Reading Cohen on Christmas morning. Poem by Vin M
Reading Cohen on Christmas morning/Poems of love and loss and yearning
Reading Cohen on Christmas morning/Poems of love and loss and yearning
Every morning he switches on the radio to my favourite station. He hopes it will help. Most of the time I barely notice it.
Flashback to the sixties, people living in the cities you got beatniks crossed with hippies sporting horizontal stripes and small goatees play a jazzy, minor chord, learn to smoke, renounce the lord
Photo by Eric Algra. Geelong Library 2016. Rijn Collins was part of our very first show, at the Williamstown Literary Festival in 2014. But she wasn't there. Laryngitis. A croaky, very croaky, voice rang to apologise. The band, and a fill-in narrator, performed her very dry, very funny travel story about Jackson by [...]
Itās a raucous, shambolic, ranting wreck of a song, which ends with a well-oiled Leonard chanting.
It was a restless, fitful time. At one or two or three in the morning Iād carefully ease out of bed and head for the loungeroom, well away from the sleeping family.
Vin Maskell Palliative care hospital ward, Melbourne, 2014 The yellow line takes you to the Multiple Sclerosis ward. Green for Motor Neurone Disease. Blue for Parkinsonās Disease. You keep an eye on the yellow line as you side-step trolleys and wheelchairs, patients and nurses, volunteers and other visitors.
Rijn Collins Melbourne, 2016 I know little about Cohen, but Iām learning about you. You tell me a story as we drive, and I turn towards you, my hands out to catch the falling words.
Vin Maskell CafƩ, La Trobe St, Melbourne. Lunchtime June 2010 Some songs need fresh air. They need to be able to breathe again. They need to be able to float away into space and not come into our orbit for a good while.