
Missing Leonard Cohen

I’SE THE B’Y
(with thanks to Great Big Sea)
Where poems come from who can say
but I’se the b’y who writes them down
and I’ll take the love and blame for pay
LITTLE BROWN JUG
My father had three sons
and taught them all
how to tie a grain sack, how to cut a calf
how to talk to a horse you walked up behind
so you wouldn’t get kicked or killed
Good things to know
but none of us are working cattle now
He played a mean harmonica
would that he would have taught us that
LEONARD COHEN AT EIGHTY
There is a crack in everything
that’s how the light gets in
Anthem
Growing old does not dim
the magic that you hold
for you were always old
That women want
to sleep with their fathers
Freud would not consider odd
(though nuns may call it God)
but no matter how many cracks
you or the light might see
growing old is still
not all it’s cracked up to be
so you’ve fought
depression all your life
and perhaps you always will
but for mere boys who must compete
it’s more depressing still
ON THAT NOTE
Classical music fills the car
as we home from the airport in traffic
Our host is from Bulgaria
he plays the trombone, his wife the violin
sometimes they tour, sometimes he drives cab
He loves Austin, he loves his wife
Ahead and around
drivers speed and weave
I wonder what they’re listening to
REMEMBERING VALDY
Play me a rock and roll song
or don’t play me no song at all
I might not remember your name
but I know you’re a friend all the same
when you put the needle down
on that record by the bed
Everything that still moves moves
and memories come flooding back
Girls and cars and beer
as every year becomes that year
Thank you dear