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Sunday, September 11, 2016


Hey blog just popping in while my vegetable soup cooks. Boyne Berries 20 has gone to the printer for a second proof. I tried to rush an edit this morning but then a number of errors cropped up so I walked away and came back later and there were no problems at all.

I'd fun today flying a kite, among other things.  I think I might have a new poem so I'm going to try and write it, a bit, next.


By Leonard Cohen
From: The Spice-Box of Earth
March 1965

A kite is a victim you are sure of.
You love it because it pulls
gentle enough to call you master,
strong enough to call you fool;
because it lives
like a desperate trained falcon
in the high sweet air,
and you can always haul it down
to tame it in your drawer.

A kite is a fish you have already caught
in a pool where no fish come,
so you play him carefully and long,
and hope he won’t give up,
or the wind die down.

A kite is the last poem you’ve written,
so you give it to the wind,
but you don’t let it go
until someone finds you
something else to do.

A kite is a contract of glory
that must be made with the sun,
so make friends with the field
the river and the wind,
then you pray the whole cold night before,
under the travelling cordless moon,
to make you worthy and lyric and pure.

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