldiers came;
she died without a whisper.

There were three of us this morning
I'm the only one this evening
but I must go on;
the frontiers are my prison.

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
through the graves the wind is blowing,
freedom soon will come;
then we'll come from the shadows.

Fucking legend

Good night sweet prince. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Surprised nobody has mentioned 'the stranger'

Beautiful song with very interesting lyrics and themes

Seconded. Love that book, I've posted about how no one posts about it here.

Suddenly the night has grown colder.
The good of love preparing to depart.
Alexandra hoisted on his shoulder,
they slip between the sentries of your heart.

Upheld by the simplicities of pleasure,
they gain the light, they formlessly entwine;
and radiant beyond your widest measure
they fall among the voices and the wine.

lt's not a trick, your senses all deceiving,
a fitful dream the morning will exhaust
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving,
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

Even though she sleeps upon your satin.
Even though she wakes you with a kiss.
Do not say the moment was imagined,
Do not stoop to strategies like this.

As someone long prepared for this to happen,
Go firmly to the window. Drink it in.
Exquisite music, Alexandra laughing.
Your first commitments tangible again.

You who had the honor of her evening,
And by that honor had your own restored
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Alexandra leaving with her lord.

As someone long prepared for the occasion;
In full command of every plan you wrecked
Do not choose a coward's explanation
that hides behind the cause and the effect,

You who were bewildered by a meaning,
whose code was broken, crucifix uncrossed---
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

Don't forget to check out Cavafy - The God Abandons Antony, the poem that inspired this one. Better still, just read Cavafy--all of it.

It's honestly amazing how passe a post like this has become. /pol/ truly is the establishment now

fuck him. overrated alcoholic bore. another total wash

this is why i hate leonard cohen

you're so deep brah.
his romance is rooted in disparity not strength or intelligence

Where should I start with Luis de Camoes and Caldeon de la Barca?

Great song

Is it? Isn't it stream of conciousness entirely?

That's shit poetry you're talking about. There are many examples of great poetry that wouldn't translate into music; I know he's overrepresented, but I love T.S. Elliot's stuff.

youtube.com/watch?v=KDXVcg0J2d4
This one and Avalanche are great. The whole album is great.

Haunting song right there

...

He was an author too.

The war was lost

The treaty signed

not that great imo

Very sad. I grew up with all his books and albums, and he was a much better poet in his younger days than his more recent work might imply. Book of Mercy (his last good poetry book) is profound in its meditations on death and faith.

Is this supposed to be a man or woman? Seriously, you guys give poetry a bad name.

Kendrick Lammar is really who shoud have gotten that Nobel

And literally nothing of value was lost.

deserved the nobel more than bob desu

Any of you read Lorca?

>over vigorous

Somehow managed to fuck up the execution of a very stupid joke