leonard cohen: i should not say you

I should not say you. I should say O. Now I see why they said, the Name. I crumble before the Name. My heart is stubborn before the Name. Give my heart ease in the presence of the Name. My heart is like something that waits. My heart longs to be a chamber for the Name. I am ignorant. I don't know how to make a place for the Name. I lose the Name in my thrust of greed. I lose it in my mind. This heart is dead. This heart hoards its death. It will not make a place for the Name. Fill me with the Name O most high. I swim in your love but I drown in loneliness. End my waiting. Allow me the Name. Protect me in the terror of your absent Name.


Not by oracles. Not by the Bible. Not by ghosts. Not by spirits seen in a magic lens. Not in shadows. Not in braided manes. Not by appearance in the air. Not by the stars at birth. Not by meteors. Not by winds. Not by sacrificial appearances. Not by the entrails of animals sacrificed. Not by the entrails of a human sacrifice. Not by the entrails of fishes. Not by sacrificial fire. Not by red-hot iron. Not by clamp. Not by muzzle. Not by smoke from the altar. Not by the counting of petals. Not by the signal of wings. Not by mice. Not by birds. Not by a cock picking up grains. Not by the layers of the mountain. Not by the strength of the moon. Not by herbs. Not by water. Not by fountains. Not by a wand. Not by dough of cakes. Not by the falling of sticks. Not by meal. Not by salt. Not by dice. Not by ladders. Not by the flight of an arrow. Not by a balanced hatchet. Not by a suspended ring. Not by a stone on a thread. Not by pebbles drawn from a heap. Not by mirrors.  Not by writings in ashes. Not by a change of kings. Not by dreams. Not by the lines of the hands. Not by nails reflecting the sun's rays. Not by numbers. Not by drawing lots. Not by passages in books. Not by the letters forming the name of a person. Not by features. Not by the mode of laughing. Not by the pattern of snakes. Not by walking in a circle. Not by drawing a circle. Not by the rings on the finger. Not by dropping melted wax in water. Not by clouds. Not by currents.


Without the Name the wind is a babble, the flowers are a jargon of longing. Without the Name I am a funeral in the garden. Waiting for the next girl. Waiting for the next prize. Without the Name sealed in my heart I am ashamed. It is not sealed. I am ashamed. Without the Name I bear false witness to the glory. Then I am this false witness. Then let me continue.


Cohen, Leonard. "I Should Not Say You" Death of a Lady's Man. Toronto:  Toronto: Penguin Books, 1979.

leonard cohen: 49 (from book of mercy)

49.

All my life is broken unto you, and all my glory soiled unto you. Do not let the spark of my soul go out in the even sadness. Let me raise the brokenness to you, to the world where the breaking is for love. Do not let the words be mine, but change them into truth. With these lips instruct my heart, and let fall into the world what is broken in the world. Lift me up to the wrestling of faith. Do not leave me where the sparks go out, and the jokes are told in the dark, and new things are called forth and appraised in the scale of the terror. Face me to the rays of love, O source of light, or face me to the majesty of your darkness, but not here, do not leave me here, where death is forgotten, and the new thing grins.

Cohen, Leonard. "49" Book of Mercy. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc, 1984.

leonard cohen: 43 (from book of mercy)

43.


Holy is your name, holy is your work, holy are the days that return to you. Holy are the years that you uncover. Holy are the hands that are raised to you, and the weeping that is wept to you. Holy is the fire between your will and ours, in which we are refined. Holy is that which is unredeemed, covered with your patience. Holy are the souls lost in your unnaming. Holy, and shining with a great light, is every living thing, established in this world and covered with time, until your name is praised forever.

Cohen, Leonard. "43" Book of Mercy. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc, 1984.

leonard cohen: 42 (from book of mercy)

42.


It is to you I turn, the table stands on tiptoe. Every object leaps to its place. The closed book rises on its thousand pages and my wakefulness rejoices. I turn to you, my song in the house of night, my shield against the quarrels. I turn to you, who unifies the upward heart. Your name is the foundation of the night. The Accuser, with his thousand voices, stands in the place you are not named. Blessed is the name that holds this house in the firmness of mercy, and binds this song to the rock.

Cohen, Leonard. "42" Book of Mercy. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc, 1984.

leonard cohen: (from the book of mercy)

39.


From you alone to you alone, everlasting to everlasting, all that is not you is suffering, all that is not you is solitude rehearsing the arguments of loss. All that is not you is the man collapsing against his own forehead, and the forehead crushes him. All that is not you goes out and out, gathering the voices of revenge, harvesting lost triumphs far from the real and necessary defeat. It is to you I speak, solitude to unity, failure to mercy, and loss to the light. It is you I welcome here, coming through the coarse glory of my imagination, to this very night, to this very couch, to this very darkness. Grant me a forgiving sleep, and rest my enemy.


Cohen, Leonard. "39" Book of Mercy. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc, 1984.