Today thinking of Ira – sometimes in NYC, sort of stranded, as far as
Thanksgiving was concerned, I’d go up there, the same ritual
of ‘nothing’ – watching the baseball game, but somehow
it was a kind of ritual, just the same. So this is first
thanksgiving in his absence, & I just give thanks for
the fact that he was w. us & to everyone, to all who helped
in the series of benefits, parties, fund raisings, etc. &
all the ‘good times’, we had, at Rosies, or actually
anywhere we all happened to end up – very
cold in Italy but… was thinking of Ira
today.
Below is article I wrote for Ian MacFadyen who
is writing critical study of Ira in London.
L.
ín the poem one can lay donw the heartline, the harp can
bring the tears, – Ira Cohen
Just
knowing Ira was
performance art, walking down
the street, talking on the phone, discussing the most intimate
details of one’s life, somehow it was all performance,
w. the great being of beings, whoever & wherever he or it was,
in attendance, the stage – anywhere we happened
to be, his presence was that magnaminous &
PRESENT. On occasion, of course,
we were on actual stage together,
the first one was at the Melk Weg, Amsterdam 1974,
w. Heathcote Williams, the last one at The Bowery Poetry Club,
NYCshortly before he left the theatre ( of life)
it was a memorial for Janine Pommy Vega.
Ira asked ‘how did I do?’someone said, ‘ýou aced it
like
usual.’
In between
were alot of other ‘performances’, what was it like,? It was friendly,
Ira offered great support, sometimes he took all the space, when
the signs of serious illness first manifested, in performance,
Woodstock 2006, I tried to surrender, it
was like he was reading his last poem, but he wasn’t
he continued, right up to the
last.few months.
Sometimes
I played sarangi for his readings – in Amsterdam
at Visual Voice, for Bob Kauman/ we raised some $ for
his printing of From The Whole Megillah – in an attic on
Leidses Straat, 20 years later, just before meeing
Sun Burned Hand of the Man – other readings
at the Limelight in NYC, singing at Jivamukti’s
glamor opening on Lafayette Street (later,on 14th str.
JM went green, but for the opening, Sting & Co., Uma
the usual suspects were there – Ira & I did not perform.
Sometimes I read too.
Toward the end, he’d still nvite
me but if his children were in the audienc,especially
his son, Raphael Allaudin, he’d give all the space to them or him.
I tried to understand & only sometimes felt deprived.- They’d
look so beautiful, together, Gershwin Hotel, 2009 (?)
Ira w. both his children, all three
so
radiant.
Ira
was a much more sophistocated performer than me, but
somehow, there we were, the most beautiful was to acocmpany
his Indian or Nepalese poems on sarangi or w. voice. We
did that in Amsterdam & NYC, later I’d acocmpany
him to readings, show up w. a car service or taxi,
I’d read too, like w. Kazuko Shirashi,,
the great Japanese poet
in NYC,
He began to be in demand in
sophistocated circles in Eurpe/I didn’t acocmpany
him to these but sometimes we’d be in the same venues –
The Living Theatre’s 50th anniversary in Naples, Castel del Elmo
‘ or in Angus’Orfeo, at the Kitchen, in NYC, he was an actor
(w. Judith Malina)- I played in the orchestra,
( Rashid Ali et.al), Syvie Degeiz directing.
.
I liked the intimate (non) ‘performance’
‘in restaurants & cafes, he’d say, O we ought
to record – talking abt. a performance we
just did but we never did it..
Of course, up in the Akashic Studios, he’s probably
editing all the so called unrecorded stuff right. now. I wasn’t
the only one, but our history went way back & we knew it.
Another bit of performance: street photography.
There are many such photos, they are very amuscing & usually
come w. advice, how to be a winner, how to telephone
Poland for $5.00 etc. or w. descriptive commentary
like Savage Life. Inside his house ( or theatre)
(or studio) many photographic opportunities
also presented themselves,
me w. an ostrich egg,
I guess he wanted me to have a child,/ me w. a veil, performing
one night w. Thurston & John Fahey, up in Harrlem,
fantastic, on the roof – or me lying down w. the
flowers pots on Broadway, nursing a teddy
bear on e. 86th, going to his doctors
I guess he was trying to comfort me –
playing sarangi in the living room filled w. relics &
manuscripts & still more photos, me beneath an
elephant’s head, when I broke my leg & yet
went up to visit him, in a taxi –
when I cld. afford it.
.
– the last photograph,
really they were vignettes,
was of me w. a black cloth over my head, Ira
said, wear this, put it over your head, so I did,
The photo showed an old old woman, I swear she
looked like she was at the healm of a boat,
going down the Styx – moving down-
stream on the river of death.
Ira did not do things casually & all those
photos are imprints of some sort, some very
prophetic. Though our life styles were
radicallydifferent, our perceptions were
very closely related in ways that defy words.
I ended up staying w. him the 2 months
before he died, I guess he had that in mind
when he snapped the photo, tho he
was still well at that time.
His death was a long,painful performance,
of course I cld.not accompany him.
— Louise Landes Levi