by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator
It was announced last week in Stockholm that American songwriter and folk artist Bob Dylan had won the Nobel Prize for Literature. The committee cited Dylan for "having created new poetic expressions within the American song tradition." It is an honor that is both well deserved and long overdue.
One of my college professors, a lady who was steeped in the works of the romantic poets of an earlier age, once lamented that there were no poets currently capturing the essence of the world in the way the Byron, Keats, and Shelley had done. She had her nose far too deep into the Norton Anthologies and wasn't listening to the music of her own time - much of it written by twentieth poets like Woody Guthrie, Jimmie Rodgers, Pete Seeger, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, Elton John, Carole King, the Beatles, Carly Simon, Kris Kristofferson, and perhaps the most prolific and enduring of them all, Bob Dylan. There was poetry a-plenty being written, but the sad old professor wasn't listening.
Last Christmas I bought my musician grandson, Boone, a copy of the Bob Dylan Songbook. That sucker was over two-inches thick! Dylan's music, much of it tied to the civil rights movement and war protests of the mid-twentieth century, was the soundtrack of America in turmoil as the country struggled to establish it's post World War II identity. Bob Dylan, perhaps more than any other artist, helped us to grapple with the questions of who we were and where we were heading.
Over the years I have highlighted the lyrics of three Bob Dylan songs in this space: "Talkin' John Birch Paranoid Blues" on 6/28/10, "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie" on 7/9/12, and "Only a Pawn in Their Game" on 2/24/14.
Selecting one song to identify with Bob Dylan's poetic genius is a nearly impossible task. The Nation magazine published a list of the top ten protest songs of all time (compiled by Peter Rothberg) several years ago. That list had Dylan's "The Times They Are a-Changin'" as number six. "Like a Rolling Stone,""Subterranean Homesick Blues," and "Rainy Doy Women #12 and 35" are all quickly recognized by people of a certain age. (I had the good fortune to attend a Dylan concert at an outdoor venue twenty-five years ago where much of the crowd joined in singing along with the artist who had penned the words and music. It was a sheep-and-shepherd spiritual experience!)
To honor Bob Dylan's ascension to the heights of Nobel Laureate, I finally settled on one of his most recognizable pieces, one that while easy to remember and sing along with, is nevertheless steeped in"new poetic expressions within the American song tradition." Please enjoy reminiscing to Bob Dylan's "Mr. Tambourine Man."
Mr. Tambourine Man
by Bob Dylan
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for mePoetry Appreciator
It was announced last week in Stockholm that American songwriter and folk artist Bob Dylan had won the Nobel Prize for Literature. The committee cited Dylan for "having created new poetic expressions within the American song tradition." It is an honor that is both well deserved and long overdue.
One of my college professors, a lady who was steeped in the works of the romantic poets of an earlier age, once lamented that there were no poets currently capturing the essence of the world in the way the Byron, Keats, and Shelley had done. She had her nose far too deep into the Norton Anthologies and wasn't listening to the music of her own time - much of it written by twentieth poets like Woody Guthrie, Jimmie Rodgers, Pete Seeger, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, Elton John, Carole King, the Beatles, Carly Simon, Kris Kristofferson, and perhaps the most prolific and enduring of them all, Bob Dylan. There was poetry a-plenty being written, but the sad old professor wasn't listening.
Last Christmas I bought my musician grandson, Boone, a copy of the Bob Dylan Songbook. That sucker was over two-inches thick! Dylan's music, much of it tied to the civil rights movement and war protests of the mid-twentieth century, was the soundtrack of America in turmoil as the country struggled to establish it's post World War II identity. Bob Dylan, perhaps more than any other artist, helped us to grapple with the questions of who we were and where we were heading.
Over the years I have highlighted the lyrics of three Bob Dylan songs in this space: "Talkin' John Birch Paranoid Blues" on 6/28/10, "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie" on 7/9/12, and "Only a Pawn in Their Game" on 2/24/14.
Selecting one song to identify with Bob Dylan's poetic genius is a nearly impossible task. The Nation magazine published a list of the top ten protest songs of all time (compiled by Peter Rothberg) several years ago. That list had Dylan's "The Times They Are a-Changin'" as number six. "Like a Rolling Stone,""Subterranean Homesick Blues," and "Rainy Doy Women #12 and 35" are all quickly recognized by people of a certain age. (I had the good fortune to attend a Dylan concert at an outdoor venue twenty-five years ago where much of the crowd joined in singing along with the artist who had penned the words and music. It was a sheep-and-shepherd spiritual experience!)
To honor Bob Dylan's ascension to the heights of Nobel Laureate, I finally settled on one of his most recognizable pieces, one that while easy to remember and sing along with, is nevertheless steeped in"new poetic expressions within the American song tradition." Please enjoy reminiscing to Bob Dylan's "Mr. Tambourine Man."
Mr. Tambourine Man
by Bob Dylan
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you
Though I know that evenings empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship
My senses have been stripped
My hands can't feel to grip
My toes too numb to step
Wait only for my boot heels to be wandering
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade
Cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you
Though you might hear laughing, spinning, swinging madly through the sun
It's not aimed at anyone
It's just escaping on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facing
And if you hear vague traces of skipping reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time
It's just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn't pay it any mind
It's just a shadow you're seeing that he's chasing
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you
Take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time
Far past the frozen leaves
The haunted frightened trees
Out to the windy bench
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky
With one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea
Circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate
Driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you
1 comment:
They have eyes but do not see, because poetry was supposed to be seen in books and magazines. Poetry, such as you describe, was set to music and dismissed as lyrics. The lyrics of our generation did not inspire or illuminate the previous generations. The world was changing, and change is frightening to those clinging to the illusions of yesteryear.
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