Dear Mr. Cohen, Leonard, you, bastard, you, poet, you, with your hats and your poems and your songs…

23 Sep 2012 by

Dear Mr. Cohen,

This was the first time I had the privilege of seeing you performing live on stage. Thank you for an exquisite show, thank you for the silence and peacefullness your music gave me. Thank you for the wonderful musicians you have surrounded yourself with and for the amazing lights that were the perfect stage setting I ever saw.

We were 3 minutes late for your show, Mr. Cohen and please excuse this unintentional rudeness. The ticket said the show starts at 8.30 and we bought it months ago, so we didn’t expect to be late. But thank you for three wonderful hours and for your chapeau bas in front of the wonderful people that make music with you.

To have someone kneel in front of you as he sings is the most humbling experience a spectator can have. We should have been kneeling to your tallent and, maybe, hadn’t it been so cold, many of us would have done it.

So now that we’ve known each other for about … 20 years and three hours of my life/2 minutes of your life – assuming that these lines would ever rich you – I’d like to tell you a few stories that it would have been impossible for you to see without the sun glasses you so elegantly tossed away.

It was very cold, Leonard, I don’t know about you, but we were freezing. It was the first really cold autumn night, but we were grateful it wasn’t raining like it did merely 24 hours before. Nevertheless, it was worth sitting down and listening to your generous three hour show. This is how we saw you from sector B, central, second row.

See, your true nature was up there. Although you try to appear small and frail, whoever takes a second to really look at you, can see that you are, actually, a giant.

Thanks for the poetry and for the healing song, thanks for the violin and for the harp and for all the wonderful instruments you brought on stage. Thanks for the Waltz. You know, people were actually waltzing in between the chair rows? It was dark and nobody spotted them to show them to you but they were genuinely happy to dance while L. Cohen was singing to them, live.

I’ve seen many concerts and this was the first time when I didn’t feel like jumping around and screaming. I had one of my best friends from childhood on my right and my wonderful husband on my left, so your whole concert I was either holding hands with my bff or cuddling in my husband’s arms. In front of us, there was a teenager so happy to be there that she taped the entire show. I almost tapped her shoulder to tell her that no lens is better than the eye to drink in a special moment like that. But I refrained myself, after all, we’re different and we feel life each in our own way. I didn’t record more than 30 seconds of your music and that was the violin, as I needed to take that bit of a sound with me.

I felt sorry for those people selling beer and cold drinks, nobody really paid any attention to them. But I saw the first aid crew walking around and trying to get the best picture of the giant screen on your left and that means nobody was fainting, nobody had any heart attacks, could it be from your “come healing” incantation?

Thanks for the Encore, too. It was the perfect occasion to capture this moment. See, this young lady is one of the many corporate employees. I don’t know her at all, but I can only imagine she works 9 to 11 p.m. She’s well dressed, had a fancy phone  and she brought her mother to the concert. This is when you were playing “Save the Last Dance for Me”. They held each other and the mother was rubbing the daughter’s back, as she was trying both to warm her and somehow thank her.

I’ve seen lots of parents my age with their kids at this concert and also people who came with their best friends to listen to your music. You told us to drive safely, thanks, but it was worth the long walk to the taxi. We had a chance to look at the others walking around us and smile at each other. But we did ask ourselves if you left the Plaza, if they brought you somewhere warm, if they gave you a cup of warm tea or whatever you need after the show. Here, in Romania, we have this habit of telling guests when we see them to the door: “give us a call when you get home so we know you’re safe”. I read the papers today, no terrible accident in Bucharest was on TV so I reckon you got to your hotel safe.

So thank you, Mr. Cohen, for the wonderful feeling of being warm in the cold. Thanks for your elegance. Thanks for the joy. Thanks for Alexandru and for the Webb sisters and for the amazing, amazing Sharon.

We’ll come again, should you choose to return to Bucharest.

I wish I was there at your press conference. I would have asked you to tell me about your last love but I suspect that, as a gentleman, you wouldn’t have kissed and then told the world otherwise than through music. No loss there, you  must be tired of journalists imagining they can pick your brain in 15 minutes press conferences.

Oh, and Happy Birthday!

Till next time, we’ll be here, waiting for the miracle to happen again.

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  1. ce caldă e scrisoarea ta. ca vocea lui. 🙂

  2. Ce mult mi-a placut ce ai scris… parca am fost si eu acolo un pic… Ma bucur pt tot ce ai trait la concertul lui.

  3. Minunate trairi (mai putin frigul 🙂 ), esti atat de bogata! 🙂
    Si noi ii dorim tot binele, incredibilului Cohen!

  4. oaki

    Vai ce rau imi pare, aveam bilete si nu am mai ajuns ca s-a imbolnavit cealalta le-am dat:((
    Eh, macar pt voi care ati ajuns a meritat. Bravo!

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