“Suzanne” — a song where love, faith, and longing drift together like water and light
Few songs in modern folk history feel as intimate and timeless as “Suzanne”, especially in the intertwined legacy of Judy Collins and Leonard Cohen. It is not merely a song about a woman; it is a meditation on love that cannot be owned, faith that cannot be explained, and beauty that exists quietly, just beyond reach. From its first gentle lines, “Suzanne” invites the listener into a hushed, reflective space — one that feels almost sacred.
The song first entered the world through Judy Collins, who recorded “Suzanne” for her 1966 album In My Life. Released as a single the following year, her version reached No. 51 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1967, an impressive achievement for a song so poetic, restrained, and unconventional by pop standards of the time. It was Collins’ clear, luminous voice that carried the song into the wider public consciousness, long before Leonard Cohen — its writer — recorded his own definitive version on his debut album Songs of Leonard Cohen in 1967.
The story behind “Suzanne” is as evocative as the song itself. Cohen was inspired by Suzanne Verdal, a woman he knew in Montreal who lived near the St. Lawrence River. Their relationship, by Cohen’s own account, was largely platonic. They talked, shared tea and oranges, and looked out at the water together. Nothing overtly romantic happened — and that restraint became the heart of the song. Suzanne was not a lover to be possessed, but a presence to be experienced, admired, and ultimately left untouched.
This sense of distance is what gives “Suzanne” its haunting power. The song speaks of intimacy without ownership, desire without fulfillment. When Collins sings it, her voice floats above the melody with a serene clarity, making the song feel almost like a prayer. Cohen’s writing, filled with maritime imagery, religious symbolism, and quiet yearning, finds in her interpretation a softness that invites rather than confronts.
One of the most striking elements of “Suzanne” is how seamlessly it weaves the sacred with the personal. The unexpected appearance of Jesus, described as a lonely sailor walking on the water, startled many listeners at the time. Yet this was not blasphemy or provocation — it was empathy. Cohen was exploring the idea of spiritual isolation, of figures who give everything and are still misunderstood. In the world of “Suzanne”, love, faith, and sacrifice exist side by side, equally fragile and equally profound.
For listeners who encountered the song in the late 1960s, it felt unlike anything else on the radio. This was not folk music meant for protest or rallying cries. It was inward-looking, poetic, slow-burning. It trusted the listener to sit still and listen. And for those who have carried it through the decades, the song has aged with extraordinary grace. Each return reveals something new: a line that resonates differently, an image that suddenly feels personal.
The contrast between Judy Collins’ and Leonard Cohen’s recordings only deepens the song’s legacy. Collins brings light and openness; Cohen brings shadow and gravity. Together, they form a complete emotional portrait — the same song seen from two angles, like memory and reflection. It is rare for a composition to be so well-served by two voices so different, yet so faithful to its soul.
Ultimately, “Suzanne” endures because it speaks to a quiet truth many come to understand with time: not all loves are meant to be lived fully, and not all beauty is meant to be held. Some people pass through our lives like water under a bridge — changing us forever, even if they never stay. This song does not mourn that fact; it accepts it with grace.
Listening now, years later, “Suzanne” feels less like a song and more like a memory shared between strangers — a reminder that some moments are precious precisely because they remain untouched.