Obituary: Cohen’s secret chord

News of the death of Leonard Cohen, Canadian singer and poet hit me on Thursday like an early blast of winter. There is no space here to delve deep into his work and life; it is enough for those who have known his art to wonder how such a man ever lived amongst us. He was placed by critics and fans alike in a musical trinity, with Bob Dylan, now a Nobel laureate and Paul Simon, singer-songwriters who sail in deep waters with words and music—mysterious, surreal, original and unforgettable.

Cohen whom Dylan considered his nearest rival began as a poet in the same tradition as Ginsberg and O’ Hara before releasing his first album in 1967. It would take him years to finish a song, not really the sign of a fast worker. In his 48-year-long career, Cohen released 13 more studio albums that showed the rare care and capacity to navigate the tangle of words and melody. 

He had been suffering from a number of health problems and was ready to die, he said in an interview with acclaimed journalist David Remnick this summer. Cohen had toured the world and had seen his share of rock stardom but talked mostly about family and responsibility in this interview. “Putting your house in order, if you can do it, is one of the most comforting activities, and the benefits of it are incalculable.”

Cohen was called a troubadour of sadness—“the godfather of gloom.” He had his reasons. Since early adulthood, he had fought a long battle with overwhelming depression and anxiety. In a collection of poems called: “Book of Longing,” he wrote: “I left my robes hanging on a peg/in the old cabin/where I had sat so long/and slept so little. I finally understood I had no gift for Spiritual Matters.”

He sought solace in meditation, far from the public eye and trained as a Buddhist monk in the 1990s. But redemption was still elusive. He kept looking and fighting his lifelong nemesis, refusing to give up. Then something happened in Mumbai where he spent nearly a year under the guidance of a spiritual teacher.

His depression lifted and he was ready to return home. The struggle and the mystery remind me of “Anthem”, a song that took him a decade to write:  “Ring the bells that still can ring/ forget your perfect offering/There is a crack in everything/That’s how the light gets in.”

The writer is a member of the Editorial Team.