Dylan Birthday #65

Today, sixty-five years ago Robert Zimmerman was born in Minnesota, but now he no longer lives in Minnesota, he is a citizen of the world, particularly to the road. He has been a Midwesterner, New Yorker, Californian, and southerner, but that is only in the USA, over the world he’s been masked and unmasked, face painted like, heathen in New York, Chiristian for those who cared, and a Jew in New York or Israel. The personas he has adoptated within each of these places; his voice shifting, from the folkie’s homestead-piety, to the whine and howl as his guitars dripped acid, in Nashville with a cowboy’s lonely complaint, and now, the “mature” growl of the old dog, keeping the pretty Timberlake, coldplay poodles at bay. His voice can be imitated, his writing, his playing can be imitated, but no one can catch Jack Twist, Jack Frost, Robert Zimmerman, Bob Dylan, Zimmy. No one, no one catch the Rolling Thunder, or the Jack of Hearts.

I’m a big fan of his, trying to capture him in a moment, while listening to his albums, watching No Direction Home, or reading Chronicles. But its no good. Elvis has his impersonators, so people can say the king still lives, but Dylan, still living, trying to live with his impersonators, keeps on killing himself, or reviving some dusty costume of himself, well this more than I wanted to say here a few lyrics of his, enjoy…

First Release “Love And Theft” 2001		The seasons they are turnin’ and my sad heart is yearnin’ To hear again the songbird’s sweet melodious tone Won’t you meet me out in the moonlight alone? The dusky light, the day is losing Orchids, poppies, black-eyed Susan The earth and sky that melts with flesh and bone Won’t you meet me out in the moonlight alone? The air is thick and heavy All along the levee Where the geese into the countryside have flown Won’t you meet me out in the moonlight alone? Well, I’m preachin’ peace and harmony The blessings of tranquility Yet I know when the time is right to strike I’ll take you ‘cross the river dear You’ve no need to linger here I know the kinds of things you like The clouds are turnin’ crimson The leaves fall from the limbs an’ The branches cast their shadows over stone Won’t you meet me out in the moonlight alone? The boulevards of cypress trees The masquerades of birds and bees The petals, pink and white, the wind has blown Won’t you meet me out in the moonlight alone? The trailing moss and mystic glow Purple blossoms soft as snow My tears keep flowing to the sea Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief It takes a thief to catch a thief For whom does the bell toll for, love? It tolls for you and me My pulse is runnin’ through my palm The sharp hills are rising from The yellow fields with twisted oaks that groan Won’t you meet me out in the moonlight alone?
		Copyright © 2001 Special Rider Music

First Release Blood on the Tracks 1975 { RealAudio } WindowsMedia { 56 } Live Hard Rain 1976 { RealAudio } WindowsMedia { 56 } Live At Budokan 1979 { RealAudio } WindowsMedia { 56 } Compilation The Essential Bob Dylan 2000 { RealAudio } WindowsMedia { 56 }		‘Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form. “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured I’ll always do my best for her, on that I give my word In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm. “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved Everything up to that point had been left unresolved. Try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm. “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail, Poisoned in the bushes an’ blown out on the trail, Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn. “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” Suddenly I turned around and she was standin’ there With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair. She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns. “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” Now there’s a wall between us, somethin’ there’s been lost I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed. Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn. “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount But nothing really matters much, it’s doom alone that counts And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn. “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” I’ve heard newborn babies wailin’ like a mournin’ dove And old men with broken teeth stranded without love. Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn? “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes I bargained for salvation an’ they gave me a lethal dose. I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn. “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.” Well, I’m livin’ in a foreign country but I’m bound to cross the line Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine. If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born. “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”
		Copyright © 1974 Ram’s Horn Music

The guilty undertaker sighs, The lonesome organ grinder cries, The silver saxophones say I should refuse you. The cracked bells and washed-out horns Blow into my face with scorn, But it’s not that way, I wasn’t born to lose you. I want you, I want you, I want you so bad, Honey, I want you. The drunken politician leaps Upon the street where mothers weep And the saviors who are fast asleep, They wait for you. And I wait for them to interrupt Me drinkin’ from my broken cup And ask me to Open up the gate for you. I want you, I want you, I want you so bad, Honey, I want you. Now all my fathers, they’ve gone down True love they’ve been without it. But all their daughters put me down ‘Cause I don’t think about it. Well, I return to the Queen of Spades And talk with my chambermaid. She knows that I’m not afraid To look at her. She is good to me And there’s nothing she doesn’t see. She knows where I’d like to be But it doesn’t matter. I want you, I want you, I want you so bad, Honey, I want you. Now your dancing child with his Chinese suit, He spoke to me, I took his flute. No, I wasn’t very cute to him, Was I? But I did it, though, because he lied Because he took you for a ride And because time was on his side And because I . . . I want you, I want you, I want you so bad, Honey, I want you.

Copyright © 1966; renewed 1994 Dwarf Music

A Postcard

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

That Nothing Scanned May Go Unposted!

I drew this, stuck it in a book I was reading and forgot about it. Why found it later while he was reading the same book (he actually finished the book, of course).

Notice that there are no faces anywhere in the picture! I think this is a first.

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

Ivor in the sand

This was a recent commission to go with a poem entitled “Ivor Cutler is Dead, Long Live Ivor Cutler”. Ivor Cutler, a grand old eccentric poet, humourist, musician who died recently. He was the man with the wonderful Glaswegian deadpan delivery, a twinkle in his eye, and words which enthralled young and old alike. Anyway, it struck me that this looked like My Old Sketchbook material, so here it is.

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.

Poem #24

Between sheets of rain,

And coverlets of rain,

You never came…

I dreamt emptily…

I opened my mouth,

She brought me a cup,

The rain swept my bones,

She told me to drink up.

I hid beneath the stairs,

I had run away

To the bus

And Caravan of lights,

To shows, yet unseen,

Fondled in my eye.

…

I knocked on her door;

She’d seen me before.

I slept on her floor

Like a disloyal dog.

I run into the day,

Blinking tears, floating

From the sun.

I wandered till I raised my hood,

And the rain hid me,

Vodka, and a wall behind me,

As I drank like she said

Before she went to bed.

The Carnival:

I the disloyal clown, sitting in the stands

Watched ticketholders—

All paying customers—drown;

I walked away from the flood,

And found a flower bed,

Under a modest clock

In University park.

I slept between sheets of stars,

And coverlets of rain

I dreamt

But you never came,

My dream,

Flowers,

In a garden

With money,

And flowers,

Chocolates, children,

A lap to rest my head.

She put all the cash

In Mother Robin’s balloon,

It flew with a thief,

Who nested in the clouds,

And trees.

I touched my guitar,

And…

And…

Do not cry,

(we know each other)

while I’m nearby

My hands are useless,

To cup your libations,

For the dead who do not drink.

My hands are restless,

Steadily shaking

I’m awake, do not cry, we can slip into the night,

Still the beating heart, slip into the night,

And let the moon roll back your tears,

Sobs come like

My laughter,

Deep and unrelenting

For joy to go unfound,

Sorrows, rocked in the swell,

Long ago, in your mama’s arms

Come home,

Lipstick smeared with eyeshadow

From the backseat of daddy’s car.

They’ve found you beneath

The birch trees

Hands idly free, pity leaves,

Filled with leaves, hands

And sorrows came,

As I slept between sheets of stars,

Covered with rain,

I dreamt,

But you never came.

A Right-Side Up Parrot Named…

Hm… Well, I was going to tell you the name of this perky parrot-friend of mine. But maybe you would enjoy guessing at his name yourselves? What do you say? Let’s give it a try, eh?

Copyright 2005 by Andrew Price, all rights reserved.