Raegan Butcher's Blog - Posts Tagged "canada"
Irving Layton
Irving Layton was a Canadian poet, a contemporary of Leonard Cohen, and he was considered by many to be a mentor to Cohen. I first heard of him back in the 80s but it was impossible to find his books. Before the internet and ordering books on-line, tracking down even the works of Leonard Cohen was no easy task.
However, now that we are in the 21st Century, I was able to track down and buy a copy of the brilliantly titled “Balls for a One-Armed Juggler’ by Irving Layton, and I must say I am impressed. Not all of the poems in this book are to my taste, but I can certainly see the influence Layton had upon Cohen’s work.
Here is an example of a poem of Layton’s that I really like, but it also is very reminiscent of Cohen’s style from roughly the same time period, which is the early 1960s.
Who’s Crazy?
When I was warm-hearted
impulsive;
and would’ve given the skin
off my back
and gone to hell
for any one of them,
people ran from me
as from a leper,
my cries of love
the leper’s warning bell.
Now I’ve become stone
and don’t bat an eyelash
if someone is lashed
or ripped apart
before my eyes,
everyone says I’m serene
–Olympian!—
and cannot praise me enough
for my maturity.
And what I want to know is:
who’s crazy?
They? or I?
However, now that we are in the 21st Century, I was able to track down and buy a copy of the brilliantly titled “Balls for a One-Armed Juggler’ by Irving Layton, and I must say I am impressed. Not all of the poems in this book are to my taste, but I can certainly see the influence Layton had upon Cohen’s work.
Here is an example of a poem of Layton’s that I really like, but it also is very reminiscent of Cohen’s style from roughly the same time period, which is the early 1960s.
Who’s Crazy?
When I was warm-hearted
impulsive;
and would’ve given the skin
off my back
and gone to hell
for any one of them,
people ran from me
as from a leper,
my cries of love
the leper’s warning bell.
Now I’ve become stone
and don’t bat an eyelash
if someone is lashed
or ripped apart
before my eyes,
everyone says I’m serene
–Olympian!—
and cannot praise me enough
for my maturity.
And what I want to know is:
who’s crazy?
They? or I?
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