In 1968, under the spell of Beautiful Losers, LSD and the slow spin of an LP, (Songs of Leonard Cohen) I had a visceral seizure and something inside me was rearranged. Cohen’s voice entered not just my ears but my bloodstream—his words struck like voltage, forging the man and the maker I would become. What I read that night didn’t simply move me; it rewired me, granting both purpose and permission to live by language. This poem is for him—the quiet architect of my awakening, who taught me that poetry could be prayer, confession, and survival all at once.
Leonard Cohen.When I read him I know where I am.
I am in the presence of rare talent.
When I hear him I feel gratitude for his generosity;
that he has reached out to me
and given a portion of his genius
even though whatever he gave he seemed to take right back.
Ingenious, though I never minded that.
He spoke so many flavoured words
which I tried to speak with too,
though everything I muttered was absurd,
so I swallowed my words and hid them behind my heart.
though I was raised and/or lowered,
I noticed only where I rested.
and I followed all his shadows
never caring where they led
He, with hallowed,
seasoned phrases and a jaunty curl of lip,
still causes my blood to swing.
He breaks my head and fills it
with his warmth and wit and is forcing
life into a spirit that was born
deadened –
that only words enlivened,
that opened up the dead end,
gave me somewhere else to head for
and join brave pilgrims and martyrs
and poets, threatened
by tomorrow’s score.
He gave me that
and more.
In 1968 I read ‘ Beautiful Losers’ it was the origin and inspiration of my desire to write emanating from an experience, the soul shaking impact of which has remained with me. It happened one night; in the very early hours, and I was tripping on LSD, intoxicated, living alone getting things together for my assault on adulthood. Most of my previous life battles had ended ignominiously but I’d met good people on the way, enough to sustain me at least. Though I was a loner and a stranger, always looking in from the edges I’d learned how to laugh and had enough chutzpah to make my way. The Leonard Cohen night could have been a dream but despite the nature of my intoxication I remain resolute in my memory; I felt a sort of inner, visceral seizure. (See also https://pakinwunmi.com/2019/12/06/lightning-in-the-guts-song-lyric/) It gripped me as I read, with his songs playing in the background. I was overwhelmed by the intensity of the feeling – like a tidal sweep of passion and thought being pulled through, in and around me – my person, (my self image if you like). I could feel my attitudes change as if my actual nose, mouth and eyes were being moved around and relocated on my face! There’s been a lot of identity sculpting done since but I believe the man me was forged that night. What I read and moreso how it was written, left me more at odds with the world but more at peace with myself.
I learned a very long time ago that to bring up Leonard Cohen in conversation is almost an invitation to discuss suicide. Well, I’ve read and listened to him in every sort of mood and self destruction has never felt like the option it did prior to 1968 when it did harbour itself in my mind like a grim, scythe armed, finger beckoning reaper.
Cohen’s words have only ever excited and inspired me. I love the way they melt into my mind, they huddle up to my heart and sleep in my soul.They describe utter mysteries and gracious wonders that have had me chasing his tail as a writer from that night to this day.
“No it wasn’t any good,
there’s no reason why you should – remember me”
(*Mandatory Credit: Photo by David Rowland/REX/Shutterstock (3439301b)
Leonard Cohen Vector Arena, Auckland, New Zealand – 21 Dec 2013
The words of Peter Akinwunmi (Peter Ak'i) 