Leonard Cohen has laid down a soundtrack for Kate Stewart's life.
WHILST quoting my humble hero, Leonard Cohen, last week, I was unaware he was dying.
I'd recently shared a link to his latest album with a fellow fan at the Chronicle.
This album was clearly his goodbye but I was blindsided by the knowledge that he had been suffering from cancer. His days confined to a big blue chair, designed to help with pain.
The same chair from which his last album, You Want It Darker would be recorded, on a laptop, and produced by his son Adam. Allergic to most of his meds, he was forced to "white knuckle" his end days.
Oblivious, like a glutton, I stuffed myself on his latest tunes. His song Leaving the Table was my favourite. I went back for helping after helping.
When I discovered he had died, aged 82, I wept ... how could this "stranger" affect me so much?
Our unrequited love affair began over 30 years ago, when Karen Hay, then host of the alternative, Radio with Pictures, introduced us via his song, Dance Me To The End Of Love.
Like a junkie, I was hooked.
I remember years later relaying to my brother my fondness for the man. He took great pleasure in telling me how his friend had been arrested at a Cohen concert for setting up a razor blade stand.
Many labelled his music morose and the voice of doom and gloom, for me he's been anything but, with lyrics that find a way to seep into your soul.
Who else could describe crying as "a garland of freshly cut tears"?
This somewhat mythical man had been the soundtrack to much of my life. He was there for the death of my grandmother, both my parents, my marriage and the sometime misery of motherhood.
His voice was my Valium.
His lyrics could render me speechless and bring me to tears. His profound wisdom and not so subtle commentary of the human condition touched me deeply. This genius in the universal language of song had been a constant during my most intimate of times.
A virtual lifesaver, his music has transformed me from a desperate, near homicidal maniac or suicidal wannabe to a place of surrender and humility.
A deeply spiritual man, his final interview revealed that not only was he prepared for death, he was also prepared to embrace it. How many artists can take something so very private, make it public and do it so beautifully?
My long imagined lover gave me cause, a reason to believe in the hopelessness of humanity, his words forever tattooed on my innermost being.
Leonard found great comfort, albeit compulsively, in being able to "put his house in order". This included the finishing of poems and songs, yet to be released, like this little gem. He recited this too, from that big blue chair, in that now famous last interview.
"Listen to the hummingbird.
Whose wings you can not see.
Listen to the hummingbird, don't listen to me. Listen to the butterfly, Whose days but number three. Listen to the butterfly, don't listen to me.
Listen to the mind of God.
Which doesn't need to be.
Listen to the mind of God, don't listen to me."
I beg to differ. For the unfamiliar ... seek him out on You Tube and listen to him.
You won't be disappointed.
His loss stretches way beyond the music.
He was special beyond belief.
■ Kate Stewart is an unemployed, reluctant mother-of-three, currently on the run from government forces who welcomes feedback to investik8@gmail.com