David Remnick in his profile on Leonard Cohen shares this coda as Cohen discovers his early career muse, lover and long time friend, Marianne Ihlen, is on her death bed.
In late July this year, Cohen received an e-mail from Jan Christian Mollestad, a close friend of Marianne’s, saying that she was suffering from cancer. In their last communication, Marianne had told Cohen that she had sold her beach house to help insure that Axel [her son] would be taken care of, but she never mentioned that she was sick. Now, it appeared, she had only a few days left. Cohen wrote back immediately:
Well Marianne, it’s come to this time when we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine. And you know that I’ve always loved you for your beauty and your wisdom, but I don’t need to say anything more about that because you know all about that. But now, I just want to wish you a very good journey. Goodbye old friend. Endless love, see you down the road.
Two days later, Cohen got an e-mail from Norway:
Marianne slept slowly out of this life yesterday evening. Totally at ease, surrounded by close friends.
Your letter came when she still could talk and laugh in full consciousness. When we read it aloud, she smiled as only Marianne can. She lifted her hand, when you said you were right behind, close enough to reach her.
It gave her deep peace of mind that you knew her condition. And your blessing for the journey gave her extra strength. . . . In her last hour I held her hand and hummed “Bird on the Wire,” while she was breathing so lightly. And when we left the room, after her soul had flown out of the window for new adventures, we kissed her head and whispered your everlasting words.
So long, Marianne . . .
(h/t Carolyn Baker)
“The crucible of making human beings is death. Every culture that is worth a damn knows that.
It is not success. It’s not growth. It’s not happiness. It’s death. That’s the cradle of your love of life, the fact that it ends.”
“Grief is not a feeling. Grief is a skill. And the twin of grief as a skill of life is the skill of being able to praise or love life which means wherever you find one authentically done, the other is very close at hand – grief and the praise of life, side by side.”
(from the website) Griefwalker is a lyrical, poetic portrait of Stephen Jenkinson’s work with dying people. Filmed over a twelve year period, Griefwalker shows Jenkinson in teaching sessions with doctors and nurses, in counseling sessions with dying people and their families, and in meditative and often frank exchanges with the film’s director while paddling a birch bark canoe about the origins and consequences of his ideas for how we live and die.
A few of the themes appearing in the film: Where does our culture’s death phobia come from? Is there such a thing as good dying? How is it that grief could be a skill instead of an affliction? Who are the dead to us? How can seeing your life’s end be the beginning of your deep love of being alive?
Stephen Jenkinson has appeared at scores of screenings of Griefwalker across Canada and the U.S. The discussion periods which follow routinely go on for hours. It seems the film detonates a strong desire among people to talk about their experiences of death and grief, and especially to be heard by others.
Griefwalker is available for viewing on Netflix.
David Lang’s ‘I Lie’ opens the Italian film, ‘The Great Beauty’ setting the stage for a series of contrasts between the sacred and the profane, the sublime and shallow, past and present, nostalgia and regret, youth and old age, yes and life and death – ultimately asking what is the great beauty of our lives. How do we distract ourselves from it and recoil from the fear of loss and hide behind the masks of cleverness and routine?
The music in this film is haunting and beautiful and I began to search out the pieces that so were so integrated in the story as to become part of the main character’s interior state of longing, even if he was not yet fully conscious of the decisions he was destined to make before the film ended.
In looking for this opening piece of music, I also discovered this other work of David Lang’s which was not in the film but is for me just as moving, resonating back to the themes of ‘The Great Beauty’. In ‘death speaks’ Lang explores our relationship with death, how it awaits us all. It is a subject that many of us shy away from, do not want to think about. Yet we are always one breath away from it. It is the thing our culture flees from, wants to hide from view and tries to cover up by emphasizing a perversion of youthfulness. We are a culture of immature adolescents in adult bodies. There are developmental stages many of us have yet to grow into and the embrace of death is the one doorway we must pass through eventually. Here is ‘you will return’ the first song in his 6 song cycle.
(you will return – from death speaks)
Below, Lang discusses how he came to create ‘deaths speaks’ and his collaboration with contemporary classical and rock musicians to complete this work.
(From his program notes for ‘death speaks‘)
“death speaks was commissioned by Carnegie Hall and Stanford Lively Arts, specifically to go on a program with the little match girl passion. The opportunity came without many other parameters, so there were a lot of questions I had to answer. Would the new piece be for an existing ensemble or some group I would assemble for these performances only? Would it relate to little match girl, musically or emotionally, or would it start from its own place?”
“Something that has always interested me about the little match girl story is that the place where we are left emotionally at the end is so far away from where the match girl is. We are all weeping at the end and yet she is happily transfigured, in the welcoming arms of her grandmother in heaven. The original story switches starkly back and forth at the end, between her state and ours, perhaps in order to show us just how far away from redemption we are; it is [Hans Christian] Andersen’s way of making us feel left behind.”
“This reminded me of certain other stark comparisons between the living and the dead. I remembered the structure of Schubert’s beautiful song “Death and the Maiden” in which the text is divided in half; the first half of the song is in the voice of the young girl, begging Death to pass her by, and the second half of the song is Death’s calming answer. This seemed to be the same division as in the Andersen story — the fear of the living opposed against the restfulness of death.”
“What makes the Schubert interesting is that Death is personified. It isn’t a state of being or a place or a metaphor, but a person, a character in a drama who can tell us in our own language what to expect in the World to Come. Schubert has a lot of songs with texts like these — I wondered if I assembled all of the instances of Death speaking directly to us then maybe a fuller portrait of his character might emerge. Most of these texts are melodramatic, hyper-romantic and over-emotional; one of the knocks on Schubert is that he often saved his best music for the worst poetry. Nevertheless, I felt that taking these overwrought comments by Death at face value just might lead me someplace worth going.”
(Franz Schubert by Wilhelm August Rieder)
“I went alphabetically in the German through every single Schubert song text (thank you, internet!) and compiled every instance of when the dead send a message to the living. Some of these are obvious and some are more speculative — Death is a named character in “Der Erlkönig,” the brook at the end of Die Schöne Müllerin speaks in Death’s name when it talks the miller into killing himself, the hurdy gurdy player at the end of Winterreise has long been interpreted as a stand-in for Death. All told, I have used excerpts from 32 songs, translating them very roughly and trimming them, in the same way that I adjusted the Bach texts in the little match girl passion.”
(Die Erlkoenig by Carl Gottlieb Peschel)
“Art songs have been moving out of classical music in the last many years — indie rock seems to be the place where Schubert’s sensibilities now lie, a better match for direct storytelling and intimate emotionality.”
“I started thinking that many of the most interesting musicians in that scene made the same journey themselves, beginning as classical musicians and drifting over to indie rock when they bumped up against the limits of where classical music was most comfortable. What would it be like to put together an ensemble of successful indie composer-performers and invite them back into classical music, the world from which they sprang?”
(Shara Worden – Still from pain changes)
“I asked rock musicians Bryce Dessner, Owen Pallett, and Shara Worden to join me, and we added Nico Muhly, who, although not someone who left classical music, is certainly known and welcome in many musical environments. All of these musicians are composers who can write all the music they need themselves, so it is a tremendous honor for me to ask them to spend some of their musicality on my music.”
You can listen to the entire work below. Lang comments on the last track
“My piece depart is also a meditation on death. A group of doctors in a French hospital felt frustrated that they could do so little to comfort the relatives of the departed. They imagined it might help if the bereaved could see their loved ones one last time, in a calm and peaceful setting. With the help of the Fondation de France they commissioned Italian artist Ettore Spalletti to create a morgue, and they commissioned musical scores from the composer Scanner and from me. What I think is most noble about this project is not that the space or the music can really make the pain any easier to bear, but that the doctors felt morally compelled to try everything in their powers to ease the suffering around them. It’s a beautiful idea.”