Let Us Compare Mythologies. Leonard Cohen

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СКАЧАТЬ heart in my hand is heavy as lead

      his eyes through my eyes shine brighter than love

      O send out the raven ahead of the dove

      His life in my mouth is less than a man

      his death on my breast is harder than stone

      his eyes through my eyes shine brighter than love

      O send out the raven ahead of the dove

      O send out the raven ahead of the dove

      O sing from your chains where you’re chained in a cave

      your eyes through my eyes shine brighter than love

      your blood in my ballad collapses the grave

      O sing from your chains where you’re chained in a cave

      your eyes through my eyes shine brighter than love

      your heart in my hand is heavy as lead

      your blood on my arm is warm as a bird

      O break from your branches a green branch of love

      after the raven has died for the dove

RITES

      Bearing gifts of flowers and sweet nuts

      the family came to watch the eldest son,

      my father; and stood about his bed

      while he lay on a blood-sopped pillow,

      his heart half rotted

      and his throat dry with regret.

      And it seemed so obvious, the smell so present,

      quite so necessary,

      but my uncles prophesied wildly,

      promising life like frantic oracles;

      and they only stopped in the morning,

      after he had died

      and I had begun to shout.

REDEDICATION

      A painful rededication, this Spring,

      like the building of cathedrals between wars,

      and masons at decayed walls;

      and we are almost too tired to begin again

      with miracles and leaves

      and lingering on steps in sudden sun;

      tired by the way isolated drifts lie melting,

      like hulks of large fish rotting far upbeach;

      the disinterested scrape of shovels

      collecting sand from sidewalks, destroying streams;

      and school-children in streetcars,

      staring out, astonished.

      We had learned a dignity in late winter,

      from austere trees and dry brown bushes,

      but Spring disturbs us like the morning,

      and we may hope only for no October.

PIONEERS

      After one furious year

      you thought you could come back

      with singing armies,

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