Leonard Cohen.

I've not entirely made my mind up about the internet. Is it good for us or bad? It has made communication so fast that, nowadays, there are new pressures with which previous generations would not have had to cope.

For instance, there is an internet generated demand for productivity in the workplace that is assumed to be (but is not always) facilitated by instant communication. (Yes, Mavis. That is a long sentence for a zimble).

Consider the great great grand father, farming his land at Allora, on the other side of the Great Dividing Range, over the Darling Downs, out beyond Warwick, past the big trees and up the long driveway. He might receive an important letter from his financier in Brisbane requesting information about his harvest. He would have all the time, the days or weeks, it took for the next bullock dray to arrive and collect his reply.

Today, a reply is expected that afternoon or the next day at the very latest, all because of the internet. Now, we must spend time making a request to spend time: 'Would it be alright if I get back to you next week?'

The internet also makes subtle demands on our leisure time. Here I am writing this blog when I could be outside tending my parsley as it goes to seed. Certainly, I'm writing because I want to but every so often, if I haven't posted something in a while, I think, well, I should try to get to that.

Then there are the 'flame wars' that erupt in forums, social networking sites and web based fandoms. How many internet friendships have crashed and burnt over a too hasty reply or a careless strike of the 'send' key?

In the 'good old days' one would have had at least all night and up to second period maths to salvage a fan dilemma over whether Parker Stevenson or Shaun Cassidy was the more handsome of the Hardy Boys. [Shaun Cassidy by a country mile].

One great and undeniable thing about the web is the learning and enrichment it affords us. I don't just mean Wikipedia. Surfing the net inevitably draws us into other cultures; national, ethnic, religious, scientific, sub and pop. I look up avocado tree and find there is a current trend towards extra hot chilli at Californian guacamole parties. Who knew? That's like gnarly man!

Here is another perfect example of one good thing leading to another: this is Paul Darby's poem, which he kindly shared with his email correspondents. It's a tribute to the Canadian songwriter, Leonard Cohen (1934-). I did know a couple of Cohen's songs but I didn't know all the ins and outs of his musical life and influence.

You may say, 'Well, where were you in the 70s?' The answer is I was a four-eyed knock-kneed ballet-o-mane dreaming of the New York City Ballet performing the Nutcracker at Christmas but I'm here now, listening to Cohen, getting it. Better late than never and all thanks to the internet and to Paul.

LATE NIGHTS WITH LEONARD.

{for Lennie, the semi-colon; with love from so many!}

Mystical music measures movements,

Raps our twisted-arthritic knuckles; we stay

Trapped on Boogie Street, listening to jazz

Here, at the rear of the year; amazed, dazed

We chat; sip tea, suck sweet oranges,

Your lyrics slide to hide within the cracked deep darkness.

A vast yawning dawn creeps up

To spoil our crazy cures and cravings.

Aging old men, bookends, no longer willing

To rage against a sickle moon; she leaves

No heroes stranded

No children in the seaweed.

Standing to leave, inside-out sleeve,

You button your famous blue raincoat,

Torn at the shoulder; worn out by words.

Clouding the casual-coldness with our icy breath,

We talk our way through yet another dripping-dense day, dancing

To the end of love.

Away from you, candles cry;

I feel so much older

Needing your ancient puzzled patterns, which comfort me,

Still crazy

After all these tears, that's no way to say goodbye.

My brain echoes; we walk on, smiling through the rain,

Homeward-bound, sounds bouncing,

Whistles and bells, meeting

Every train, invited again

To your place near the river, where

Staring, loping wolf-like dreams hunt

Stealing hungry scraps of conversation,

Outside;

A bird on the wire, who by fire, struts

Higher and higher, to bring us

Another restless, lazy-late night.

My master sings the sacred chord

Drowning out the dryness, refreshing applause,

Teasing the celestial music of the turning-spinning spheres.

It splinters through this crumbling tower of song;

Our two aching voices long to blend, to send

Perfect energies through another

HALLELUJAH!

As we hug farewell,

We say a loud AMEN;

And, once again

The bells are ringing out for Christmas Day!

It's time to climb the real mountain...............

Ca va? Shalom!

Go raibh maith agat.

May the Rat and the Ox bless the Dog,

That's the plan....I'm your man!