Leonard Cohen - Let Us Compare Mythologies
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Originally published: Montreal: Contact Press, 1956. Poems. Issued in print and electronic formats. ISBN 9780771024535 (softcover).ISBN 9780771024542 (EPUB) I. Title. PS8505.O22L4 2018 C811.54 C2018-901612-4 C2018-901613-2 Book design by Five Seventeen McClelland & Stewart, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company www.penguinrandomhouse.ca
v5.3.2 a To the memory of my father Nathan B.Cohen
Listen, and read again, but only one stanza this time and closed the book and laid it on the table. She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, McCaslin said: Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair. Hes talking about a girl, he said. He had to talk about something, McCaslin said. The Bear, by William Faulkner
But he could not hang softly long, your fighters so proud with bugles, bending flowers with their silver stain, and when I faced the Ark for counting, trembling underneath the burning oil, the meadow of running flesh turned sour and I kissed away my gentle teachers, warned my younger brothers. Among the young and turning-great of the large nations, innocent of the spiked wish and the bright crusade, there I could sing my heathen tears between the summersaults and chestnut battles, love the distant saint who fed his arm to flies, mourn the crushed ant and despise the reason of the heel. Raging and weeping are left on the early road. Now each in his holy hill the glittering and hurting days are almost done. Then let us compare mythologies.
I tell you, my people, the statues are too tall. Beside them we are small and ugly, blemishes on the pedestal. My name is Theodotus, do not call me Jonathan. My name is Dositheus, do not call me Nathaniel. Call us Alexander, Demetrius, Nicanor Have you seen my landsmen in the museums, the brilliant scholars with the dirty fingernails, standing before the marble gods, underneath the lot? Among straight noses, natural and carved, I have said my clever things thought out before; jested on the Protocols, the cause of war, quoted Bleistein with a Cigar. And in the salon that holds the city in its great window, in the salon among the Herrenmenschen, among the close-haired youth, I made them laugh when the child came in: Come I need you for a Passover Cake.
And I have touched their tall clean women, thinking somehow they are unclean, as scaleless fish. They have smiled quietly at me, and with their friends I wonder what they see. O cities of the Decapolis, call us Alexander, Demetrius, Nicanor Dark women, soon I will not love you. My children will boast of their ancestors at Marathon and under the walls of Troy, and Athens, my chiefest joy O call me Alexander, Demetrius, Nicanor
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