Bob's Written Word
11 Outlined Epitaphs I end up then in the early evenin' punchin' at the blind breathin' heavy stutterin' an' blowin'p where t' go? what is it that's exactly wrong? who t' picket? who t' fight? behind what windows will I at least hear someone from the supper table get up t' ask "did I hear someone outside just now?" yesterday an hour ago it came t' me in a second's flash an' was all so clear it still is now yes it is it's maybe hidin' it must be hidin' the shot has shook me up ... for I've never heard that sound before bringin' wild thoughts at first ragged wild numb wild now though they've leveled out an' been wrung out leavin' nothin' but the strangeness the roots within a washed-out cloth drippin' from the clothesline pole strange thoughts useless an' unnecessary the blast it's true startled me back but for a spell content with all pictures, posters an' the like that're painted for me ah but I turned an' the nex' time I looked the gloves of garbage had clobbered the canvas leavin' truckloads of trash clutterin' the colors with a blindin' sting forcin' me t' once again slam the shutters of my eyes but also me to wonderin' when they'll open much much stronger than anyone whose own eyes're aimed over here at mine "when will he open up his eyes?" "who him? doncha know? he's a crazy man he never opens up his eyes" "but he'll surely miss the world go by" "nah! he lives in his own world" "my my then he really must be a crazy man" "yeah he's a crazy man" an' so on spangled streets an' country roads I hear sleigh bells jingle jangle virgin girls far into the field sing an' laugh with flickerin' voices softly fadin' I stop an' smile an' rest awhile watchin' the candles of sundown dim unnoticed unnoticed for my eyes're closed --- The town I was born in holds no memories but for the honkin' foghorns the rainy mist an' the rocky cliffs I have carried no feelings up past the Lake Superior hills the town I grew up in is the one that has left me with my legacy visions it was not a rich town my parents were not rich it was not a poor town an' my parents were not poor it was a dyin' town (it was a dyin' town) a train line cuts the ground showin' where the fathers an' mothers of me an' my friends had picked up an' moved from north Hibbing t' south Hibbing old north Hibbing ... deserted already dead with its old stone courthouse decayin' in the wind long abandoned windows crashed out the breath of its broken walls being smothered in clingin' moss the old school where my mother went to rottin' shiverin' but still livin' standin' cold an' lonesome arms cut off with even the moon bypassin' its jagged body pretendin' not t' see an' givin' it its final dignity dogs howled over the graveyard where even the markin' stones were dead an' there was no sound except for the wind blowin' through the high grass an' the bricks that fell back t' the dirt from a slight stab of the breeze ... it was as though the rains of wartime had left the land bombed-out an' shattered south Hibbing is where everybody came t' start their town again. but the winds of the north came followin' an' grew fiercer an' the years went by but I was young an' so I ran an' kept runnin'... I am still runnin' I guess but my road has seen many changes for I've served my time as a refugee in mental terms an' in physical terms an' many a fear has vanished an' many an attitude has fallen an' many a dream has faded an' I know I shall meet the snowy North again -- but with changed eyes nex' time 'round t' walk lazily down its streets an' linger by the edge of town find old friends if they're still around talk t' the old people an' the young people running yes ... but stoppin' for a while embracin' what I left an' lovin' it -- for I learned by now never t' expect what it cannot give me --- Al's wife claimed I can't be happy as the New Jersey night ran backwards an' vanished behind our rollin' ear "I dig the colors outside, an' I'm happy" "but you sing such depressin' songs" "but you say so on your terms" "but my terms aren't so unreal" "yes but they're still your terms" "but what about others that think in those same terms" "Lenny Bruce says they're no dirty words...just dirty minds an' I say they're no depressed words just depressed minds" "but how're you happy an' when're you happy" "I'm happy now" "why?" "cause I'm calmly lookin' outside an' watchin' the night unwind" "what'd you mean 'unwind'?" "I mean somethin' like there's no end t' it an' it's so big that every time I see it it's like seein' for the first time" "so what?" "so anything that ain't got no end's just gotta be poetry in one way or another" "yeah but..." "an' poetry makes me feel good" "but..." "an' it makes me feel happy" "ok but..." "for lack of a better word" "but what about the songs you sing on stage?" "they're nothin' but the unwindin' of my happiness" --- Woody Guthrie was my last idol he was the last idol because he was the first idol I'd ever met that taught me face t' face that men are men shatterin' even himself as an idol an' that men have reasons for what they do an' for what they way an' every action can be questioned leavin' no command untouched an' took for granted obeyed an' bowed down to forgettin' your own natural instincts (for they're a million reasons in the world an' a million instincts runnin' wild an' its none too many times the two shall meet) the unseen idols create the fear an' trample hopes when busted Woody never made me fear and he didn't trample any hopes for he just carried a book of Man an' gave it t' me t' read awhile an' from it I learned my greatest lesson you ask "how does it feel t' be an idol?" it'd be silly of me t' answer, wouldn't it... --- A Russian has three an' a half red eyes five flamin' antennas drags a beet-colored ball an' chain an' wants t' slip germs into my Coke machine "burn the tree stumps at the border" shout the sex-hungry lunatics out warmongerin' in the early mornin' "poison the sky so the planes won't come" yell the birch colored knights with patriotic shields "an' murder all the un-Americans" say the card-carryin' American book burners (yes we burned five books last week) as my friend, Bobby Lee, walks back an' forth free now from his native Harlem where his ma still sleeps at night hearin' rats inside the sink an' underneath her hardwood bed an' walls of holes where the cold comes in scared wrapped in blankets an' she, God knows, is kind an' gentle ain't there no closer villains than the baby-eatin' Russians rats eat babies too I talked with one of the sons of Germany while walkin' once on foreign ground an' I learned that he regards Adolph Hitler as we here in the states regard Robert E Lee fasten up your holster mr gunslinger an' buy new bolts for your neck there is no right wing or left wing... there is only one up wing an' down wing last night I dreamt that while healin' ceilings up in Harlem I saw Canada ablaze an' nobody knowin' nothin' about it except of course who held the match --- Yes, I am a thief of thoughts not, I pray, a stealer of souls I have built an' rebuilt upon what is waitin' for the sand on the beaches carves many castles on what has been opened before my time a word, a tune, a story, a line keys in the wind t' unlock my mind an' t' grant my closet thoughts backyard air it is not of me t' sit an' ponder wonderin' an' wastin' time thinkin' of thoughts that haven't been thunk thinkin' of dreams that haven't been dreamt an' new ideas that haven't been wrote an' new words t' fit into rhyme (if it rhymes, it rhymes if it don't, it don't if it comes, it comes if it won't, it won't) no I must react an' spit fast with weapons of words wrapped in tunes that've rolled through the simple years teasin' me t' treat them right t' reshape them an' restring them t' protect my own world from the mouths of all those who'd eat it an' hold it back from eatin' it's own food (influences? hundreds thousands perhaps millions for all songs lead back t' the sea an' at one time, there was no singin' tongue t' imitate it) t' make new sounds out of old sounds an' new words out of old words an' not t' worry about the new rules for they ain't been made yet an' t' shout my singin' mind knowin' that it is me an' my kind that will make those rules... if the people of tomorrow really need the rules of today rally 'round all you prosecutin' attorneys the world is but a courtroom... yes but I know the defendants better 'n you and while you're busy prosecutin' we're busy whistlin' cleanin' up the courthouse sweepin' sweepin' listenin' listenin' winkin' t' one another careful careful your spot is comin' up soon --- Oh where were these magazines when I was bummin' up an' down up an' down the street? is it that they too just sleep in their high thrones...openin' their eyes when people pass expectin' each t' bow as they go by an' say "thank you Mr. Magazine. did I answer all my questions right?" ah but mine is of another story for I do not care t' be made an oddball bouncin' past reporters' pens cooperatin' with questions aimed at eyes that want t' see "there's nothin' here go back t' sleep or look at the ads on page 33" I don't like t' be stuck in print starin' out at cavity minds who gobble chocolate candy bars quite content an' satisfied their day complete at seein' what I eat for breakfast the kinds of clothes I like t' wear an' the hobbies that I like t' do I never eat I run naked when I can my hobby's collectin' airplane glue "come come now Mr. Dylan our readers want t' know the truth" "that is the bare hungry sniffin' truth" "Mr. Dylan, you're very funny, but really now" "that's all I have t' say today" "but you'd better answer" "that sounds like some kind a threat" "it just could be ha ha ha ha" "what will be my punishment" "a rumor tale on you ha ha" "a what kind of tale ha ha ha ha" "yes well you'll see, Mr. Dylan, you'll see" an' I seen or rather I have saw your questions're ridiculous an' most of your magazines're also ridiculous caterin' t' people who want t' see the boy nex' door no I shall not cooperate with reporters' whims there're other kinds of boys nex' door. even though they've slanted me they cannot take what I do away from me they can disguise it make it out t' be a joke an' make me seem the ridiculous one in the eyes of their readers they can build me up accordin' t' their own terms so that they are able t' bust me down an' "expose" me in their own terms givin' blind advice t' unknowin' eyes who have no way of knowin' that I "expose" myself every time I step out on the stage --- The night passes fast for me now an' after dancin' out its dance undresses leavin' nothin' but its naked dawn proudly standin' smilin' smilin' turnin' turnin' gently gently I have seen it sneak up countless times...leavin' me conscious with a thousand sleepy thoughts untamed an' tryin' t' run I think at these times of many things an' many people I think of Sue most times beautiful Sue with the lines of a swan frightened easy as a fawn in the forest by this time deep in dreams with her long hair spread out the color of the sun soakin' in the dark an' scatterin' light t' the dungeons of my constant night I think love poems as a poor lonesome invalid knowin' of my power t' destroy the good souls of the road that know no sickness (you ask of love? there is no love except in silence an' silence doesn't say a word) ah but Sue she knows me well perhaps too well an' is above all the true fortuneteller of my soul I think perhaps the only one (you ask of truth? there is no truth what fool can claim t' carry the truth for it is but a drunken matter romantic? yes tragic? no I think not) the door still knocks an' the wind still blows bringin' me my memories of friends an' sounds an' colors that can't escape trapped in keyholes Eric...bearded Eric far in Boston buried beneath my window yes I feel t' dig the ground up but I'm so tired an' know not where t' look for tools rap tap tap the rattlin' wind blows Geno in tellin' me of Philistines that he'd run into durin' the night he stomps across my floor I laugh an' drink cold coffee an' old wine light of feelin' as I listen t' one of my own tongues take the reins guide the path an' drop me off...headin' back again t' take care of his end of the night slam an' Geno then too is gone outside a siren whines leadin' me down another line I jump but get sidetracked by clunkin' footsteps down the street (it is as though my mind ain't mine t' make up any more) I wonder if the cockroaches still crawl in Dave an' Teri's fifteenth street kitchen I wonder if they're the same cockroaches ah yes the times've changed Dave still scorns me for not readin' books an' Teri still laughs at my rakish ways but fifteenth street has been abandoned we have moved... the cats across the roof mad in love scream into the drainpipes bringin' in the sounds of music the only music an' it is I who is ready ready t' listen restin' restin' a silver peace reigns an' becomes the nerves of mornin' an' I stand up an' yawn hot with jumpin' pulse never tired never sad never guilty for I am runnin' in a fair race with no racetrack but the night and no competition but the dawn --- So at last at least the sky for me is a pleasant gray meanin' rain or meanin' snow constantly meanin' change but a change forewarned either t' the clearin' of the clouds or t' the pourin of the storms an' after its desire returnin' returnin' with me underneath returnin' with it never fearful finally faithful it will guide me well across all bridges inside all tunnels never failin'... with the sounds of Francois Villon echoin' through my mad streets as I sumble on lost cigars of Bertolt Brecht an' empty bottles of Brendan Behan the hypnotic words of AL Lloyd each one bendin' like its own song an' the woven spell of Paul Clayton entrancin' me like China's plague unescapable drownin' in the lungs of Edith Piaf an' in the mystery of Marlene Dietrich the dead poems of Eddie Freeman love songs of Allen Ginsberg an' jail songs of Ray Bremser the narrow tunes of Modigliani an' the singin' plains of Harry Jackson the cries of Charles Aznavour through the quiet fire of Miles Davis above the bells of William Blake an' beat visions of Johnny Cash an' the saintliness of Pete Seeger strokin' my senses down down drowinin' drownin' when I need t' drown for my road is blessed with many flowers an' the sounds of flowers liftin' lost voices of the ground's people up up higher higher all people no matter what creed no matter what color skin no matter what language an' no matter what land for all people laugh in the same tongue an' cry in the same tongue endless endless it's all endless an' it's all songs it's just one big world of songs an' they're all on loan if they're only turned loose t' sing lonely? ah yes but it is the flowers an' the mirrors of flowers that now meet my loneliness an' mine shall be a strong loneliness dissolvin' deep t' the depths of my freedom an' that, then, shall remain my song there's a movie called "Shoot the Piano Player" the last line proclaimin' "music, man, that's where it's at" it is a religious line outside, the chimes rung an' they are still ringin'
Bob's Written Word