William Southold, The Southold Report
Leonard Cohen, the Canadian singer, songwriter, poet, and novelist, died in 2016. He was a favorite of both my wife and myself when I first started in the news business, working as a copy boy for the Suffolk Times in their offices in Riverhead, NY. That was back in 1968.
I recently heard that a few new songs, or possibly poems, were found in a dusty attic in Quebec. It doesn’t seem that they were ever recorded.
Well, now that my night gig is to roam the streets of DC, searching out poetry slams, this immediately piqued my interest. I called, and using my Fake News credentials, was able to secure a copy of this newfound treasure.
My plan is to take the poems to the next poetry slam at the Kennedy Center, read them cold, and see if anyone can tell just from his distinctive themes and style, who the author is. It should be fun.
I have included the text of the poem I plan to read below. But if you are around the Kennedy next Saturday night, please feel free to drop in at the Old Curmudgeons’ Poetry Slam. Just don’t give it away, please.
Central News Service, proudly bringing you the fakest news anywhere, featuring our very own Pulitzer Prize winning Fake Newsman, William Southold
(CNS Disclaimer: Mr. Southold has in no way won the Pulitzer Prize.)
(CNS Disclaimer #2: Mr. Southold continues to act, some say irresponsibly, as a Fake Poetry Curator. It has our Legal Department concerned, to say the least.)
(Image from picturessso.com)
When Truth Finds You Out
We once shared a story, our lives intertwined
You understood me more than I had in mind.
You took hold of my reins, you were my guide.
You found all my secrets, you counted my lies.
Truth has sent it’s hearse for me, I’ll sit back, sit back, sit back, take the ride.
You once sent me a limo, I thought now I belong.
I rode in the back, composing your song.
I waved, I waved, at my only fans.
They were few. I was just following your plans.
With your lies sitting next to me, that’s when it began.
You can bang on the windows, you can try at the doors,
You can scream at the driver, you can dig at cold floors.
You will find it’s no use, when you’ve been living a lie.
No one can see you, know you’re inside.
When truth sends it’s hearse for you, sit back, sit back, sit back, take the ride.
Truth is the arbiter, truth shows the way.
It knows your transgressions, it will make you pay.
Truth keeps its tally, it knows all our names,
It holds forth its bright candy, the golden one fame.
We reach through the window. We let in the rain.
Just why you chose me, I will never be sure.
I was your patsy, you knew I’d endure.
I saw you in SoHo, I had you in France.
You had so many fans, in your presence, they danced.
Your beauty embroidered with lies. We danced, we danced, we danced.
You can bang on the windows, you can try at the doors,
You can scream at the driver, you can dig at cold floors.
You will find it’s no use, when you’ve been living a lie.
No one can see you, know you’re inside.
When truth sends it’s hearse for you, sit back, sit back, sit back, take the ride.
I chased you in sunshine, I chased in the rain.
It didn’t matter much, it was all just the same.
I chased up the mountains, no matter how far,
You understood before me, I would not be a star.
But I made myself stronger, lifting my chin, to your bar.
You ask where we’re going. Only now do you care.
It’s not on your map, or mine, to be fair.
Our hips pressed together, your whispered cries.
Truth is driving our hearse now, something in it has died.
When truth finds you out, sit back, sit back, sit back, if you’re cold now, here, your shroud of lies.
