Every now and again I get ‘trapped’ by a song, put the ipod on repeat and bathe in it. Drawn to listen afresh to Leonard Cohen’s music by an invitation to an upcoming concert, this week has been drenched in the drone and harmonies of the poet and song writer singing Alexandra Leaving”.

Suddenly the night has grown colder.

Some deity preparing to depart.

Alexandra hoisted on his shoulder,

they slip between the sentries of your heart.

 

Upheld by the simplicities of pleasure,

they gain the light, they formlessly entwine;

and radiant beyond your widest measure

they fall among the voices and the wine.

 

lt’s not a trick, your senses all deceiving,

a fitful dream the morning will exhaust—

Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving,

Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

Even though she sleeps upon your satin.

Even though she wakes you with a kiss.

Do not say the moment was imagined,

Do not stoop to strategies like this.

 

As someone long prepared for this to happen,

Go firmly to the window. Drink it in.

Exquisite music, Alexandra laughing.

Your first commitments tangible again.

 

You who had the honor of her evening,

And by that honor had your own restored—

Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.

Alexandra leaving with her lord.

 

As someone long prepared for the occasion;

In full command of every plan you wrecked—

Do not choose a coward’s explanation

that hides behind the cause and the effect,

 

You who were bewildered by a meaning,

whose code was broken, crucifix uncrossed—

Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.

Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

Inspired by a poem by Greek writer Constantine Cavafy called “The god forsakes Anthony”,

The god forsakes Antony

I won’t even try to over interpret the song, but I love it when a song can avoid the eternal temptation to resolution and hold the mourning moment. She is leaving; say goodbye while she’s leaving, and say goodbye to the empty space left when she’s gone. It seems to me to be the most Christian thing imaginable: to be able to stand at the window and watch the gods/ God take your ‘life’ (whatever or whoever that may be, in any given moment) away, and yet to ‘hold the moment’ – “as someone long prepared for this to happen, go firmly to the window. Drink it in”, taste the loss, don’t avoid the pain – allow the darkness be a place of presence: “Put out the lamp when thou wishest. I shall know thy darkness and shall love it.” Tagore.”

Why are there so few laments? God knows there’s stuff to cry out about! And yet, could it be we still feel like complaining or stating the negative is somehow a failure in faith? As if we need to resolve things quickly – because the answer is clear. But surely that’s a superficial reading, both of the Gospel and of this complicated world (and skin) we live in. And I know (and we know) that He rose, or rather, was risen (by Another), but death is death, loss is felt, and nothing takes away the tragedy of it. I doubt the disciples ever forgot what it felt like to watch him die. Nothing takes away the lived experience of losing, in any way that can happen (rejection, death, circumstance…). When meaning breaks or loses its thread, when we are “bewildered” by a ‘broken code’, “crucifix uncrossed” then something shifts internally – and any light that reaches us comes through the cracks.

Or perhaps it’s simply that we avoid the pain instinctively – and there are many ways to do that – but one is looking for reasons: the (coward’s?) ‘whys’, cause and effects, which never really explain it all, and in any case take us one step away from the real issue: the experience of having to let go, which only hurts because we have, in fact, loved.

Perhaps it’s about realizing that things are not black and white, right or wrong – (and wouldn’t the political situation right now benefit from that lesson!) Sometimes we need to be courageous enough to inhabit the grey, the ‘as yet’ formless, and wait before pulling the weed from the wheat, lest in our haste we miss the moment of graced lament: only the one who has loved can truly say goodbye.

2 Comments »

1. 

   Glorious!

   Thank you.
   Andrew

   Comment by Andrew — September 10, 2012 @ 8:50 pm

2. 

   “Courageous enough to inhabit the grey.” Beautifully written, Maeve. Thanks for the great post.

   Comment by Mary McDonough — September 11, 2012 @ 9:51 am

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