Efficient Little Stanza

Forgive me. I know it is Remembrance Day but I woke up with swollen eyes and a heavy heart, going to bed with the knowledge poetry’s Holy Grail had died. It has been a tough year, 2016, for fallen artists, important ones, but this socked me so hard I could hardly sleep. It likens to the emotions felt when I heard Gord Downie was afflicted. I knew Leonard wasn’t well but I hung on his promise that he’d live forever, the same way I always believed of my father.

I was up early. Brewed myself a cup of coffee in my ‘cup of longing’ (a souvenir I covet from his show in Halifax a few years back that changed my whole entire insides), and started writing. I apologize, as I am not as articulate today as I can and should be. I am just heartsick and saddened. All of the tributes flooding the internet helps, recalling Adam Cohen’s uplifting show at The Carleton where he performed ‘So Long, Marianne’ and I wept profusely out of my left eye the whole time refusing to breathe or else I’d blubber, shaking his hand and talking briefly about his father and his own talents: all helps.

Leonard Cohen, at 82, left the table but left behind a body of work and a resonating influence that will last even long after I’m gone. It has been such a wondrous journey, following him, learning from him, listening to him, celebrating him.

Au revoir, fallen star. I love you.   

**

Efficient Little Stanza

you left the table

I remain

under fedora brim

topping up

two fingers of rot gut

whiskey

with brackish tear-jewels

last we met

I was in a state

you reminded

me to remain

reflective

& unburdened

to make art

to take my good time

you smoked cigarettes

I glugged robust coffee

I wept  

                & you laughed

I was disheveled

& you of course

                always

dressed for ecstasy

our last meeting

                is tied up in an

efficient little stanza

                handwritten

in a moleskine journal

                for safe keeping

now

                you’ve left the table

I remain

                your old pin-striped

grey flannel jacket

                draped over my shoulders

your poetry on my tongue

               

birds on the wire

                did not warn me

you would be gone

                when I arrived

                so long, love

it’s been nice knowin’ ya

**

Remembering my literary hero today as well as all of those who have fought for our freedoms. So many emotions today. So many.

In propinquity and in Flanders Field,

Nic