Poems & Other Pieces
Go away you
Bomb get away go away
Fast right
now fast quick you get me sick
My good gal
don' like you none an' the kids on my corner are sacred a' you
An' my
friends 're gettin headaches that split an' spit an'
That kind a
feelin' is rubbin' off on me an' I don' like it none too good
I hate the
letters in yer word - B that means bad yer so bad that even
A dead hog
in the sun would get up an' run O that stands for orrible
Yer so
orrible that the word drops it's first letter and runs M
that stands
for morgue an' all them folks in it 're feelin' lucky an' I don't
Mind folks
feelin' lucky but I hate that feelin' of envy an' sometimes when
I get to
thinkin' about how lucky they are I get envicious
of 'm an'
that's a bad lonesome feelin' too B - that means bad but that's
The second
time 'round so it's twice as bad
I hate you
cause you make my life seem like nothin' at all
I hate you
cause yer name's lost it's meaning an' you can fool anybody now
I hate you
cause yer man made and man owned an' man handled
An' you
might be missmade an' miss-owned an' miss handled an' even miss used
An' I hate
you cause you could drop on me by accident an' kill me
An' I never
liked yuh anyway - I'm against yuh to begin with
An' I hate
you twice as much as Jimm Crow hates me
I want that
bomb - I want it hangin' out a' my pocket an' danglin'
On my
key-chain - I want it strapped to my belt buckle -
I want it
stickin' out a' my boot
I want it
fallin' out a' my sock
I wanna
wear it on my wedding finger an' I wanna tie it with bandanas
To my head
I want that
Bomb -
I want it
settin in my mouth like a cigar
I want it
stickin from my ears like a carrot
I wanna
look in the mirror an' see it in my eyes
I want one
in both hands
I want two
in both arms
I want that
bomb to be hangin' an' hurtin' an' shinin' an' burnin'
I want it
glowing and backbiting - and whistling an' side winding
I want it
showin' all over my living self
I want it
breathin' from every porthole
I want it
blowin' from every pore
I want it weightin'
me down so I can't even walk right
I wanna get
up in the mornin' an scare the day right out a' it's dawn
Then I walk
into the White House an' say "DIG YOURSELVE'S"
Poem written for Izzy Young's Bomb Book 1962
[Source: photocopy of
manuscript]
[TOP]
We used t
drink cough medicine bottles a vodka t'gether
We used t
stay up all nite laughin and singin
And we did
that when there weren't too many people doin it
Hey man -
I'm sorry - // I mean I'm really sorry
I wrote
many lines in the past few years but there ain't no letters in
none a the words t spell
out how sorry I am
It's a
complicated day
I keep
rememberin the songs we used t sing an play
The songs
written thirty fifty years ago
The dirt
farm songs - the dust bowl songs
The
depression songs - the down and out songs
The ol
blues and ballads
I think a
Woody's songs
I think a
Woody's day
"This
land I'll defend with my life if it be"
An I say t
myself "Yeah that's right"
"Hitler's
on the march"
"I don't
wan''m takin my ground"
"I
don't wan''m livin on my land"
An I see
two side man
I see two
roads to pick yer route
The
American way or the Fascist way
When there
was a strike there's only two kind of views
An two
kinds of tales t tell the news
Thru the
unions eyes or thru the bosses eyes
An yuh
could stand on a line an look at yer friends
An stand on
that same line an see yer foes
It was that
easy
"Which
Side're You On" ain't phony words
An they
ain't from a phony song
An that was Woody's day
man
Two sides
I don know
what happened cause I wasn't aroun but somewhere along
the line a that used t be
day things got messed up
More kinds
a sides come int' the story
Folks I
guess started switchin sides an makin up their own sides
There got t
be so many sides that no eyes could could see the eyes facin'm
There got t
be so many sides that all of'm started lookin' like each other
I don
pretend to know what happened man, but somehow all sides lost their
purpose an folks forgot
about other folks
I mean they
must a all started goin against each other not for the good
a their side but for the
good a jes their own selves
An them two
simple sides that was so easy t tell apart bashed an
boomed an exploded so hard
an heavy that t'day all'ts left and
made for us is the one big
rockin rollin
COMPLICATED
CIRCLE
Nowadays
folk's brains're bamboozled an bowled over by categories
labels an slogans an
advertisements that could send anybody's
head in a spin
It's hard t
believe anybody's tellin the truth for what that is
I swear
it's true that in some parts a the country folks believe the
finger-pointers more'n the
President
It's the
time a the flag wavin shotgun carryin John Birchers
It's the
time a the killer dogs an killer sprays
It's the
time a the billbord sign super flyin highways
It's the
time a the pushbutton foods an five minute fads
It's the
time a the white collar shirt an the white sheeted hood and the
white man's sun tan lotion
It's time a
guns and grenades an bombs bigger'n any time's ever seen
It's the
time a Liz Taylor fans - sports fans and electric fans
It's the
time when a twenty year ol colored boy with his head bloody
don get too much thought
from the seventy year ol senator who
wants t bomb Cuba
I don't
know who the people were man that let it get this way but they
got what they wanted out a
their lives an left me an you facin a
scared raped world
They
frained the free thinkin air an left us with a mental institution
circle
They rotted
the poor wind and left us mixed up mislead
puny breeze
They stole
Abraham Lincoln's road an sold us Bill Moore's highway
They shot
down trees - buried the leaves an nailed "Profess" t the
gravestone
They damned
up the clear runnin river of "Love thy neighbor"
said by Jesus Christ a Bethlehem
an poluted us with "I'll guard"
"the school with my
body" said by governor Wallace of
Alabama
They robbed
the Constitution of the land an snuck in the censors of
the mind
They bought
up everythin at the auction an left us with a garbage
market a fools an fears an
frustratin phoniness
Yuh ask how
I'm doin Dave
I'm still
singin - I'm still writin
I'm still
doin all a things I used to do I guess
But the
difference is probably that now I really ain't thinkin
about what I'm doing no
more
I do worry
no more bout the covered up lies and twisted truth in front
a my eyes
I don worry
no more bout the no-talent criticizers an know-nothin
philosophizers
I don worry
no more bout the cross-legged corner sitters who try an
make rules for the ones
travelin in the middle a the room
I'm singin
an writin what's on my own mind now
What's in
my own head and what's in my own heart
I'm singin
for me an a million other me's that've been forced t'gether
by the same feelin
Not by no
kind a side
Not by no kind
a category
People hung
up and strung out
People
frustrated an corked in an bottled up
People on
no special form or field - age limit or class
I can't
sing "Red Apple juice" no more
I gotta
sing "masters a War"
I can't
sing "Little Maggie" with a clear head
I gotta
sing "Seven Curses" instead
I can't
sing "John Henry"
I gotta
sing "Hollis Brown"
I can't
Sing "John Johannah" cause it's his story an his people's story
I gotta
sing "With God On My Side" cause it's my story an my
people's
I can't
sing "The Girl I Left Behind" cause I know what it's like
to do it
I gotta
sing "Boots a Spanish Leather" cause I know what's like
to live it
But don't
get me wrong now
Don think I
go way out a my way not t sing no folk songs
That ain't
it at all
The folk
songs showed me the way
They showed
me that songs can say somethin human
Without
"Barbara Allen" there'd be no "Girl From The North Country"
Without no
"Lone Green Valley" there'd be no "Don't Think Twice"
Without no
"Jesse James" there'd be no "Davy Moore"
Without no
"Twenty one Years" there'd be no "Walls a Red Wing"
Hell no
Them ol
songs're the only kinda picture left t show the new born
how it used t be in them
times
Them ol
songs tell us what they had t run thru or walk thru or
dance thru
The ol songs
tell how they loved an how they kissed
They tell
us what they rejected and objected to
They laid
it down an made the path
They were
simple an tol the story straight
They said
who they fought an what they fought for an with what they
fought with
An who they
fought against
Now's a
complicated day
An all I'm
sayin' is'at I gotta make my own statement bout this day
I gotta
write my own feelins down the same way they did it before
me in that used t be day
An I got
nothin but homage an holy thinkin for the ol songs and
stories
But now
there's me an you
An I'm doin
what I'm doin for me
An I'm doin
what I'm doin for you
I'm writin
an singin for me
An I'm
writin an singin for you
I'm writin
an singin for me cause I'm human an I'm breathin
In a world
that was made for me
I'm writin
an singin for you cause yer a part a me an everythin I
stand for
I don know
why I aint written t yuh
maybe cause
I never write letters t'myself
yeah maybe
that's why
See
yuh when I get there
yer
friend
Bob
Dylan
[Source: the
Newport Folk Festival program 1963]
[TOP]
the school
quarter ended, an there I stood ...
stranded ha
...
it was
harder then I thought yes...
I dont
think I made it ... no ... the nite was drunk and it was now winter ...
Christmas
vacation ... the almighty restin
period ...
I was livin
in this fraternity house.
Everybody's
gone ... they all went home ... the house?
mine ...
belongs t me.
big
lonesome house.
nobody's
even ???? not even in the kitchen ...
I sat
between two barrals of butter this mornin. thinkin about poor me.
sittin
between two barrals of butter.
it's now
nite the street is mine.
god it's
lonesome ...
who will I
go see?
I love
Judy.
Judy says she
loves me but she also says she's busy. I told her I love her ...
I hate her
cause I sense she dont love me ...
I wish I
didn't love her. I wish she'd invite me for christmas for
christ's
sake ... I wish I had a car ...
I wish I
wish. Hey mr. christmas man I wanna know where I'm supposed t be.
gimme that
for christmas ... (no answer).
I shut the
lights off in the main room of the house so nobody can see me an I
watch out
the window ...
dirty
window nobody even cleans the windows here
well it
aint gonna be me (bitin my teeth)
I'm just
roomin here
... they advertised for boarders an they got me ...
they didn't
get no fraternity pledge of alligence cat whose got t wait
on them or
their windows ...
I aint even
friends with any of em
they think
I'm odd ... my clothes an hair aint right ...
they smile
at me too ...
sometimes I
smile back but then they chuckle ...
why in the
fuck do they chuckle?
I gotta
chuckle back what's they start it for?
headlights
turn into the alley!
somebody's
comin ...
I quick
pick up the phone an pretend I'm talkin ...
dont want
nobody whoever it is t think I'm all alone here ...
the brakes
slam the car door slams the screen door slams an somebody
who I
hardly know walks up the steps an seems startled by me ...
he stops
headin for whatever he was headin for as he hears me say
goodbye an
hang up the phone ...
"you been here the last couple
day?"
"no I went up north but came back
down"
"aint yuh going home for
christmas?"
"well I did man but like I said I came
back down"
"well where you going for
christmas?"
I look out
the window pretendin I'm waiting for somebody -
he's gotta
have porpoise brains t believe this
"I dont know I got about three places I
chose from"
"yeah well I's just surprised t see
anybody here that's all"
"yeah well I'm kinda takin care the
house ha"
"I'm on my way upstairs t get some books
see yuh on my way down"
he jumped
the steps three at a time thud thud ...
man if I
had the guts I think I do I'd steal
your louzy
car an turn on your louzy heat an drive down
that lousy
road ... an blow out your lousy radio -
thud thud
... he's back again wavin notebooks.
"see
yuh take it easy now"
"yeah yeah take it easy too"
I walked
upstairs ... the house was cold ...
the first
snow that fell had melted
outside it
was rainin
in the
mornin there'd be snow again
I stopped
into somebody's room an glanced
over some
dirty magazines ... man I wish I could jump right
into one a
them magazines ... ah yes gimme that
for
christmas too ...
what's all this
wrapped up ribbon shit ...
gimme some
kinda world t jump into ...
judy judy
god damn I gotta call judy ...
ring ring
her ma answers.
her ma
hates me.
snobby sort
...
wants the
best for her daughter.
society
bitch.
bitch of a
mother ...
talks down
at me when she knows it's me callin ...
sometimes
she even says that judy aint there ...
judy says
not t call at certain times ...
ah man it's
all so fuckin complicated ...
"is judy there?"
"pause"
"is judy there?"
"muffled sound"
"I gotta talk t judy"
"a muffled silence"
"hello"
"hello judy?"
"I told you not t call what d'yuh think
you're doing?"
"I just gotta ask yuh something"
"what?"
I feel good
from hearin her voice but feel sad
cause I
know she's gotta go ...
probably
with someone else ...
someone
else her mother likes an makes more sence t her than me ...
ah I wanna
cry out load an scream over the phone ...
"when can I see you?"
"I told you not t come back"
"yah but yuh said you loved me"
"but I cant see yuh this week"
"why?"
"cause I made other plans that's
why"
"but you love me - you said
yourself"
"but I cant break plans"
"what d'yuh mean yuh cant, will yuh
please come over here, it wont take long an ..."
"but I dont break dates"
"dates? ah wow I just ... I mean I dont
understand"
"look I gotta go please dont call til
after Christmas"
"Judy you son of a bitch you said ...
that ..."
click
"you said that you loved me ..."
slam
girls have
hung up on me an have hung up on me as far back
as I can
remember ... each one promises t be the last.
I walked
out in the lonesome nite hearin bells off in the distance.
the rain
drizzled as I too wished I was off in the distance.
[Source: The Telegraph # 35, from the Margolis &
Moss manuscripts]
[TOP]
It aint no
use in talkin about folk music -
It aint no
use in takin stands an sides an gettin all sweat about it -
It don make
sense really t learn names an shout labels an get yer-
self all
confused -
It aint got
no meanin at all t discuss an defend it -
An it dont
mean nothin t offend it -
Of all the
corners a the question there aint no answers noplace worth
lookin at seriously cause the question
jus aint that almighty big
What folk
music an what aint's got nothin t do with the world -
It just
aint healthy t let the music run yer life like that -
Yer life's
gotta run the music -
You can't
afford t let yer guitar own yer mind -
Yer mind's
gotta own that guitar -
So what if
other folks try an makes rules for it -
So what if
other folks try an boundary it all up -
So what if
other folks try an chain it down and tell yuh what's it all about -
It don make
no difference at all if yer own life is running things -
But if the
music's runnin you then yuh get swallowed up by all blabber talk -
You don
have t worry about that's folk music an what aint -
Man, it's
just a wide circle a silly tongues ant it aint important at all -
Don let
nobody block your head off -
Don let no
one weave a wall in front of yer eyes -
Don let no
one teach yuh what t call things -
Just get up
in the mornin an go -
Just open
your eyes an walk -
Forget the
silly talk -
There's a
million paths t take -
There's a
million miles t make -
There's a
million border lines t break -
The shadow
a the mountain sure moving an shiftin -
Raindrops
an snowflakes're free fallin an forever driftin
Tree top're
wavin an shakin an the fog is liftin
The white
line on the highway's reflectin -
Behind the
ditch broken down empty shack're still standin
Above the
road an the cove caves're still hiden -
In back a
the fence the dogs're still barkin -
The pacific
Ocean is soundin and poundin
An the
Monterrey sands're waitin
For yer
bare feet t be walkin -
There's
train lines rattlin an there's whistle's screamin -
The wind's
jauntin an there's hitchhikers thumbin an bummin -
The color a
the sky's changin
An the
color a the clouds're turnin
An the
color a the ground's fadin
Fathers an
mothers laughing an biebies're cryin
Young
girls're sighin
An ol
men're dyin -
The dark
nite's foldin an people're fightin an frightened
Ships're
sailin an trucks're haulin
An New York
City's crawlin
With hungry
voices callin
An ol
buildings fallin
An clothes
lines're stretched an strung out
With all
different colors a pants an shirts hangin -
An the dirt
in the alley's risin
An
jackhammer dust's flyin -
An the
Hudsin river're restin
An kid's
voices're ringin
The hobo
poet's whisperin and the bartender's not listenin -
The East
Side is sweatin an steamin
an fightin'
t be breathin -
Forty 2nd
Street's flyin an floatin and jumpin an twistin an explodin -
Subways're
loadin
Folks 'f
all colors an creed're settlin an sittin on park benches an street
corners an curbs an roof tops an bus stops -
The back a
the bar rooms're lined steady an standin full with road
walkers an road workers an road poets an road painters with
lonesome thoughts an hungry feelings -
Junkies an
flunkies line the wind along side ban-the-bomb demonstrators
Girls're
hustlin for dollars on one side a the street an
Girls're
sittin down for their rights on the other side a the street -
The new
Premise's playin
an
Moondog's beatin his drum an sayin his lines -
Lenny
Bruce's talkin
an Lord
Buckley's memory still movin
An Doc
Watson's walkin
Ray
Charles's shoutin an speakin
Bertrand
Russell's yellin from across the ocean
an Julian
Beck's tellin the same on this side a the sea -
Jim Forman
is livin an Ross Barnett's losin -
Harry
Jackson's paintin -
Maybelle
Carter's really standin an really strummin
an Mike
Seeger's really real -
An Pete Seeger's
really Pete Seeger -
An Joan
Baez is still unshattered
An Marlon
Brando's on the good side -
An the
time's a rollin down every single street -
There's a
girl waitin on every single corner -
An men're
still breathin
An men're
still breathin
An it's all
music -
Every space
a human life
It's all
music -
An it don
have t have no stamp 'f approval from nobody -
It don have
to be ok ed by no one -
There aint
no scholar that's smart enuff t invent the rules -
There aint
no lawmaker high enuff t chain it down with boundaries -
There aint
no guard that's good enuff t hold a gun on it -
An there
aint no gun that's got enuff bullets an shells t shoot it -
An it's yer
life
Do it - don
talk it -
Forget
about the talkers -
They'll
always be around
You won't
......
Bob Dylan
[Poem published in Hootenanny magazine December 1963]
[TOP]
Mrs Kennedy
... you were crawlin
on all
fours ... I saw you
they
printed you that way
for the curiousity
seekers
t get a
close glimpse
of Mr
Kennedy's last
car ride
... yes I too was
forced into
acceptin my
role as
curiousity seeker ...
they showed
you in four separate
pictures
runnin in slow motion
after you
knew your
husband was
shot ...
the second
after you knew your husband was shot
you were up
an past
the back
seat ... climbin
down the
trunk ...
then a man
came runnin ...
he came
runnin t'wards you ...
he was
called a security guard
he came
closer as you were farther out on the trunk
he jumped up
on the trunk ...
there were
no more pictures
showin this
the magazine
then
proclaimed that you
were tryin
t help the man
into the
car ...
Mrs Kennedy
you dont
need excuse
for being out on the trunk
the seconds
after your husband was shot
everybody could
see what was happenin
in these
pictures with their own eyes ...
why was the
truth of human beings distorted?
how far can
this hero image go?
everybody
aint a hero ...
why am I
deliberately lied wild lies
about what
I see with sound eyes
who am I t
be so insulted?
I respect
you Mrs Kennedy
but I need
no pictures t provide the respect ...
my respect
springs from reasons in my soul
of which I
cant touch
nor explain
...
I do not
feel better knowin you are human
I knew it
all the time.
__________
Mr President
I too take off my hat t you
I shall
abandon the rumours from mogrul's world
as old hags
in high clothes
an court my
truth as a youthful girl
an not
worry about my heart being broken
oh some say
it was more men than one
oh the wind
blows bitter
I am sick t
my soul an my stomach
thru
communication I heard the high men speak of him
as tho they
were best friends
all
criticizers
t recall
the day once more in my mind
I'd just as
soon not for its useless
Broadway
was salted like a truse had been sighed
all eyes
were magnitised t each other
all regret
they'd ever criticised him
even those
who've even been known t 've dispised him
_________
to
compliment one
the
complete reward
oh your
hair looks fine today
I look at
myself
with cause
to examine
dressed in
jeans
like the
magazines say
ah I ask
"would I kill the president"
for any
reason ...
an men have
reasons
for how
they act
an I say
___________
I stand an
watch the clock tick
a bridge of
time 'tween
my cliff an
the one across
the great
white way
I've never
seen the likes
of where
I'm goin before
I do not
know how
soft or how
hard the ground is over there
for its
never been explained
in terms of
standin on it ...
but with
every tick
I take
another step
because
stunned by
disbelief
as
everybody in the room
we watched
Walter Cronkite
half asleep
tryin his best
t fasten rumor
t'gether
it was
friday mornin
yesterday a
riot started up
in Harlem
t'day at
least for now it is no more
I shall
court the truth
like any
other youthful girl
an worry
not about a broken heart
but the
sword that bleeds
from a
mortals blood
shows only
its holder's reflection
Broadway
was sleepin with people
as groups
gathered round radios
it was
[Isis # 30-31 from the Margolis & Moss
manuscripts]
[TOP]
to anybody
it may concern ....
clark?
mairi?
phillip?
edith?
mr. lamont?
countless
faces I do not know
an all
fighters for good things I can not see
when I
speak of bald heads, I mean bald minds
when I
speak of the seashore, I mean the restin shore
I dint know
why I mentioned either of them
my life
runs in a series of moods
in private
an in personal ways, sometimes,
I, myself,
can change the mood I'm in t the
mood I like
t be in, when I walked thru the
doors of the
americana hotel, I needed t change
my mood
... for reasons inside myself
I am a
restless soul
hungry
perhaps
wretched
it is hard
to hear someone you dont know, say
"this
is what he" "meant" "t say" about something
you just
said
for no one
can say what I meant t say
absolutely
no one
at time I
even cant
that was
one of those times
my life is
lived out daily in the places i feel
most
comfortable in. these places are places where
i am
unknown an unstared at. I perform rarely, an
when I do,
there is a constant commotion burnin
at my body
an at my mind because of the attention
aimed at
me. instincts fight my emotion an fears
fight my
instincts ...
I do not
claim t be smart by the standards set up
I dont even
claim to be normal by the standards
set up
an I do not
claim to know any kind of truth
but like an
artist who puts his painting (after
he's
painted it) in front of thousands of unknown
eyes, I
also put my song there that way
(after I've
made it)
it is as
easy an as simple as that
I can not
speak, I can not talk
I can only
write an I can only sing
perhaps I
should've sung a song
but that
wouldn't a been right either
for I was
given an award not to sing
but rather
on what I have sung
no what I
should've said was
"thank
you very much ladied an gentlemen"
yes that is
what I should've said
an I didn't
because I did not know
I thought
something else was expected of me
other than
just sayin "thank you"
an I didn't
know what it was
it is a
fierce heavy feelin
thinkin
somethin
is expected
of you
but you
dont know what exactly it is ....
it brings
forth a weird form of guilt
I should've
remembered
"I am
BOB DYLAN an I dont have to speak"
"I
dont have t say nothin if I dont wanna"
but
I didn't remember
I
constantly asked myself while eatin supper
"what should
I say? what should I tell'm?"
"everybody
else is gonna tell'm somethin"
but I could
not answer myself
I even
asked someone who was sittin nex t me
an he
couldn't tell me either, my mind blew
up an
needless t say I had t get it back in its
rightful shape
(whatever that might be) an so
I escaped
from the big room.... only t hear my
name being
shouted an the words "git in here,"
"git
in here" overlappin with the findin of my
hand being
pulled across hundreds of tables
with the
lights turned on strong.... guidin me
back t
where I tried t escape from
"what
should I say? what should I say?"
over an
over again
oh God, I'd
a given anything not t be there
"shut
the lights off at least"
people were
coughin an my head was poundin
an the
sounds of mumble jumble sank deep in
my skull
from all sides of the room
until I
tore everything loose from my mind
an said
"just be honest, dylan, just be honest"
an so I
found myself in front of the plank
like I
found myself once in the path of a car
an I jumped....
jumped with
all my bloody might
just tryin
t get out o the way
but first
screamin one last song
when i
spoke of Lee Oswald, I was speakin of the times
I was not
speakin of his deed if it was his deed
the deed
speaks for itself
but I am
sick
so sick
at hearin
"we all share the blame" for every
church
bombing, gun battle, mine disaster,
poverty
explosion, an president killing that comes about
it is so
easy t say "we" an bow our heads together
I must say
"I" alone an bow my head alone
for it is I
alone who is livin my life
I have
beloved companions but they do not
eat nor
sleep for me
an even
they must say "I"
yes if
there's violence in the times then
there must
be violence in me
I am not a
perfect mute
I haer the
thunder an I cant avoid hearin it
once this
is straight between us, it's then an
only then
that we can say "we" an really mean
it.... an
go on from there t do something about it
When I
spoke of Negroes
I was
speakin of my Negro friends
from harlem
an jackson
selma an
birmingham
atlanta, pittsburgh,
an all points east
west,
north, south an wherever else they
might
happen t be
i rat
filled rooms
an dirt
land farms
schools,
dimestores, factories,
pool halls
an street corners
the ones
that dont own trees
but know
proudly they dont have to
not one
little bit
they dont
have t be like they naturally aint
t get what
they naturally own no more'n anybody
else does
it only
gets things complicated
an leads
people into thinkin the wrong things
black skin
is black skin
it cant be
covered by clothes an made t seem
acceptable,
well liked an respectable....
t teach
that or t think that just tends the
flames of
another monster myth....
it is naked
black skin an nothin else
if a Negro
has t wear a tie t be a Negro
then I must
cut off all ties with who he has
t do it for
I do not
know why I wanted t say this that
nite
perhaps it
was just one of the many things
in my mind
born from
the confusion of my times
when I
spoke about the people that went t Cuba
I was
speakin of the free right t travel
I am not
afraid t see things
I challenge
seein things
I am
insulted t the depths of my soul
when
someone I dont know commands that I
cant see
this an gives me mysterious reasons
why I'll
get hurt if I do see it.... tellin me
at the same
time about goodness an badness in
people that
again I dont know....
I've been
told about people all my life
about
niggers, kikes, wops, bohunks, spicks, chinks,
an I been
told how they eat, dress, walk, talk,
steal, rob
an kill but nobody tells me how any of'm cries
or laughs
or kisses, I'm fed up with most newspapers,
radios, tv
an movies an the like t tell me, I want
now t see
an know for myself....
an I
accepted that award for all others like me
who want t
see for themselves.... an who dont want
that
God-given right taken away
stole away
or snuck
out from beneath them
yes a
travel ban in the south would protect
Americans
more, I'm sure, than the one t Cuba
but in all
honesty I would want t crash that
one too
do you
understand?
do you
really understand?
I mean I
want t see. I want t see all I can
every place
there is t see it
my life
carries eyes
an they're
there for one reason
the reason
t see thru them
my country
is the Minnesota - North Dakota territory
that's
where I was born an learned how t walk an
it's where
I was born an learned how t walk an
it's where
I was raised an went t school.... my
youth was
spent wildly among the snowy hills an
sky blue
lakes, willow fields an abandoned open
pit mines,
contrary t rumors, I am very proud of
where I'm
from an also the many blood streams that
run in my
roots but I would not be doing what
I'm doing
today if I hadn't come t New York. I was
given my
direction from new york. I was fed in
new york. I
was beaten down by new york an I was
picked up
by new york. I was made t keep going on
by new york.
I'm speakin now of the people I've met
who were
strugglin for their lives an other peoples'
lives in
the thirties an forties an the fifties
an look t
their times
I reach out
t their times
so, in a
sense, I'm jealous of their times
t think I
have no use for old people is a betrayin thought
those that
know me know otherwise
those that
don't, probably're baffled
like a
friend of mine, jack elliot, who says he
was reborn
in Oklahoma, I say I was reborn in
New
York....
there is no
age limit stuck on it
an no one
is more conscious of it than I
yes it's a
fierce feeling, knowing something you
dont know
about's expected of you, but it's worse
if you
blindly try t follow with explodin words
(for that's
all they can do is explode)
an the
explodin words're misunderstood
I've heard
I was misunderstood
i do not
apologize for myself nor for my fears
I do not
apologize for any statement which led
some t
believe "oh my God! I think he's the one
that really
shot the president"
I am a
writer an a singer of the words I write
A am no
speaker nor any politician
an my songs
speak for me because i Write them
in the
confinement of my own mind an gave t cope
with no one
except my own self. I dont have t face
anyone with
them until long after they're done
no I do not
apologize for being me nor any part of me
but I can
return what is rightfully yours at any
given time,
I have stared at it for a long while
now. it is
a beautiful award, there is a kindness
t mr
Paine's face an there is almost a sadness in
his smile.
his trials show thru his eyes. I know
really not
much about him but somehow I would like
t'sing for
him. there is a gentleness in his way
yes thru
all my flounderin wildness, I am, when it
comes down
to it, very proud that you have given this
t me. I
would hang it high, an let my friends see in
it what I
see, but I also would give it back, if
you wish.
There is no sense in keeping it if you're
made a
mistake in givin it. fir it means more'n any
story
bought thing and it'd only be cheetin t keep it
also I did not
know that the dinner was a donation
dinner. I
did not know you were gonna ask anyone
for money,
an I understand you lost money on the
masterful
way I expressed myself.... then I am in debt t you
not a money
debt but rather a moral debt
if you'd
sold me something then it'd be a money debt
but you
sold nothin, so it's a moral debt
an moral
debts're worse'n money debts
for they
have t be paid back in whatever is missing
an in this
case it's money
please send
me a bill
an I shall
pay it
no matter what
the sum
I have a
hatred of debts an want to be even in
the best
way I can
you needn't
think about this, for money mens
very little
t me
so then
I'll return
once again t the road
I can't
tell you why other people write, but I
write in
order to keep from going insane
my head, I
expect'd turn inside out if my hands
were t
leave me
but i
hardly ever talk about why I write, an I
scarcely
ever think about it, the thought of it is
too alarmin
an I never
ever talk about why I speak
but that's
because I never do it. this is the
first time
I am talkin about it.... an I pray
the last
the thought
of doing it again is too scary
ha! it's a
scary world
but only
once in a while huh?
I love you
all up there an the ones i dont love
it's only because
I do no know them an have not
seen
them.... God it's so hard hatin it. it's so
tiresome....
an after hatin something to death,
it's never
worth the bother and trouble
out! out!
brief candle
life's but
an open window
an I must
jump back thru it now
see
yuh
respectfully
an unrespectfully
bob
dylan
[Message sent to the Emergency Civil Liberties Comitte after Dylan
received the "Tom Paine award at
the Bill of Rights dinner on 13 December 1963]
[TOP]
for sis and
gordon an all broads of good sizes
let me
begin by not beginning
let me
start not by startin but by continuin
it
sometimes gets so hard for me
I am now
famous
I am now
famous by the rules of the public famiousity
it snuck up
on me
an
pulverized me ....
I never
knew what was happenin
it is hard
for me t walk down the same streets
I did
before the same way because now
I truly
dont know
who is
waitin for my autograph...
I dont know
if I like givin my autobiograph
oh yes
sometimes I do ....
but other
times the back of my mind tells me
it is not
honest.... for I am just fulfillin
a myth t
somebody who'd actually treasure my
handwritin
more'n his own handwritin....
this gets
very complicated for me
an proves t
me that I am livin in a contradiction....
t quote mr
froyd
I get quite
paranoyd....
an I know
this isn't right
it is not
useful healthy attitude for one t have
but I truly
believe that everybody has their fears
everybody
yes everybody....
I do not
think it good anymore t overlook them
I think
they ought t be admitted....
an I think
that all feelings should be admitted....
people ask
why do I write the way I do
how foolish
hos
monsterish
a question
like that hits me....
it makes me
think that I'm doin nothin
it makes me
think that I'm not being heard
yes above
all the mumble jumble an rave praises
an all the
records I've sold.... thru all the packed
houses I
play.... thru all the communication systems
an rants an
bellows an yellin an clappin comes
a statement
like "Why do you do what you do"
what is
this?
some kind
of constipated idiot world?
some kind
of horseshoe game we're all playin
respondin
only when a ringer clangs
no no no
not my
world
everybody
plays in my world
aint nobody
first second third or fourth
everybody shoots
at the same time
an ringers
dont count
an
everybody wins
an nobody
loses
cause
everybody lives an breathes
an takes up
space
an cant be
overlooked
an I am a
people too
I cannot
pretend I'm not
an I feel
guilty
god how can
I help not feel guilty
I walk down
on the bowery and give money away
an still I
feel guilty for I know I do not
have enuff
money t give away....
an people
say "think a yourself, dylan, you're
gonna need
it someday" an I say yeah yeah
an I think
maybe about it for a split second
but then
the floods of vomit guilt swoop my
drunken
head an I spread forth more gut torn
bloody
money from the depths of my forsaken
pockets....
an I whisper "ah it's so useless"
man so many
people need so many things
an what am
I anyway? some kind of messiah walkin
around....?
hell no I'm
not
an I ask
why dont other people with things give
some of it
away
an I know
the answer without lookin
security
security security....
everybody
wants security
they want t
be secure
they want t
be protected
an I say
protected?
protected
against what?
protected
against starvin I guess
an power
too
an
protected against the forces that they know will
get them if
they lose their money
ah why does
it have t be like that?
man why are
these walls built?
who is this
god that is so feared?
certainly
not in my life this isnt
yes I have
my fears but mine are the fears of
the mind.
the fears of the head
a lonely
person with money is still a lonely person
I had never
had much money before
an so it is
easy for me I guess t spend it
an overlook
it
but I'm
sure that many other people could overlook
some of
theirs too
I'm not
speakin now of the century ridin millionares
but rather
of "get theirs and get out" people
I dont
understand them
I dont
understand them at all
there's many
things I admit I dont understand
I dont
understand the blacklist
I dont
understand how people against it go along
with it
I'm talkin
about the full thing
not just a
few of us refusin t be on the show
I'm talkin
about the people that stand up
against it violently
an then in some way have something
t do with
it....
not just
the singers mind you
but the
managers an agents an buyers an sellers....
they are
the dishonest ones
for the are
never seen
the play
both sides against each other
an expect t
be respected by everybody
the heroes
of this battle are not me an Joan
an the
Kingston Trio nor Peter Paul an Mary
for none of
us need it go on that show
none of us
really *need* that kind of dumbness
but there's
some that could use it
for they
could use the money
I mean
people like Tom Paxton, Barbara Dane,
an Johnny
Herald.... the are the heroes if
such a word
has t be used here
they are
the ones that lose materialistically
ah yes but
in their own minds they dont
an that is
much more important
it means much
more
we need
more kind a people like that
people that
cant go against their conscience
no matter
what they might gain
an I've
come to think that that might be the most
important
thing in the whole wide world....
not going
against your conscience
nor your
own natural senses
for I think
that that is all the truth there
is.... an
no more
thre all
the gossip, lies, religions, cults
muths,
gods, history books, social books,
all books
politics decrees, rules, laws,
boudarie
lines, bibles, legends, an bathroom
writings,
there is no guidance at all except
from ones
natural senses
from being
born
an it can
only be exchanged
it cant be
preached
nor sold
nor even
understood....
my mind
sometimes runs like a roll of toilet paper
an I hate like
hell t see it unravel an unwind
at my empty
walls
I'm movin
out a here soon
yes the
landlord has beaten me it hurts me t tell you.
this place
I'm typin in is so filthy
my clothes
cover the floor an once on a while
I pick up
somethin an use it for a blanket....
the damn
heat goes off at ten
that's
mornin wise
gushes of
warm smelly heat always wake me up
when I
sleep here
the plaster
falls constantly
an the
floor is tiltin an rottin
but somehow
there is a beauty to it
columbia
records gave me a record player
oh the
goodness of some keeps on amazin me
an
sometimes I play it.
gettin back
t the landlord tho
he is
really too much
he owns I
guess three buildings
I pay him
way too high
an I'm
gettin screwed an I know it
an he knows
it
but I just dont
have the time t go down t the
rent
control board. I been told they'd get after
him but I'm
so lazy. when sue was here he was
gonna jack
up the prize cause he said I never told
him I had a
wife. you really got t see this place
t believe
it. I ought a've jacked him up a long
time ago an
used him for heat. last year he put
in a new
window (there was a god damn hole in the
other one)
man it was like I asked 'm for his blood relation
or
something (which he'd probably give away)
anyway the
record player's one now
an I'm
listenin t Pete sing Guantanamera for
the
billionth time. I don't have many folk music
records (I
dont have many records really) but
I do have
that one of Pete's.
god it's
like I go in a trance
he is so
human I could cry
he tells me
so much
he makes me
feel so good
it's as tho
all of the things that're sold t make
one feel
better, aint none of it worth while.
all the
cars, an clothes, an trinkets an food,
an jewels
an diamonds an lollypops an gifts of
glad
tidings, just dont do nothin for the soul.
I believe
I'd rather listen to Pete sing Guantanamera than t
own
everything there is t own,...
(that's my
own private selfishness shinin thru there)
yes for me
he is truly a saint
an I love
him
perhaps
more than I could show
(as always
is the case ha)
I think of
love in weird terms.
sometimes I
even feel guilty about it
because I
know I love sue
but I
should love everybody like I love sue
an in all
honesty I dont
I just love
her that way
an I say
what way?
an a voice
says "that way"
an I get
quite up tite
an I know I
have a long way t go
when the
day comes when I can love everything
that
breathes the way I love sue then
I will
truly be a Jesus Christ ha ha
(but I dont
wanna be a Jesus Christ ha ha)
an so I am
again contradictin meself
away away
be gone all you demons
an just let
me be me
human me
wild me
gentle me
all kinds
of me
saw the
last issue of broadside
an
especially flipped out over
"talkin
Merry Christmas"
I have
never met Paul Wolfe but I'd like to
he has an
uncanny sense of touch
as for Phil,
I just cant keep up with him
an he's
gettin better an better an better
(spoke with
someone who was with him in Hazzars
named
Hamish Sinclair.... an englishman
of high
virtues and common tongue)
I want t
get over an see Phil's baby
I'm told
the girl came out yellin about
the bomb.
good girl
my novel is
going noplace
absolutely
noplace
like it
dont ever tell a story
it's about
a million scenes long
an takes
place on a billion scraps
of
paper.... certainly I can't make nothin out of
it.
(oh I
forgot.
hallelujah
t you for puttin Brecht in your
same last
issue. he should be as widely known as
Woody an
should be as widely read as Mecky Spalline
as an
widely listened to as Eisenhower.)
anyway I'm
writin a play out of this here so called
novel
(navel would be better I guess)
an I'm up
to my belly button in it.
quite
involved yes
I've
discovered the power of playwritin means
as opposed
t song writing means
altho both
are equal, I'm wrapped in playwritin
for the
minute my songs tell only about me an how
I fell but
in the play all the characters tell how
the feel. I
realize that this might be more confusin
for some
but in the total reality of things it might
be much
better for some too. I think at best you could
say that
the characters well tell in an hour
what would
take me, alone, two weeks t sing about
I shall get
up t see you one of these days
just cause
I haven't in a while please dont think
I'm not
with you. I am with you more'n ever.
yours
perhaps is the only paper that I am on the
side of
every single song you print an I am with with with you
my nite is
closing again now
an I shall
drift off in dreams
an climb
velvet carpets up t the stars
with
newsweek magazines burnin an disappointin
people
smoulderin an discustin tongues blazin
an jealous
mongrel dogs walkin on hot coals
before my
smilin unharmful eyes
(of such
nitemares)
an I shall
wake in the mornin an try t start
lovin again
I got a
letter from Pete an he closed by sayin
"Take
it easy but take it" I thought about that
for an hour
or more when I reached my conclusion
of what it
really meant I either cried or laughed
(I cant
remember which) I will repeat the same an
add
"give it easy but give it" an I'll think about
that for an
hour an at the either cry or laugh
(I'll write
you another letter an tell you which
one it is)
all right
then
faretheewell
shaloom an
vamoose
I'm off
again
off t the
hazzards an lost angels an minneapolicemen
an boss
town an burnin hams an everything else
combines
and combustioned for me....
tryin t
remain same at all times
love t
agnes
she is one
of the true talents of the universe
I've always
thought that an would like t see her
again some
time
love t
everybody in your house
see yuh
softly an sleepy
but ready an waitin
Bob Dylan
[Source: Broadside
Magazine, January 1964]
[TOP]
a snap a
the fingers in the face of time
brought the
clocks to a halt
brought the
hour t its end
brought the
the village
bells toll the
an the flags
at half mast they're a wavin
Of his
personal life I proclaim to know nothin
an
unconscious comparison will sleep in my mind
between the
followin ones
an their
daughters and sons
with
politics havin nothin t do with it
an
unconscious comparison now sleeps in my mind
___________
please if
your not sure
pray not
for death
on what you
hear
skills are cheap
an men are
mortal an the hills're steep
for men are
mortal an skills are cheap
you curse
fast when the odds are good
an run your
tongue as a dagger blade
into the
soul that needs no wound
rap rap rap
upon my
door
___________
I skipped a
rock across a pond
an watched
the water ripple once
an the
stone sank
fast ...
much too fast
for such an
arm
as strong
as mine
___________
no reach in
sight mama. there is no reach.
yes, the
long arm prances high
mighty
and even daring
but
according t the wind today
there are no pockets waitin
an the breeze has even built it's
wall
down with tryin. down with tryin ... so hard
up with forgetness ... an unknown regrettin
forgiveness. not forgettin
an then will the same sun rise tomorrow?
I pray your
fingers'll stay deep in step
all but
when nite's cradle passes
leavin all
bird's songs undone:
please do not
crucify the dawn
by grabbin
for it ... uh uh an it is only me that
tells only
you
for the swingin of your arms
is all that I need t see
if you could
only
believe that ....
___________
LeRoy was
the kind a boy
that
listened t his ma's advice
when she
said "LeRoy stand up tall
in front of
who you're standin to
an you
shall never be in chains
for they'll
not try not even once
for they'll
know of you there is no hope
t swing
around your neck a rope"
an LeRoy
did what his mother told
he stood up
tall so tall an bold
In a room
of peers he couldn't allow
t chain his
neck tho he couldn't see how
they could
do it anyway
he stood up
so tall that the roof gave way
an he stuck
his head out in the day
leavin his
peers down there below
an he heard
the doors slam in the house
an he saw
the cars drive away
___________
On the
street a the city I happened t be walkin
When I
spied a crowd watchin a political rally
I
immediately started in it's noisy direction
An soon was
surrounded by many a person
Who I guess
were there for the same curious reasons
I made my
way forward as the banners was wavin
Til I stood
directly in front a the platform
As the
people was shovin an the flags was a flyin
An as the
crowd grew larger the band played louder
An I was
bumped an thumped an pushed an grabbed
I waited
for the speech by the good politician
Who'se name
was plastered on the papers an posters
But nobody
spoke and no speech was given
Just the
trumpets an drums on a tuxedo suit singer
Who sang
the same song over an over
An finally
after forty five minutes
The air was
gettin thinner an thinner
An I pushed
my way out t the sound a the singer
An the song
he was singin was "Lady Be Good"
An the hour
was high sundown
An the day
was low Sunday
[Isis # 30-31 from the Margolis & Moss
manuscripts]
[TOP]
deare
larry.
have no
sports car.
weather.,
good.
traffic
moving slowly thru tunnel.
breeze is
from the west an I ahah am goin
t france tomorrow.
have t look thru all my pants pockets
an collect
things t send t you.
as of now I
am in the midst of destroyin all I've
done (I've
even crashed my old typewriter t pieces an have burned my
pens into
little tiny plastic statues)
I know I
will send you something one of these days.
all I have
t do is finish something t send you.
in any
case, if I am poisened or framed or kilt orratted on
I will will
will you some edgar lee masters?
type (bob
dylan written) poems of grand embarassment.
thelonius
monk grand style grand (me upright)
the world's
fair begun down there.
I'm gone.
Sailin on
(across the sone) son,
sawn. dawn.
anyway I'm gone.
I'm up
here.
my adress
is me-bearsville. just got back from trip t boston area.
sung songs
at providence.
amhearst.
arrived in
amhearst with 15 friends from cambridge.
left
providence with 15 friends from providence.
ditched
them on highway tho. (yes I pledge alliegence t the luckyness of havin
some so
many friends.)
an here's t
the republic.
up the
irish.
ah yes my flag
has turned into one color.
who fast?
me fast?
choking?
ha you must
be joking. I'm not turnin. burnin. maybe smokin.
not running
cunning.
not me.
I aint none
of them things.
not me.
yes most
deffinately would like t borrow cabin at big sur.
cant say when.
sometime.
wham.
it just hit
me.
I do got
things of songs an stories for you.
my hangup
is tho that I know there will be more.
I want t
send the more more then I want t send the got.
yes I guess
that's it.
that's it
in a nutshell pruneskin.
that's the
whole story.
nothin but
the truth.
nothin but
the nothin.
would've
liked t spent more time in san francisco.
would like
t spend more time in many places.
sometime I
will.
someday I
will.
tomorrow.
yeah tomorrow.
I a, in a
strange light alright.
I remember a
few years ago.
tramping.
bummin.
ridin the
rods all wrong.
hitchhiking
(pretending stock markets crashin all over me) thru the ever ready
usa. guitar
on my back.
my
thoughful tool.
yes an the
only thing I wished was that someday I'd be able t come back
t these
fucked up shootin gallery pay me for my playin coffee houses.
coffee
bars.
oh how I
used t hope that someday if nothin else. I'd have enuff friends or
know the
right people t survive with my head at least as groovy as
theirs ...
man.
I never got
a chance.
I got a
motorcycle tho.
but unlike
the last ones I had on south dakota an minnesota roads,
this one's
for the fields.
so you see,
after all, I'm not really going all that fast.
you cant go
too fast in the fields you know.
the only
thing that's wrong is that there's no fuckin motels.
absolutely
no advertising.
I'm the
first one hit by the forest fires an god knows that a fallout
shelter'd
be insane.
terrible
buzzard flies an my front steps all loaded with killed dear
hit by cars
... yet I still wave t airplanes
an shit
like that (what whit like that?) so I'm not all bad.
all good.
would?
yes I've
chopped much wood.
I'll write
you later an send clippings from my head.
as for now
there's a horn honkin.
must be for
me.
hhhmmmmmmmmm.
or however you
spell that.
will be in
france for awhile.
someplace
where they dont read life magazine.
of course
I'll be back tho.
an will be
out in sanfrancisco again.
I have
nothin t do.
an no place
t go.
fretheewell.
faretheegoodbye.
say hi for
me.
say hi t
anybody
see you
then
comemoratin figitatin
agitatin satined
positivelyated
homogenized. egg
creamed. pie in the faced
egg in the eyed
untied. complyed. plywooded.
do-gooded. hooded.
lamp shaded understated hated
backdated
muscatelled. muscatold musca went
wrong someplace
displaced. cock traced
embraced umbraced ohbraced
church laced
straight faced
an all that
yes
see you then
gently
[Source: The Telegraph # 36, letter to Lawrence Ferlinghetti 28 April 1964]
[TOP]
on the 21st
sometime
dear mummy
it's me here.
i'm up in
woodstock at uncle alby's.
nice house
you oughta be here.
swimming
pool.
all that
stuff.
i'm with
you-know-who.
dick an
mimi're also around the place but i've hardly seen them
sinse
you-know-who got a hold on me.
mummy you
must believe me.
i was gonna
stay at the foremans as planned i mean i was all set
to an
everything.
anyway when
me an mimi got t town an right away first thing we
did was t
go there.
an you know
me i was tired and it was already past noon an well i fuigered
like t get
t sleep you know an well i got in t bed
y'know an jesus
i pulled back the blankets an who do you think
was hiding
under under the quilt?
yeah him.
i mean like
i don't know if you'll believe me or not
but i swear
t gawd he was rolled up like a ball inside the pillow.
mummy, i
shit.
the first
thing i did was t call for mimi.
mimi came
running down the hall but do you think it did anygood?
you-know-who
just slowly stood up an jumped on the floor.
mummy, his
hair had grown down past his waist,
he was
wearing this monster sweater that stank like he hadn't
taken a
bath for a year.
mummy, he
was terrible.
i mean like
even alfredo the cuban was heard t comment later "ay tairdbil"
(aye, que
terrible) anyway, mimi saw him there an she turned
an ran.
mummy, she
just turned an ran.
you-know-who
didn't waste any time let me tell yuh.
he threw me
on the bed like some kind of caveman. (he hadn't shaved for about
four days
mummy. honest t gawd. four days!)
an you know
how tired i get.
i mean like
i was in no position t fight.
an he wa
sayin something.
he was
sayin like i never heard before.
i mean like
i never heard it in any movie.
i mean like
he was sayin "hey c'mon hey c'mon" over an over again.
hey an you
know me like i just fall like an anvil.
clunge.
when it
comes t new things that i aint never heard before.
i mean like
i don't want you t think he's (you-know-who) influenced me or nuthin
mummy i
just fall into all these traps.
maybe that
second shrink was right.
maybe i
DONT know myself as i should know myself.
maybe he
was right when he said "Joannie darling, you just don't know
yourself"
anyway, you-know-who, for lack of better word, just about seized me.
it wasnt
like any captain kid came swirling
down from
the masttype thing but still it was kind of wierd.
i mean he
really did sort of take me by surprise.
i mean like
what would you do?
i mean i
fought an everythin.
mummy i
fought him no end.
i bit the
shit out of his nose.
kicked him
where it really hurts.
clawed the
back of his neck till blood came out a his bellybutton.
mummy, i
blew so hard in his ear, i thought his eyes would pop out.
but then he
did this dumb thing.
i mean like
he was still sayin "hey c'mon, c'mon" but then also too now
he started
reciting poetry.
like it was
about the time i was
scratching
an trying t bend his elbow off he started
calling me
ramona.
i swear at
first i thought it was some game.
he kept
sayin things like "no use trying" an words like "exist" an
mummy i
swear he even mentioned something about
crack
country lips.
mummy, i
couldn't fight.
i mean like
i just couldn't fight.
yeah like
so i passed out.
yeah an i
woke up here.
aint played
a concert for a month.
manny is
calling perpetually.
victor
keeps answering the phone an says "no, she aint here"
in a funny
voice an you-know-who doesn't say nothin
excpt
"everything's all right" an "nuthin matters"
yeah well i
gotta go. you-know-who's making this movie
an he wants
me t rub his head while he gets ready.
all in all
everything i guess is ok.
house is
coming along.
oh, i
signed over my car t you-know who.
yeah, he
said it'd take a lot of worry off my mind about owning things
an well ...
it has a little i guess.
i wouldn't
mind that too much but well ...
you-know-who
sold the car.
he says
that's better that way cause now i wont be pesterin him
t let me
drive it.
mummy, he's
the worst driver in the world.
i swear i
nearly have a bird everytime he takes me t the shrink.
my shrink
hates him but that's another story an i'll write you later about it.
ok then faretheewell
manard
solomon says hello
an keeps
asking when you're
coming back
ok 'bye
an dont
worry bout me none
oh, p.p.s
i gave that little tiny picture of me
t you-know-who an he posted it on top
of his ford station wagon interior
mummy, i'm fine
dont worry about me please
everything passes everything changes
oh, mummy mummy I love you so much
oh mummy
give regards t brice an pauline
oh oh! here comes you-know-who
i dont want him t catch me writin
t you
gotta go
luv yuh
Joannie
[Source: Joan Baez: And A Voice To Sing With, letter to Joan Baez's mother]
[TOP]
oh how I
got your letter this morning ... (troubled times yes)
why aren't you
here.
why aren't
you hear (here) ah the good an happy times slay me. do they slay you.
who are
you.
I mean
really now. (you know I dont).
do you
write poetry as well as paint. (I read your letter twice.
my friend
is readin it now. (I claim you to be one of thee great disrobed
artists.
(your texas blood disturbs me) ... say hi t John faulk.
tell him I
dont mind that he grabbed my leg.
tell him I
dont mind at all.
as for you,
my leg is out anytime.
I'll even
close my eyes.
have you
hitch hiked long?
stop soon
tho' huh.
we need you
on the lines.
we need you
at home.
hey, we
need you with us.
get the
fuck off the highway. (a fine spade chick just walked by.)
write out a
bunch of letters. (she has plaster in her eyes.)
send them
by mail (an she is cryin) an that's all you gotta do. (I think
she was
cryin; where is denton texas. I was in dallas three weeks ago.
passin
thru. (up tite?) no slushin thru. (wierd)
mozze-in
thru.
pullin in a
gas station outside of dallas... "hi killer.
fill 'er
up" ... "yeh yeh yes sir. right away sir" ...
have you
ever rode on number 287 highway.
have you
ever been in witchita falls?
it is
rainin here today.
new york is
a lonesome town. (as the forsakeness of high degree romance
overtakes
me.)
my poor
embeded soul.
mu lusty soul.
(tell me about my soul.)
I said tell
me ... click. (oh these humphrey bogart weegy
words at
times do bury me.
why did you
think that I might think that you thought i thunk
you were
for a second an ivy joe? (wow!)
you dirty
ivy joe.
do you
actually know any ivy joes?
I know what
a grassy john is explainin what color
you eyes
are to me.
tell me how
you walk.
yes talk t
me.
forgive
(please forgive) me an my directions if you never
hear any
echo back again. (fuck the echoes) ...
I have
heard your echo by that you know (must know?) that you must've
heard me.
yes heard
me at one time or another.
sometime I
will talk t you (as opposed to 'shall') if only my time
was mine.
right?
(jesus christ anyway.)
hey I'll
see you sometime.
sometime on
a strange nite.
when the
leaves're blowin.
an it's
close t shiverin.
when the
headlights pass above the bluff yeah (yeah?)
yes I'll
meet you by the crossing.
the criss
crossin on the edge of town.
in the
brown dust. (sneezin) an you can sing love poems in my ears.
I will tell
you how I see the outline of the sky. (yes we will
walk all
the way t california. t salinas. (no. t sanfrancisco.)
anyway ...
I know you
wont get killed waitin for me.
We will
just be gettin up the same time on the same day an eventually (oh god)
meet?
at the same
place. (come come now mr. dylan)
I'm comin
... hey I'm always comin.
an the so
well oh wow therefore ahah what by far -
I mean t
say is that i cant think
right now
of t much to say.
you have
caught me with drowsy thoughts.
I'm going
out t ride the ferris wheel.
yes there's
one down the street an my driver is waitin.
write me
another letter.
I will
receive it.
an you know
I will read it ....
hey, so
long
an I see you then
me ... muzzled? an puzzled
hustled
rustled
in an out
reeferized homogenized
tenderized ... cocained
gas stained
high brained an half
trained
tell me more
(signed 'Bob Dylan')
my life,
yes, could be better by you.
an also
martha an the vandellas. (yes it's true I answer all fan mail.)
I shall
concede t the fact I think you are a true poet.
as for my
afternoons, they are spent on the smilin highways.
the
hysterical street corners.
the mad
blushin (russian) ever-flowin flacky snowbanks.
do you dig
major lance?
oh gawd (oh
god) you have t dig major lance.
I am tappin
in time t monkey time. I am swirlin in "you get yours I'll get
mine"
an then the music begins t play.
an the
forsaken echo of gettin ready prancin.
prancin.
it fills
(believe it or not) this whole fuckin room.
I am out in
jersey. new jersey.
New Jersey?
I am
swarmin in the suberbs.
we have
invaded the home of a writer friend of mine.
his kids an
my friends an his wife an my kids (all of us) yes we are
runnin wild
with all windows open dancin dancin.
flyin
around this house.
marvin
gaye. do you know "who" marvin gaye is?
he's
singin' now.
about
somewitness.
he's gotta
get a witness.
he's gotta
get a witness and me?
me - i
gotta get a witness too.
all of us
ha yes all of us.
we all
gotta get witnesses.
you ask of
my notes.
are you
askin of MY nite or my NITES?
hey, my
nites are nothin.
I stay up
sometimes all nite.
sometimes I
even go t sleep before nite comes.
before nite
falls.
before
nitefall.
come fast,
you dope fiend angel.
you
methedrene pen pal lover. (you freaky lad sister) of (of course)
mounin
mournin mornin glory seacher of jesus.
do you dig
jesus?
yes, tho,
come an save my poor (my poor me) lifeless body,
limp on
joannie's strange bed.
my eyes are
blue.
sometimes
they (I'm told) turn green.
why do you
write such short words.
I have
nothin t do.
I have
nothin t do at all.
i dont even
have sometimes something t do.
I never
have nothin t do. (ah but I do so many things)
do you do
alot of things?
tell me how
many things you do.
do you
greet people on the street? (how's your soul today?)
do you talk
t the neighbors? (what do yuh mean, 'what do I mean by the
word-soul?'
just what d yuh mean what do I mean by that anyway?)
you must
ask for cigarettes someplace (ok, ok for you. then I wont ask
you again)
what are
you doing in texas?
I dont know
what the fuck I spend my rainfalls like.
I gaze out
of cathedral windows when I can.
at other
times I gaze up at them from the rainy street.
an at other
times I just think of them as I know them from rainly (rainy
memories).
remembrances
of water soaked days.
yes an
recollections of foggy wanderings to and fro.
up and
down.
around an
about.
here and
there.
ahah i
would like t meet you.
I would
like t meet you as I fade out.
as I lastly
laugh.
as I turn
an smile.
an say
farewell.
come an
jump on me.
come an
leep on me from a tall building.
I will be
high so it wont matter.
I'll even
buy you an airplane permit.
what do you
do for christsake crizake crise ache down there
in where
you live.
write t me
nex time at bobdylan box 125
fairsfield,
bearsville, new york.
yes you
see, I get most letters like you write directed there.
it is my
official allen ginsberg adress. (even
he, yes writes t me.
in fast
form.
so I'll get
it quickly, there.)
you write
there too.
I'll madly
rip your letter open in the dusty driveway of the
1p10
post-office.
tear it
savigely an read it droolin an spittin.
I will
dance down the almost forgotten dirtroad
wavin
insanely your letter.
yes write t
me again.
there is
for you much t write. (as for me. my writin is too muchly
as it is) I
have t run.
I have t
run here.
I have t
stop.
I have t
jack off my digingness an stroke my uptiteness.
I have t
think of my lovin memories.
I have t go
breathe on the innocent front porch.
I have t go
breathe innocently.
it's quiet
there an I know in front that it's quiet.
perhaps
that's why I have t go there.
in any
case, the paper is growin dizzy on me.
an my words
(t say anything at all) are
sting
together.
write an tell me more
I am in your bed
so please watch your
head
mornin is such a bring
down
faretheewell then
I'll see you
breakin feardy worlds
makin wierdy girls
(is that it?)
Signed five
times in three margins, a sixth signature has been cut out.
hi there.
gee it was good t hear from you.
How're the
kids?
the weather
here is just beautiful.
maggy
caught a duck the other day.
little suzy
is five now.
you oughta
hear her talk.
jesus
willikers she can walk an do all the stuff.
she comes
in her pants at five years old an keeps
asking when
you're coming back.
me?
I'm ok.
fell down
the chimney tryin t fix a flat but other than that I'm still
up an at
'm.
a hard rain
rottled all my onions last week.
gonna write
a song about it when I get the time.
jerry ate
too many cream puffs an blew up.
we tried t
feed him pills but nothin worked.
we buried
him at the bottom of the pool. "strange algee growin" said
martha when
she gazed out from the diving board.
you
remember martha.
funny
little chick hung up on masterbating in tin can.
yeah well,
she saw jerry down there an shit.
the pool's
pretty funky now.
this yul
brynner looking
spade that hangs
out at worlds fair is scheduled to come
clean at it
at four o'clock.
we're all
just sittin round waiting for him.
nothin new
is happenin.
doctor zen
says hello.
I told him
you were off in oklahoma.
he says no
she's not.
i say ok i
dig.
there is no
oklahoma.
he says you
asshole there is no she.
i say ok ok
he says hi to her..
doc gets
wierd sometimes.
he stuffs
lsd in his turban most everyday an is workin on doing
summersault
experiments while blowing his nose thru glass tube.
currently
he's expecting t come up with a new formula for cross breeding
belly hairs
with rattlesnakes.
all in all
everybody's been quite busy.
you oughta
see Ramar von Cringe do his new act.
Highly top
secret am not composed enuff t tell about it except that sky
gets black
every time he does it.
jinx and
her dog both got draged by high flyin railroad train not too soon ago.
jinx fell
off in new jersey.
dog i hear
dog ride an rode t florida.
lastly we
heard he was in Mexico.
livin with poncho
lookin senorita round guantonovistima square.
oh forgeot
t tell you.
geno an
hugh discovered they were writing the same book.
did pillow
feathers fly around here for a week.
geno left
carrying stash in open elbow wound down highway 95
in early
mornin.
depressed?
goddam you
shoulda seen him.
doctor zen
just laughed said "see yuh later geno"
geno never
heard.
hugh sits
with high powered binoculars up totem pole.
just sits
there.
aint ate
for a week.
guilty?
oh god we
try t pull him out of it but he just
mumble
somethin about that he cant understand.
that's he
seems t say "i cant understand i cant unnerstand".
neibors say
they can hear him at nite.
i think
he's sayin "a cannon hurts sand" a cannon hurts sand
but i dont
speak too loud an keep the thought t myself
dont hurt
no feelings that way an doc says its good
for one t
talk t oneself.
oh, the
greatest thing happened t mary lou you know-who.
she picked
up some wanted posters at the post office an went out
bounty
hunting.
caught this
cat who robbed tennessee dentist of 20 pounds of gold.
chased him
thru lincoln tunnel going 50 hair blowing.
dress
flying.
trapped him
finally in connecticut deserted mine shaft.
she took
off her clothes an he came out with his arms open.
takin off
shirts an pants.
she kicked
his balls with boot she bought in texas.
the cat
just keeled over an moans.
hit the
front pages round here.
poor outlaw
layin on ground.
mouth
twisted out of shape.
mary lou
you-know-who standing over him looking like teddy rovevelt.
yeah well i
gotta go.
we're
filming a movie in about an hour.
i gotta
play humprey bogart.
things
looking up a little as some fellow
yesterday
offered me record contract.
zelda
flipped.
says t do
it.
me?
i'm not too
sure.
i ask
Anthello what he thinks an he tells me two a n two never
make four.
not so
muchs as ( ------ ) myself thinking about it too seriously.
i disappear
in dostoevsky books dont come back til sundown.
have still
got my eyes on the future an am not letting go of my
visions t
make it with terry thomas.
my friend
mavis says it's possible but might have t go thru peter sellers
first.
i ask her
what she means by that an she say the answer
is blowing
in the wind.
i've always
knew she was crazy but the chick has gone outright loony.
anyway
watch them indians out there
an remember
nothin's right
write
meme.
Aleu
the goodest god
Unsigned.
so there i
was. riding on this umbrella.
omaha
passed gaily.
daily i
shouted t going by friends "hey hey dig me
can you dig
me on this umbrella.
can you do
it can you do it?"
rememberin
i had no friends anyway in nebraska i decided t cool my energy.
whishin
hopin thinkin sucking huummmmmm feeling grabbing.
stabbing.
pulling
scathing snathin snellin smelling jump humping
licking
fucking wondering no hope thisaway not this time
that time
yuhp uh huh that's the way t get 'm.
then
heeeee'llllll be yoarssssssssss.
whishin and
a hoping hopin rather gather me?
me open.
not scared
up there.
ol bee jay
rides by.
texas
sweatshirt lost he says.
linda bee
jay on shoulders shitting down his neck. "nice day parder"
he says all
of a sudden looking like a chinaman.
i say
"you men PARDNER, doncha buddy?"
he says
"while shore" just then, this buzzard with frank sinatra's face
on, if you
look closly,
comes
flying out the poverty pavilion.
circles the
sky.
throws out
a few care packages of gorilla shit. smiles.
opens her
mouth and her tongue reads "bang".
flies low
over all our heads.
ol bee jay
shook us all that day i'm not ashamed t say.
he just
lean down on the ground.
picked up a
handful of dirt. "land" he called it.
he just
stood there.
weiving
back and forth.
let the
dirt seep slowly thru his fingers.
mumbled
something about his back being smelly am said: "thas mah little
lady
theh" yes an its been ever sinse that day that i have
become t
wonder about just WHO should be allowed
t sit on
OUR shoulders.
many times
has been the nite when i have had cause t wonder deeply an most
deliberately
about these uncaused sensations.
at off beat
measures, they seem t be unconsciously eating me.
anyway
today finally now i decide t do something about it.
yeah i'm
gonna run for office i decide.
i walk to
the door an start running.
i bump into
fuller brush salesmen two at a time.
all fall
down.
get up
sorry now. "howdy i'm running for office" they smile.
i buy five
toothbrushes an a ring for my kitchen sink. "don't put
it on your fingers"
they say as wave goodbye.
me? i stick
it dog's mouth travel on. "i guess i showed them"
back on
umbrella again by evening time i forget all about
this
running for office i fly around circus style.
watch for
cave ins an dont be too good to nobody.
they might
get wrong idea.
sneer at
graveyard.
make patty
cake thank you mam good gawd son is at London bridge about t go?
i mix up
crazy phantoms.
exchange
their eyes bust into plate glass predictions.
get in two
timed position.
try t make
it with the manacans.
mocasins
hurling every which way.
see at a
glance i mistaked mistooken inian indian's joe
for
j.c.penny any.
i get
chopped off head no hair under armpit.
go dancing
back t where i'm better known.
arrive in a
flurry.
hurry bring
tools.
what? me
worry?
my head
back on backwards i stumble out door.
wave bye
bye get hit by loose lion.
knock down
cop comes.
old cop.
says what's
wrong with your head.
i call him
kimosabee in broken french.
arrests me
as a trespasser.
i say i'm
folksinger in real life.
he dont
wanna hear it.
i say i'm
poet storyteller.
he grabs my
throat.
says theres
a noose waiting.
i say i got
influence round here.
he swings
at my heart with fiery billy club.
i kill him
leave him lay there.
paint
muscateer on forehead so noone recognize him.
head off
for points unknown.
wishin
hopin
thinkin see
picture of dusty springfield in closed out record store.
people
point t me tho.
they're all
pointin at me tho. "there's dusty springfield" they yell.
i say ok i
dig that.
chase me
muthafucker.
wham zoom
fall in running river on edge of town.
small town.
everyone
knows each other.
hey aint
that dusty springfield at jes fall down
in that
ther o water.
not me t
care tho.
got much t
do.
seeds all
sowed.
corns in.
aint had
much rain but the tractor's comein soon i hear tell.
keep
rememberin messages of the city.
was there
some time not ago.
roar thru.
dont never
again live there no more.
used to but
not now know for sure.
east side
my own first old east side.
same east
side.
village has
moved over.
village
unbelievable.
me lucky
lucky.
an god's own pillars've even turned t
rust
sugar tastes bitter. salt is sweet
ramming bali ligosi girls on the tails of
mice
rats ring the bells
truth dont lie in the alley dead
bums dont die
cleopatra's sister opens her mouth at the
manhole
tries t grab mayor wagner's son
he him an them got better things t do
everybody takes the clap for syphlis
an hank williams dont never sing too well
no more these days
ah what care i for sorrow's tomorrow
ANYWAY
yeah ANYWAY
the winds aint strong
can only break windows
time ahah
can go thru anything
but cant go backwards. sickly time. stiff
neck terrible
will go t death in institution. cremate
style. in
silver oven advertiazin perhaps camel
cigarettes?
hot point frigerators for sure.
leave records on at nite when going t
sleep
an dont be afraid of gene genet.
ghosts on
the highway. they will follow you. if you travel up
these highways. dont you know that.
hold on
jeep yr eyes on the plow
(or whatever)
later soon me. jeanny
tarter.
Signed
"uh-huh".
[Source: The Telegraph # 16, answers to letters from a
fan]
[TOP]
laura
speaks of God almighty dragon up avenue B cut throat lyer in long pants.
barks at
cream puffish meek salesman who asks: "can I help you?"
acid runs
off her teeth.
says t
shovel level headed doom freak down toilet.
string up
nazi football player by hands backwards.
kill him at
sundown hollywood bowl style.
invite his
mother too.
laura
ponders on historical documents,
memorizes
who gets biggest laugh.
invites
friends
over t
discuss matters, tells them not t answer phone no matter what,
then goes
out t phone booth an calls herself.
devotes
full time t killing evil.
stomps on
cockroaches like giant force laurence of arabia swooping down from peace love
beauty
sweeping
sky an hangs a picture of john henry over bed each nite.
i sit with
bandaged head two floors up.
make sign
language t harpo marx, try not t compare people with people
an wonder
just who's gonna be born next.
"we're
all in the same boat brother" rings from bong bong wall cracks.
clink an
little white mice scatter tryin' to stay out of each other's ships.
i shout
"commander commander ok i'm here, i'm here in your vessel now where do we
go?
what's
happening? hey hey" a thousand celloes vibrate from sound holes
of rang
tang dobro
i hear
thunder from left right middleplace everyplace
"follow
me follow me" i turn, wipe eyes an laura falls past window going downward.
"what's
at?" i yell "what's at you said an who are you anyway uh huh?"
laura hits
bottom and screeching voice booms out
"up up
up here. up here"
i look high
but all i can see is shut off light bulb.
keyhole
falls off door as ambulance screams from behind setting sun.
radio gets
louder an louder and i realize it'd barbara streisand singing.
she's
singing some song about people.
i dust
myself off,
write
"nothing matters, dear texas" across forehead an get ready t travel
west...
[Source: Sing Out! January
1965]
[TOP]
Dear Jamie:
Life on the
road is not what it used to be.
But what
used to be may not have existed anyway.
All of
Europe used to be a desert.
What they
say about shifting sand is not unfounded.
Everything
is happening by the clock.
Without
clocks there wouldn't be any useful idea of time.
My soul is
unaware of any time, only my mind,
my poor
mind which is so bombarded with dates,
calendars
and numbers has been deceived into believing
there is
such a thing as time, woe me.
hasn't
everybody at some point of their life asked "What time is it?"
It's no
time.
The sun
comes up and the sun goes down.
That's what
time it is.
That's why
it's taken me so long to write you this letter.
Anyway,
Jamie, we say things like "Gee, was that a year ago?", or
"Look
at those fields that were so familiar to me as a child
where now
skyscrapers stand".
All of us
can tell the story it was just the other day
when this
or that happened.
That's only
our minds talking.
Anyway,
travelling around makes you think of these things
including
my thoughts to drop you a line.
Reflecting
on this, brainwork brings you to the realization
that this
earth is truly God's footstool
and until
the entire world believes and obeys the same God
there can
be no truth or justice peace for anyone.
The soul
never dies and neither does it know time.
OK Jamie,
until the next moment, God bless you much,
good luck
and say hello to the boys.
Bob Dylan
P.S.
Congratulations on your second year.
[Letter to the
Editor of Sister 2 Sister magazine, 1991]
[TOP]
This page last
updated 20 May 2001.