Someone said that in our dreams we write plays like Shakespeare which we can’t do in real life.I think dreams are like poetry.They use images,metaphors, and puns.
I dreamed my husband has bought me a house in Ealing [Healing?].And even if we don’t remember them they go on in their hidden life sorting out our daily impressions and excitements.Making play with them.
And sometimes those who write poems will have an experience where there is more in their poem than they knew when they wrote it.Because the act of writing makes images come up from the dark fertile earth of our minds.I didn’t consciously think about the meaning of sleeping on winter leaves before I wrote the poem below.
I have sifted earth
I have walked the silent paths of grief Sunless,dreary,cold and all alone. I have slept on beds of winter leaves. I know that death’s a greedy,grasping thief. Although my heart weeps and my joy has gone, I have never felt I was deceived. I have learned that human life is brief. I have learned by sorrow we’re undone. I have sifted earth and what’s beneath. I have felt the dark emotions in me seethe I've felt cruelly mocked by glaring sun. I have learned the geography of grief. I wait in sorrow for my life to cease Yet some are never loved by anyone I have dreamed in beds of winter leaves Unconsoled grief can make us dumb Into our hearts, we drag the ice that numbs I have walked the silent paths of grief I have made my bed on winter leaves.
I fear you calling me
I fear you spoiling me
Underneath the heartache
God didn’t bake those little green apples.
On Rich Man’s Hill.
The rich man’s pill?Cockayne
Lull her sigh angled flight
Singe a psalm with me.
Singed my pan again
This is no way to say good’s nigh.
Take this schmaltz
Make this false
Dance me to the band above.
Dance me with your hands of love
The pose of Tralee.
The clothes of a bee.
[Leonard Cohen] “… So one day, a few years ago, I was in a car, on my way to the airport. I was really, really low, on many medications, and pulled over, I reached behind to my valise, took out the pills, and threw out all the drugs I had. I said, ‘These things really don’t even begin to confront my predicament.” I figured, If I am going to go down I would rather go down with my eyes wide open.”
Leonard Cohen On Psychotherapy
One notes that psychotherapy is not part of the joke. As Cohen told Stina Lundberg in a 2001 interview:
I don’t trust them [psychological explanations]. As I say in that song: “I know that I’m forgiven, but I don’t know how I know; I don’t trust my inner feelings, inner feelings come and go.” I think that psychological explanations can be valuable and that psychotherapy can be valuable for some people, but the fundamental question of how and why people are as they are is something that we can’t penetrate in this part of the plan, that we simply cannot grasp, and the feelings that arise – we don’t determine what we’re going to see next, we don’t determine what we’re going to hear next, taste next, feel next or think next, we don’t determine, yet we have the sense that we’re running the show. So if anything is relaxed in my mind it’s the sense of control, or the quest for meaning. And my experience is that there is no fixed self. There’s no-one whom I can locate as the real me, and dissolving the search for the real me is relaxation, is the content of peace. But these recognitions are temporary and fleeting, then we go back to thinking that we really know who we are.
And he told another interviewer in 2001:
For one reason or another, I didn’t have any confidence in the therapeutic model. Therapy seems to affirm the idea unconditionally of a self that has to be worked on and repaired. And my inclination was that it was holding that notion to begin with that was the problem — that there was this self that needed some kind of radical adjustment. It didn’t appeal to me for some odd reason.9
Asked if he had tried psychotherapy, Cohen told another interviewer,
I preferred to use drugs. I preferred the conventional distractions of wine, women and song. And religion. But it’s all the same.10
For the record,
Cohen did go to a therapist once, actually — out of desperation. He was so depressed that he called a friend and asked if she could arrange for him to see her therapist straightaway. Then he drove to St. John’s Health Center in Santa Monica “at about five miles an hour,” barely able to negotiate the traffic. When he got there, the therapist asked him to describe his feelings. After Cohen had finished, she said, “How can you stand it?”11
Samsung and Delilah
Sam sung it by her.
Eve and the Apple
She gave him her nipple
Believe me,he’s supple.
Sony at times with intermittent towers
Sony wonder I am mad after living with UHU all my life
Nokia than thou? I’ll goggle later
Nokia or ring the bell below
Nokia or we will not hear you calling me
Nikon,babe.I am all fears
Nikon my door anytime.
Microsofter by a thin layer of molecules
Google with fluoride mouthwash
Frugal by nature.
Alcatel it off and then what will you do?
Alcatel something was wrong.
Motorola the lawn for me
Motorola for the Sabbath meal
LG needs you.Say when.
LG is the son of BG
Siemens they never met after all
Siemen don’t see it like women.
RIM is grim says Finn.
Sorry, I can’t answer your call.My Samsung has over-deleted itself and I am hot with fury.
“It’s tremendously important to me to read the work of my peers, especially women writers and especially women writers with children. Reading contemporary work makes me feel like I’m writing in conversation with other poets, that I am not alone. There are also many older poets whose poetry has been essential to my work (and my life). I wrote a memoir, MOTHERs, about my relationships with other poets. James Schuyler, Wayne Koestenbaum, Sharon Olds, Adrienne Rich, Jorie Graham, Brenda Hillman and Alice Notley. I love the strength, confidence, strangeness of Notley’s work. The bigness of it. I also admire her long, intense writerly life. I am currently rereading all of Louise Gluck and Anne Carson. I love language and can’t love poems that don’t do something incredible with language, but poetry, for me, is also about how to live a life. Poetry helps me live my life.”
—Rachel Zucker, The Pedestrians