Sunday, June 6, 2021

Bobbified and Dylanized at 80

 

Yes, I hear that Dylan turned 80,
a week or so ago.
He always seemed the eternal youth.
Can 80 be the new 30,
or is it just part of the flow?
I always was suspicious
about drawing lines and such
Making judgments by ages.
But does it really matter,
all that much?
Dylan always had an interesting tie
to time and to place,
and talent and art,
among other things we rate.
He was time out of mind,
watching the river flow.
Yet timely, untimely
or sometimes ahead of time,
being present, living in the past,
pointing to the future, all at one time.
He sang about staying forever young
yet trafficked in music however old.
He never wanted to be the voice of his generation;
yet sometimes played as if he wanted
that veneration.
His name a bit poetic
stood for freedom flashing.
It had little connection,
to his real name, somewhat clashing
He was a zimmer room just the same
A Robert Allen man,
A man walled
within a name.
His songs were ever changing as he performed
or spawned them differently
each time he takes the stage
He spewed them all a little diffidently.
He says he never listens to a recorded Dylan version,
because his songs are not stopped in time or place.
Never ready for reversion.
His voice and styles are ever changing,
never quite the same.
Always rearranging
As if it were a game.
He croaked, he crooned
He moaned, he mooned.
He countrified, he gospelled.
He quick talked, he spooned.
He slurred, he annunciated,
He pronounced clearly.
He seemed mocking and joking
But sometimes sang so sincerely.
He never stayed in one place
One age, or in one time.
He radio hosted
He painted pictures to be posted,
His own master pieces.
That modestly increases.
He prized in Nobel literature
When he hardly ever proses
Yet poetically speaking he ranks.
Even in all of his poses.
He claimed heritage to Woody Guthrie,
He created, he recreated,
He posed, he supposed.
His youth was a fable;
For the times he always changed it,
it never was quite stable
When asked how many folk singers,
they were in the early 60’s.
He answered in fractions, or percentages
Or in complete fictions.
When asked what his songs were about,
Dylan often retorted:
"Some are about four minutes, some … five,
…some, believe it or not, … eleven or twelve."
Some never ending, he smiled and he snorted.
He liked to be elusive
Went from authentic to commercial
His songs sold cars, soda, ladies garments, and computers.
Always controversial.
He plugged in at Newport,
When Seeger cut his chord.
He banded with the Hawks,
Spewing walk outs and dis-chords.
His songs were wrapped in albums
They were copied and covered.
But often were bootlegged
Stolen and pirated, and always rediscovered.
He recently sold his catalogue
To a too big to fail corporation
but did he ever own it.
Is this cause for celebration
Sometimes he seems
Deserving of all the time in the world
and at others hardly a second.
The length of this musing
may be worth it or a waste.
Time is elusive
and we can’t address it in haste.
His songs get discovered
by artists many-styled
there are tapes from the basement
and songs in the aisles.
I saw him on that first trip
to the bright lights of NYCity
in a dimly side room
that was crowded and oh so gritty
It was at Gerdes Folk City,
And a hat that he passed
I put a quarter in the lining
It was good timing
His fame was cast.
I was officially a paid fan.
He played for us a little longer,
He smiled and he harmonicized
like a tambourine man, but a little stronger.
A quarter at the time seemed large to a teen
the price of a yearbook,
a ticket to the silver screen
Seems hardly worth anything now
certainly not worth a year or a book
in our cyrpto constantly changing
world of pay it was hardly worth a look.
So Dylan at 80 celebrated
In concerts and art shows.
His freedom flashing
His world aglaze
His never ending tour never slows,
And he still can amaze.
Is he worth it
to pay tribute
to an everchanging symbol
I'm not sure…
But I know this
He’s a poet and a riddle
And that's why I waited,
some days past his birthday
To ponder and critique
He surely is worth it.
Are these thoughts a worth saving
I am still not so sure.
I went to “save” and “save as”
Ultimately, I wanted them to endure.
Time magazine that chronicler of life
said that Bob Dylan
lectured for his Nobel Prize
the way he’s lived his life:
on his own terms and in his own time
free of other man’s strife.
Dylan never suffered
false fake, or clayed-footed prophets
He’s the enemy of treason
Some say he was born to rock it.
He’s the enemy of strife
He’s the enemy of leisure
He’s the enemy of the unlived
meaningless pleasure
He ain't no falsified prophet
He just knows what he knows
He’s now modeled for a Hibbing monument
Clayed from his head to his toes
He goes where only the lonely can go
At 30 or 80
His lyrics are studied in college classes
As fanciful and as weighty.
Michael Perlin, Cindy Mullaney and 9 others
8 Comments

1 comment:

Richard Morgan said...

Very beautiful, very nice! A lovely poem.

Check out Frank Bana, "American of the Century", written in year 2000.