Why write? Is writing making?

What is telling? What is showing?

What are clichés in writing, and how do I subvert them?

Are artists' writings taken seriously?

How do I know when to stop writing?

How do I start writing?


Making the Written Word will investigate and encourage the use of writing as a relevant outlet of expression at all stages of artists’ and designers’ studio practice. Each of the four sessions will aim to answer specific questions through readings, writing exercises, and discussion. This blog is a forum for the discussion generated and a place to leave references for each other.




Sunday, January 30, 2011

Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen, a poet and songwriter has been influencing me since I was a child. If you haven't heard the song Avalanche yet try reading the lyrics and thinking about them for a little bit. Then go back and listen to the song and be prepared for his brutal beauty!

Avalanche:


Well I stepped into an avalanche,
it covered up my soul;
when I am not this hunchback that you see,
I sleep beneath the golden hill.
You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn, learn to serve me well.
You strike my side by accident
as you go down for your gold.
The cripple here that you clothe and feed
is neither starved nor cold;
he does not ask for your company,
not at the centre, the centre of the world.

When I am on a pedestal,
you did not raise me there.
Your laws do not compel me
to kneel grotesque and bare.
I myself am the pedestal
for this ugly hump at which you stare.

You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn what makes me kind;
the crumbs of love that you offer me,
they're the crumbs I've left behind.
Your pain is no credential here,
it's just the shadow, shadow of my wound.

I have begun to long for you,
I who have no greed;
I have begun to ask for you,
I who have no need.
You say you've gone away from me,
but I can feel you when you breathe.

Do not dress in those rags for me,
I know you are not poor;
you don't love me quite so fiercely now
when you know that you are not sure,
it is your turn, beloved,
it is your flesh that I wear.

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