2nd June 2011 Suzanne And Chelsea Hotel

Lyrics that are poems. Or you can say poems that have the form and musical quality of song; or poems you sing instead of read or recite. The Canadian songwriter-singer-poet distinguishes of such wisdom, grace, and talent. Now 77, he has won the the Spanish Literary Award, the prestigious Prince of Asturias Award for Letters for his work and legacy, BBC reported today.

Cohen's work is described as influential "for three generations around the world". The jury of the Spanish literary award called his poems and songs full of "imagery in which poetry and music are melted into an unchanging worth".

The Prince of Asturias Awards (Premios Príncipe de Asturias) cover seven different fields: arts, social sciences, humanities, sports, public affairs, literature and international cooperation.

A sculpture by the late Catalan artist Joan Miro and 50 000 Euro will be given to Leonard Cohen at an official ceremony in Oviedo, Spain, later this year in October. 

I liked all the lyrics of his songs, of beauty, love, apocalypses ... and I thought I would like to put a sample here, not word for word, but as close as my memory permits ...

Suzanne - Suzanne takes your hand/ and takes you to the river/ dressed in feathers and rags/of the counters of the Salvation Army/ the sun spills out like honey/ upon our lady of the port/when you point where to look/between the rubbish and the flowers. 

I was going to put down Chelsea Hotel, the saucier version, but  changed my mind and let you view and listen to the following version instead.

Tags: chelseahotel, suzanne

Prev: 2nd June 2011 What Fault Has The Tomoto?

2nd June 2011 What Fault Has The Tomato?

A very popular revolutionary song during the Spanish Civil War defended the already then the innocence of the vegetables: 'What fault has the tomato/ peaceful in the shrub/ then comes a bad man/ putting it in a tin/ and sending it to Caracas. The couplet ballad recuperated in the turbulent 70's by the Chilean group 'Quilapayun, it was a programme, displayed with corroded extremism, against the rich proprietors of the land who exploited the farm workers. But the lyric verses could well be applied to the alimentation crisis like the one happened a week ago. After all, what is the cucumber guilty of?

 

The world press of yesterday informed that Germany has declared the Spanish cucumber as 'absolutely' innocent', as if the poor little sod, so innocent, had been sitting in front of the Tribunal Court. The problem is that, the verdict, real and unappealable, had been sentenced days ago, just at the moment the German sanitary authority pointing finger at the Spanish cucumber as the culprit of the mortal intoxication in Hamburg. Any alimentary alarm always raises instant panic. Not just suspecting the cucumber but all the vegetables and fruits coming from the Spanish soil.

 

The economic consequences has been tremendous. The worst is that it had already caused an enormous impact in the sector of exportation of those, precisely by the recuperation of the consumption in Europe, was, as they thought, able to breathe a sign of relief. 

 

The reaction of Spain in the face of the catastrophe of the 'cucumber issue' is of 2 types. The first: recuperate the tradition that came no less than in the 16th century, of denouncing a confabulation anti-Spain. The Germans, like the time the English of the perfidious Albian, the Jews or the Masons, will be the point of the lance. The 2nd reaction: much more relevant to now and foreseeable, consists of blaming the Government and in particular, Rubalcaba, for not putting his feet in the market, to the fruiterers of Berlin and to those responsible for the politics of agriculture and food of Brussels.

 

The press photo today showed the head of the Department of Agriculture and Alimentation, lunching with a few colleagues, on some dainty little slices of cucumber - the poor cumber that has just recovered it's innocence.
 

Tags: tomato, cucumber

Prev: 2nd June 2011 The Waiting

2nd June 2011 The Waiting

We seem always have to conform to a life of waiting, with hope or desperation (often both), for being old enough to take out the 1st driving license, to finish school, to find a stable job, to find the other half, to conclude the payment of the mortgage, to the day when the children become independent, and the crisis to abate or improve. Not to mention the nerve-racking waiting, constantly connected with the everyday life: the bus, the train, the the queues at the ticket windows, hospital waiting rooms or the dentist's, the repairman who never arrived on the day he said he would, or finished the job on the date promised, at the supermarket on a Saturday pushing the trolly dragging your feet inch by inch to get to the cashier ...

Bob Hope said that, being brought up together with 6 brothers, he had learned to dance while waiting for his turn to enter the bathroom. Any wonder that his surname is Hope?

Our existence seems like this enormous room of embarkation where whatever journey might be possible although, all of them would land you in the same terminal. What we need to do is enjoy the journey during fair weather, and brave out the downpour and storm. There are different attitudes in the waiting: those who always complain, the ones who lie on their paunches and leave the helm to the game of chance, or those who are the rib bones for the rest, and the ones who live the day as it comes, confident that if they work hard life would take care of the rest. They resign to waiting calmly because that too is part of today's life. This last group is wise and practical, they have hope, they do honest work to the best of their vocation, but they don't expect anything.

Such a person is Ana Maria Matute, a Spanish lady author who had just won the 'Cervante Prize' on the point of completing 86, after a whole life's existence dedicated to literature. It's never too late for someone who deserves it.

Tags: waiting

Prev: 1st June 2011 Tabloid City