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科恩先生走了，不会再有他的新歌，新诗，新画，新书。

到岁数了，所以经常会面对死亡，亲人的、朋友的、偶像的……

就前些日子，我还在文章里分享科恩先生两年前的新歌：

“Did I Ever Love You”

Did I ever love you?
Did I ever need you?
Did I ever fight you?
Did I ever want to?
Did I ever leave you?
Was I ever able?
Or are we still leaning
Across the old table?
Did I ever love you?
Did I ever need you?
Did I ever fight you?
Did I ever want to?
Did I ever leave you?
Was I ever able?
Or are we still leaning
Across the old table?
Was it ever settled?
Was it ever over?
And is it still raining
Back in November?
The lemon trees blossom
The almond trees whither
Was I ever someone
Who could love you forever?
Was it ever settled?
Was it ever over?
And is it still raining
Back in November?
The lemon trees blossom
The almond trees whither
It’s Spring and it’s Summer
And it’s Winter forever
Did I ever love you?
Does it really matter?
Did I ever fight you?
You don’t need to answer
Did I ever leave you?
Was I ever able?
And are we still leaning
Across the old table?
Did I ever love you?
Did I ever need you?
Did I ever fight you?
Did I ever want to?
Did I ever leave you?
Was I ever able?
Or are we still leaning
Across the old table?
Did I ever love you?
Did I ever need you?
Did I ever fight you?
Did I ever want to?
Did I ever leave you?
Was I ever able?
Or are we still leaning
Across the old table?

科恩年轻的时候，写小说，写事歌，写着写着很生气，因为赚钱太少…… 于是开始唱歌，一唱唱了将近 50 年。

期间偶尔画画：

常常写诗：

The Future

by Leonard Cohen

The future: time’s excuse
to frighten us;
too vast a project,
too large a morsel
for the heart’s mouth.

Future, who won’t wait for you?
Everyone is going there.
It suffices you to deepen
the absence that we are.

就算是被骗了，也只是想办法处理后事。他的经纪人连续十多年将他的财产占为己有，最终科恩不得不复出开演唱会赚钱。可即便是这样，当那经纪人站在审判席上之时，科恩的话是：

It gives me no pleasure to see my onetime friend shackled to a chair in a court of law, her considerable gifts bent to the services of darkness, deceit, and revenge. It is my prayer that Ms. Lynch will take refuge in the wisdom of her religion, that a spirit of understanding will convert her heart from hatred to remorse, from anger to kindness, from the deadly intoxication of revenge to the lowly practices of self-reform.

不是因为一个人写了诗，他才是诗人；
而是因为一个人本身就是诗人，所以他和他的一切都是诗。

先生走好！歌留下。