This is a personal poem, based on a dream. It is for my late first wife. That's all I'm saying.
POEM FOR CHRISTINE
I dreamt of you last night.
We were living in some far city,
I had something to do with the university
where Leonard Cohen was going to give a reading
in the lecture space atop the library,
all very informal.
There were the usual barriers that dreams put up
to ensure they are as complex as life
but the sun shone and the people had enough to eat.
Anyway when I arrived he had begun.
Thinking back on it now I am awake,
I can see he was a collage
composed of the dozen or so times I saw him,
morphing from a younger man in the 70s,
to the old man who never stopped touring
and back again in the space of a poem.
Though I was close enough I couldn’t ask a question
or get him to sign the copy of Selected Poems
that had appeared in my hands.
He was there and then gone
and you never arrived.
As the world carried on I waited
until they locked the building.
The sun had set the night was warm
and our children came to collect me.
I thought of you somewhere in that city
as I rushed back towards morning.
It's a sad poem, but I think there is hope as well.
This was one of Christine's favourite songs.
Until next time.
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