Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Channeling

I’ve been watching the documentary about Bob Dylan, which is excellent by the way. It reminded me of how I hung on his words, puzzling them out. Listening again with my daughter, I hear instead the hurtfulness. I cannot help but feel sorry for Mister Jones and the poor dear with the leopard skin pillbox hat. As he would no doubt say, I don’t know anything about him – take it or leave it. I do know he has created works of a strange, ungraspable genius that challenge, amaze and distress us. I just wish he were a nicer guy.

I admit I would have been a different person without his music, and I couldn’t have written anything like this. Maybe he could make use of the poem I offer to him here:

Ode to Bobby Z.

  • You stand there wiping mud upon the windshield of your life
  • Wondering why the people push their questions and their strife.
  • No one passes muster in your eyes.
  • You’ve never found a soul you think is wise,
  • and you cannot keep from falling through the dreamtime you are calling with your steel guitar and bawling,
  • And I wonder how you really treat your wife.
  • The man says God has touched you not, but kicked you in the ass
  • He says you’re channeling his words -- or just an echo of his gas.
  • The hungry people stunned and fleeting
  • They’re drawn to wounded words you’re bleating,
  • and they cannot keep from falling through the dreamtime you are calling with your steel guitar and bawling,
  • And I wonder why you smear the ones you pass.

9/28/2005 10:03 PM


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1 Comments:

At Thursday, September 29, 2005 8:36:00 AM, Blogger mal said...

"Hwy 61" was and is awesome. As strange as Dylan has been at times, there is no question as to his legacy his body of work is. Never sure when you may see another quite as good. "May as well try and touch the wind"

*S*

 

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