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Thread: Bob Dylan

  1. #1
    Paul Dorell Guest

    United States Bob Dylan

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    Last edited by Paul Dorell; 28-Sep-2011 at 01:30.

  2. #2
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    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    My favorite set of Dylan lyrics:

    It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)

    Darkness at the break of noon
    Shadows even the silver spoon
    The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
    Eclipses both the sun and moon
    To understand you know too soon
    There is no sense in trying
    Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
    Suicide remarks are torn
    From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
    Plays wasted words, proves to warn
    That he not busy being born is busy dying
    Temptation’s page flies out the door
    You follow, find yourself at war
    Watch waterfalls of pity roar
    You feel to moan but unlike before
    You discover that you’d just be one more
    Person crying
    So don’t fear if you hear
    A foreign sound to your ear
    It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing
    As some warn victory, some downfall
    Private reasons great or small
    Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
    To make all that should be killed to crawl
    While others say don’t hate nothing at all
    Except hatred
    Disillusioned words like bullets bark
    As human gods aim for their mark
    Make everything from toy guns that spark
    To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
    It’s easy to see without looking too far
    That not much is really sacred
    While preachers preach of evil fates
    Teachers teach that knowledge waits
    Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
    Goodness hides behind its gates
    But even the president of the United States
    Sometimes must have to stand naked
    An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
    It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
    And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it
    Advertising signs they con
    You into thinking you’re the one
    That can do what’s never been done
    That can win what’s never been won
    Meantime life outside goes on
    All around you
    You lose yourself, you reappear
    You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
    Alone you stand with nobody near
    When a trembling distant voice, unclear
    Startles your sleeping ears to hear
    That somebody thinks they really found you
    A question in your nerves is lit
    Yet you know there is no answer fit
    To satisfy, insure you not to quit
    To keep it in your mind and not forget
    That it is not he or she or them or it
    That you belong to
    Although the masters make the rules
    For the wise men and the fools
    I got nothing, Ma, to live up to
    For them that must obey authority
    That they do not respect in any degree
    Who despise their jobs, their destinies
    Speak jealously of them that are free
    Cultivate their flowers to be
    Nothing more than something they invest in
    While some on principles baptized
    To strict party platform ties
    Social clubs in drag disguise
    Outsiders they can freely criticize
    Tell nothing except who to idolize
    And then say God bless him
    While one who sings with his tongue on fire
    Gargles in the rat race choir
    Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
    Cares not to come up any higher
    But rather get you down in the hole
    That he’s in
    But I mean no harm nor put fault
    On anyone that lives in a vault
    But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him
    Old lady judges watch people in pairs
    Limited in sex, they dare
    To push fake morals, insult and stare
    While money doesn’t talk, it swears
    Obscenity, who really cares
    Propaganda, all is phony
    While them that defend what they cannot see
    With a killer’s pride, security
    It blows the minds most bitterly
    For them that think death’s honesty
    Won’t fall upon them naturally
    Life sometimes must get lonely
    My eyes collide head-on with stuffed
    Graveyards, false gods, I scuff
    At pettiness which plays so rough
    Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
    Kick my legs to crash it off
    Say okay, I have had enough, what else can you show me?
    And if my thought-dreams could be seen
    They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
    But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only


    Particularly the outstanding line, "He not busy being born is busy dying."
    "I am not young enough to know everything" -Oscar Wilde
    "The best way to protect your place in this world is to do nothing at all." -From Ikiru

  3. #3

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Quote Originally Posted by waalkwriter View Post
    Particularly the outstanding line, "He not busy being born is busy dying."
    Well, two of my favorite Dylan songs are about death, although 'Ballad in Plain D' (I originally made a typo and wrote 'Palin'!) is about the death of a relationship, 'Desolation Row' the death of society:

    Ballad in Plain D

    I once loved a girl, her skin it was bronze.
    With the innocence of a lamb, she was gentle like a fawn.
    I courted her proudly but now she is gone,
    Gone as the season she's taken.

    Through young summer's breeze, I stole her away
    From her mother and sister, though close did they stay.
    Each one of them suffering from the failures of their day,
    With strings of guilt they tried hard to guide us.

    Of the two sisters, I loved the young.
    With sensitive instincts, she was the creative one.
    The constant scrapegoat [sic], she was easily undone
    By the jealousy of others around her.

    For her parasite sister, I had no respect,
    Bound by her boredom, her pride to protect.
    Countless visions of the other she'd reflect
    As a crutch for her scenes and her society.

    Myself, for what I did, I cannot be excused,
    The changes I was going through can't even be used,
    For the lies that I told her in hopes not to lose
    The could-be dream-lover of my lifetime.

    With unknown consciousness, I possessed in my grip
    A magnificent mantelpiece, though its heart being chipped,
    Noticing not that I'd already slipped
    To a sin of love's false security.

    From silhouetted anger to manufactured peace,
    Answers of emptiness, voice vacancies,
    Till the tombstones of damage read me no questions but, "Please,
    What's wrong and what's exactly the matter?"

    And so it did happen like it could have been foreseen,
    The timeless explosion of fantasy's dream.
    At the peak of the night, the king and the queen
    Tumbled all down into pieces.

    The tragic figure, her sister did shout,
    "Leave her alone, God damn you, get out!"
    And I in my armor, turning about
    And nailing her to the ruins of her pettiness.

    Beneath a bare light bulb the plaster did pound
    Her sister and I in a screaming battleground.
    And she in between, the victim of sound,
    Soon shattered as a child 'neath her shadows.

    All is gone, all is gone, admit it, take flight.
    I gagged twice, doubled, tears blinding my sight.
    My mind it was mangled, I ran into the night
    Leaving all of love's ashes behind me.

    The wind knocks my window, the room it is wet.
    The words to say I'm sorry, I haven't found yet.
    I think of her often and hope whoever she's met
    Will be fully aware of how precious she is.

    Ah, my friends from the prison, they ask unto me,
    "How good, how good does it feel to be free?"
    And I answer them most mysteriously,
    "Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?"


    Desolation Row

    They're selling postcards of the hanging
    They're painting the passports brown
    The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
    The circus is in town
    Here comes the blind commissioner
    They've got him in a trance
    One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
    The other is in his pants
    And the riot squad they're restless
    They need somewhere to go
    As Lady and I look out tonight
    From Desolation Row.

    Cinderella, she seems so easy
    "It takes one to know one," she smiles
    And puts her hands in her back pockets
    Bette Davis style
    And in comes Romeo, he's moaning
    "You belong to Me I Believe"
    And someone says, "You're in the wrong place, my friend
    You better leave"
    And the only sound that's left
    After the ambulances go
    Is Cinderella sweeping up
    On Desolation Row.

    Now the moon is almost hidden
    The stars are beginning to hide
    The fortunetelling lady
    Has even taken all her things inside
    All except for Cain and Abel
    And the hunchback of Notre Dame
    Everybody is making love
    Or else expecting rain
    And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing
    He's getting ready for the show
    He's going to the carnival tonight
    On Desolation Row.
    Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
    For her I feel so afraid
    On her twenty-second birthday
    She already is an old maid
    To her, death is quite romantic
    She wears an iron vest
    Her profession's her religion
    Her sin is her lifelessness
    And though her eyes are fixed upon
    Noah's great rainbow
    She spends her time peeking
    Into Desolation Row.

    Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
    With his memories in a trunk
    Passed this way an hour ago
    With his friend, a jealous monk
    He looked so immaculately frightful
    As he bummed a cigarette
    Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
    And reciting the alphabet
    You would not think to look at him
    But he was famous long ago
    For playing the electric violin
    On Desolation Row.

    Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
    Inside of a leather cup
    But all his sexless patients
    They're trying to blow it up
    Now his nurse, some local loser
    She's in charge of the cyanide hole
    And she also keeps the cards that read
    "Have Mercy on His Soul"
    They all play on penny whistles
    You can hear them blow
    If you lean your head out far enough
    From Desolation Row.
    Across the street they've nailed the curtains
    They're getting ready for the feast
    The Phantom of the Opera
    In a perfect image of a priest
    They're spoonfeeding Casanova
    To get him to feel more assured
    Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
    After poisoning him with words
    And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls
    "Get outa here if you don't know"
    Casanova is just being punished for going
    To Desolation Row.

    At midnight all the agents
    And the superhuman crew
    Come out and round up everyone
    That knows more than they do
    Then they bring them to the factory
    Where the heart-attack machine
    Is strapped across their shoulders
    And then the kerosene
    Is brought down from the castles
    By insurance men who go
    Check to see that nobody is escaping
    To Desolation Row.

    They be to Nero's Neptune
    The Titanic sails at dawn
    Everybody's shouting
    "Which side are you on ?"
    And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
    Fighting in the captain's tower
    While calypso singers laugh at them
    And fishermen hold flowers
    Between the windows of the sea
    Where lovely mermaids flow
    And nobody has to think too much
    About Desolation Row.
    Yes, I received your letter yesterday
    About the time the door knob broke
    When you asked me how I was doing
    Was that some kind of joke ?
    All these people that you mention
    Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
    I had to rearrange their faces
    And give them all another name
    Right now I can't read too good
    Dont send me no more letters no
    Not unless you mail them
    From Desolation Row.


    I love the change of 'scapegoat' to 'scrapegoat', and 'About the time the door knob broke'! What a wonderful line!

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    Last edited by lionel; 21-Jan-2011 at 09:29.

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    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    I strongly recommend this book about Dylan's songcraft


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    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Quote Originally Posted by Paul Dorell View Post
    I don't think everyone realizes what a transformative figure Dylan was in his early years. Since then, no one has come remotely close in popular songwriting.
    In terms of quality of songwriting and lyrics, I think Joanna Newsom gives him a run for his money. Of course, there's no way she will have the same kind of influence he has.

  6. #6

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Quote Originally Posted by Paul Dorell View Post
    I don't think everyone realizes what a transformative figure Dylan was in his early years. Since then, no one has come remotely close in popular songwriting.
    How can you say that when Morrissey gave such a strong voice to the outsider, and is still appreciated so much? My comments on Morrissey's work, with images of Morrissey's Manchester, UK, including The Holy Name church, the Cemetry [sic] Gates, the Iron Bridge, etc, are here

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    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Quote Originally Posted by lionel View Post
    How can you say that when Morrissey gave such a strong voice to the outsider, and is still appreciated so much? My comments on Morrissey's work, with images of Morrissey's Manchester, UK, including The Holy Name church, the Cemetry [sic] Gates, the Iron Bridge, etc, are here

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    We agree on something! I am also an enormous Morrissey fan. His album Viva Hate was simply stunning, one of only two perfect Albums I've ever encountered, (the other being Jeff Buckley's Album "Grace"). It is simply mindblowing, particularly songs like Ordinary Boys, Angel, Angel Down We Go Together, Last Night on Maudlin Street, Bengali in Platforms, etc.
    "I am not young enough to know everything" -Oscar Wilde
    "The best way to protect your place in this world is to do nothing at all." -From Ikiru

  8. #8

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Quote Originally Posted by Paul Dorell View Post
    a quick search shows him described as "one of the most influential figures in the history of British pop,"
    Well, Wikipedia can give a very distorting impression of things. Which is why I tend to look in better places as much as possible.

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  9. #9

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Quote Originally Posted by waalkwriter View Post
    We agree on something!
    Amazing as it may seem, yes, we agree on this one!

    Quote Originally Posted by waalkwriter View Post
    I am also an enormous Morrissey fan.
    He's my all-time favorite, but of course The Smiths and Morrissey have had a worldwide impact. And of course he lived in LA and was very popular there, as the movie (500) Days of Summer (set in LA) seems to suggest. I also agree Viva Hate is his best solo work, although 'Every Day Is Like Sunday' has always been my favorite on that album, particularly as it reminds me - as it's of course supposed to - of John Betjeman wishing 'friendly' bombs to fall on Slough, which is, er, you don't wanna know.

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    Last edited by lionel; 22-Jan-2011 at 00:20.

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    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Quote Originally Posted by waalkwriter View Post
    We agree on something! I am also an enormous Morrissey fan. His album Viva Hate was simply stunning, one of only two perfect Albums I've ever encountered, (the other being Jeff Buckley's Album "Grace"). It is simply mindblowing, particularly songs like Ordinary Boys, Angel, Angel Down We Go Together, Last Night on Maudlin Street, Bengali in Platforms, etc.
    As frighten as hell as I'm right now, I couldn't agree more. I'm a huge fan of Morrissey/The Smiths and I adore their lyrics. Personally I've been more influenced by Morrissey Lyrics, but this is probably because of the generation I belong, as I wasn't born in the 70's when Dylan had his more prolific years. I can't speak about Dylan as I'd like, I respect him and enjoy listening to him, but in my personal point of view I'm more connected to Morrissey.
    Jeff Bucklet's Grace is an absolute piece of perfection, simple but very rich.

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    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    I think Dylan classifies as a poet. After all, poetry has been a performance art for thousands of years before it was written down.

    As for song-writing, I think Pete Doherty is absolutely brilliant.

    The Good Old Days - The Libertines

    Lust of the Libertines - The Libertines

    Hooray for the 21st Century - The Libertines

    Maybe not quite as legendary as Dylan, but I definitely do think he deserves some recognition. For a junkie, he's also very clever. Declined an offer from Oxford university to read English literature when The Libertines broke through. Very clever lyrics if you ask me.

    Dylan then. Brilliant song-writer, but to be fair he's one of the few artists out there who's songs are better covered by someone else (Hendrix' All Along the Watchtower, Adele's Make You Feel My Love, White Stripes' One More Cup of Coffee, to name a couple).
    and houses, roads, avenues are as fugitive, alas, as the years. - Marcel Proust

  12. #12

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Quote Originally Posted by Amoxcalli View Post
    As for song-writing, I think Pete Doherty is absolutely brilliant.
    Me too - hey, someone's praising Pete Doherty! He deserves it.

    Maybe you have to live in England to fully understand the business of identical political parties and toeing the line that Pete's talking about, but for me 'Fuck Forever' has to be the song. Here, he's not with Babyshambles Down in Albion, but just with a guitar in a field - visually and acoustically lovely:

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zH8K8mPtyXQ

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    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Dylan is definitely an acquired, but his music has its own rustic, folksky charm. This is another one of my favorite Sylan songs:

    Oh my name it is nothin'
    My age it means less
    The country I come from
    Is called the Midwest
    I's taught and brought up there
    The laws to abide
    And that land that I live in
    Has God on its side.

    Oh the history books tell it
    They tell it so well
    The cavalries charged
    The Indians fell
    The cavalries charged
    The Indians died
    Oh the country was young
    With God on its side.

    Oh the Spanish-American
    War had its day
    And the Civil War too
    Was soon laid away
    And the names of the heroes
    I's made to memorize
    With guns in their hands
    And God on their side.

    Oh the First World War, boys
    It closed out its fate
    The reason for fighting
    I never got straight
    But I learned to accept it
    Accept it with pride
    For you don't count the dead
    When God's on your side.

    When the Second World War
    Came to an end
    We forgave the Germans
    And we were friends
    Though they murdered six million
    In the ovens they fried
    The Germans now too
    Have God on their side.

    I've learned to hate Russians
    All through my whole life
    If another war starts
    It's them we must fight
    To hate them and fear them
    To run and to hide
    And accept it all bravely
    With God on my side.

    But now we got weapons
    Of the chemical dust
    If fire them we're forced to
    Then fire them we must
    One push of the button
    And a shot the world wide
    And you never ask questions
    When God's on your side.

    In a many dark hour
    I've been thinkin' about this
    That Jesus Christ
    Was betrayed by a kiss
    But I can't think for you
    You'll have to decide
    Whether Judas Iscariot
    Had God on his side.

    So now as I'm leavin'
    I'm weary as Hell
    The confusion I'm feelin'
    Ain't no tongue can tell
    The words fill my head
    And fall to the floor
    If God's on our side
    He'll stop the next war.

    Brilliant. And Dorrell, I wasn't getting into any kind of merit argument for once. I don't think Lionel and Daniel were seriously doing so either. I personally, though I like Morrissey more than Dylan, would say that he most definitely isn't more influential. Dylan is simply the voice of a generation, I don't think you claim Morrissey is the "voice" of the 1980s.

    Lionel: Everyday is Like Sunday is really good too, but its really hard to measure which songs are best on that album, because every one of them is so great. That's what makes an album perfect in my book, although I just don't understand how a person could not be swept off their feet by Angel, Angel..., I bought the album because that song so caught my attention.
    "I am not young enough to know everything" -Oscar Wilde
    "The best way to protect your place in this world is to do nothing at all." -From Ikiru

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    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    I will always be baffled by reading praise for Pete Doherty's song-writing. I honestly tried to get his appeal but all his projects sound like ordinary garage bands to me. He can't really sing and his guitar skills are absolutely basic. I saw him live with the Babyshambles and in spite of all my good intentions I could not sit the whole concert through. He is a good lyricist, but hardly a musician, let alone a great one. All that makes him standout in my eyes is his overblown rock star persona, but then again, he's not the first nor the last rock star to do drugs. I also think Richey Edwards' influence over Doherty is quite obvious, except that Edwards was never a crackhead and had the Manic Street Preachers to back him up, a band that could actually play.
    On the other hand there are people like Patrick Wolf who've displayed uncanny musical talent and are nowhere near as swooned over.

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    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Dylan works for what he sings of, his sound is supposed to be American folk music. You need to listen to a version of With God on Our Side, it's raw, but stunning, with a great harmonica backdrop and guitar.
    "I am not young enough to know everything" -Oscar Wilde
    "The best way to protect your place in this world is to do nothing at all." -From Ikiru

  16. #16

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Quote Originally Posted by Paul Dorell View Post
    Well, maybe I'll have to listen to Morrissey too. In the meantime, I looked up what Wikipedia had to say about Dylan. This is a bit overblown in my opinion:

    Bob Dylan is one of the most influential figures of the 20th century, musically and culturally. Dylan was included in the Time 100: The Most Important People of the Century where he was called "master poet, caustic social critic and intrepid, guiding spirit of the counterculture generation".[292] Biographer Howard Sounes placed him among the most exalted company when he said, "There are giant figures in art who are sublimely good—Mozart, Picasso, Frank Lloyd Wright, Shakespeare, Dickens. Dylan ranks alongside these artists."
    Totally agreed. Morrissey, Dylan, Ian Curtis are truly poets; The way they write - with passion, love... they put their feelings on songs just like nobody else did, maybe Renato Russo, Brazilian singer who's dead but was the most important lyricist in Brazil.

  17. #17

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    This thread is a question rather than a statement, and as such obviously begs for comparisons to be made. Dylan belongs to a line of singer songwriters from, say, his idol Woody Guthrie through - most notable examples, I'd suggest - Leonard Cohen, Jim Morrison, Linton Kwesi Johnson, Morrissey, Ian Curtis, Natalie Merchant, Jarvis Cocker, and, yes, Pete Doherty. Surely the main thing about all of these is that they don't have particularly brilliant voices, and that the main interest is in their words rather than their music? For instance, the meaning of Doherty's expression 'two bob cunt' from 'What a Waster' is much discussed.

    Anyway, the upshot is that I'd call all the above poets.

    Yes, of course Doherty's self-destructive life style can to a certain extent be compared to Richey Edwards's, but then singer songwriters have a history of self-destruction - look at Phil Ochs, Jim Morrison, Nick Drake, etc. Didn't Dylan kill himself artistically after the acid-influenced Blonde on Blonde?

    But the Manics only really took off after Edwards's disappearance - and without his often disturbing lyrics - I'd say that from then on the emphasis is as much on the music as the lyrics. Yes, there's been a lot of political stuff, and Journal for Plague Lovers (which would of course force attention back to Edwards's lyrics), but you see what I mean? It's not exactly Joy Division-turned-New Order, but..

    And deliberate avoidance of reference to Kurt Cobain, as Nivana were mainly about the music. OK, and the life style maybe

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    Last edited by lionel; 23-Jan-2011 at 12:21.

  18. #18

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Friends, most of all songwriters cited here were influenced by poets or writers and they are easily reflected on singers-songwriters' works.

  19. #19

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    Hurricane

    Pistol shots ring out in the ballroom night
    Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall.
    She sees the bartender in a pool of blood,
    Cries out, "My God, they’ve killed them all!"
    Here comes the story of the Hurricane,
    The man the authorities came to blame
    For somethin' that he never done.
    Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
    The champion of the world.
    Three bodies lyin' there does Patty see
    And another man named Bello, movin' around mysteriously.
    "I didn't do it," he says, and he throws up his hands
    "I was only robbin' the register, I hope you understand.
    I saw them leavin'," he says, and he stops
    "One of us had better call up the cops."
    And so Patty calls the cops
    And they arrive on the scene with their red lights flashin'
    In the hot New Jersey night.
    Meanwhile, far away in another part of town
    Rubin Carter and a couple of friends are drivin' around.
    Number one contender for the middleweight crown
    Had no idea what kinda shit was about to go down
    When a cop pulled him over to the side of the road
    Just like the time before and the time before that.
    In Paterson that's just the way things go.
    If you're black you might as well not show up on the street
    'Less you wanna draw the heat.
    Alfred Bello had a partner and he had a rap for the cops.
    Him and Arthur Dexter Bradley were just out prowlin' around
    He said, "I saw two men runnin' out, they looked likemiddleweights
    They jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates."
    And Miss Patty Valentine just nodded her head.
    Cop said, "Wait a minute, boys, this one's not dead"
    So they took him to the infirmary
    And though this man could hardly see
    They told him that he could identify the guilty men.
    Four in the mornin' and they haul Rubin in,
    Take him to the hospital and they bring him upstairs.
    The wounded man looks up through his one dyin' eye
    Says, "Wha'd you bring him in here for? He ain't the guy!"
    Yes, here's the story of the Hurricane,
    The man the authorities came to blame
    For somethin' that he never done.
    Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
    The champion of the world.
    Four months later, the ghettos are in flame,
    Rubin's in South America, fightin' for his name
    While Arthur Dexter Bradley's still in the robbery game
    And the cops are puttin' the screws to him, lookin' for somebody to blame.
    "Remember that murder that happened in a bar?"
    "Remember you said you saw the getaway car?"
    "You think you'd like to play ball with the law?"
    "Think it might-a been that fighter that you saw runnin' that night?"
    "Don't forget that you are white."
    Arthur Dexter Bradley said, "I'm really not sure."
    Cops said, "A poor boy like you could use a break
    We got you for the motel job and we're talkin' to your friend Bello
    Now you don't wanta have to go back to jail, be a nice fellow.
    You'll be doin' society a favor.
    That sonofabitch is brave and gettin' braver.
    We want to put his ass in stir
    We want to pin this triple murder on him
    He ain't no Gentleman Jim."
    Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
    But he never did like to talk about it all that much.
    It's my work, he'd say, and I do it for pay
    And when it's over I'd just as soon go on my way
    Up to some paradise
    Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice
    And ride a horse along a trail.
    But then they took him to the jail house
    Where they try to turn a man into a mouse.
    All of Rubin's cards were marked in advance
    The trial was a pig-circus, he never had a chance.
    The judge made Rubin's witnesses drunkards from the slums
    To the white folks who watched he was a revolutionary bum
    And to the black folks he was just a crazy nigger.
    No one doubted that he pulled the trigger.
    And though they could not produce the gun,
    The D.A. said he was the one who did the deed
    And the all-white jury agreed.
    Rubin Carter was falsely tried.
    The crime was murder "one," guess who testified?
    Bello and Bradley and they both baldly lied
    And the newspapers, they all went along for the ride.
    How can the life of such a man
    Be in the palm of some fool's hand?
    To see him obviously framed
    Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land
    Where justice is a game.
    Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties
    Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise
    While Rubin sits like Buddha in a ten-foot cell
    An innocent man in a living hell.
    That's the story of the Hurricane,
    But it won't be over till they clear his name
    And give him back the time he's done.
    Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
    The champion of the world.

  20. #20
    Join Date
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    Location
    Oxford, MS
    Posts
    1,991

    Default Re: Bob Dylan, poet?

    I think Hurricane is one of his better songs, musically.
    "I am not young enough to know everything" -Oscar Wilde
    "The best way to protect your place in this world is to do nothing at all." -From Ikiru

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