14 raons per donar el Nobel a Bob Dylan

Foto: Wildlandia


Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’.

The Times They Are A-Changin’. 1964


Take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time
Far past the frozen leaves
The haunted frightened trees
Out to the windy bench
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

Mr Tambourine Man. 1965


Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their marks
Made everything from toy guns that sparks
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.

It’s Allright Ma’ (I’m Only Bleedin’) 1965


My love she speaks like silence
Without ideals or violence
She doesn’t have to say she’s faithful
Yet she’s true, like ice, like fire
People carry roses
And make promises by the hours
My love she laughs like the flowers
Valentines can’t buy her

Love Minus Zero. 1965


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.

Desolation Row. 1965


Ahh princess on a steeple and all the pretty people
They’re all drinking, thinking that they’ve got it made
Exchanging all precious gifts
But you better take your diamond ring, you better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can’t refuse
When you ain’t got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You’re invisible now, you’ve got no secrets to conceal

Like a Rolling Stone. 1965


With your childhood flames on your midnight rug
And your spanish manners, and your mother’s drugs
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Oh, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands. 1966


The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
The cracked bells and washed-out horns
Blow into my face with scorn
But it’s not that way
I wasn’t born to lose you
I want you, I want you
I want you so bad

I Want You. 1966


Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa must’ve had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles

Visions of Johanna. 1966


Then she opened up a book of poems
And handed it to me
Written by an Italian poet
From the 13th century
And every one of them words rang true
And glowed like burning coal
Pouring off of every page
Like it was written in my soul from me to you
Tangled up in blue

Tangled Up In Blue. 1975


I can’t feel you anymore, I can’t even touch the books you’ve read
Every time I crawl past your door, I been wishing I was somebody else instead
Down the highway down the tracks down the road to ecstasy
I followed you beneath the stars hounded by your memory
And all you raging glory.

I been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I’m finally free
I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me
You’ll never know the hurt I suffered not the pain I raise above
And I’ll never know the same about you your holiness or your kind of love
And it makes me feel so sorry.

Idiot wind blowing through the buttons of our coats
Blowing through the letters that we wrote
Idiot wind blowing through the dust upon our shelves
We’re idiots babe
It’s a wonder we can even feed ourselves.

Idiot Wind. 1975


Well, I heard the hoot owl singing
As they were taking down the tents
The stars above the barren trees
Were his only audience
Them charcoal gypsy maidens
Can strut their feathers well
But nobody can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell

See them big plantations burning
Hear the cracking of the whips
Smell that sweet magnolia blooming
(And) see the ghosts of slavery ships
I can hear them tribes a-moaning
(I can) hear the undertaker’s bell
(Yeah), nobody can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell

Blind Willie McTell. 1983


Strange how people who suffer together have stronger connections than people who are most content.”

Brownsville Girl. 1986


Behind every beautiful thing there’s been some kind of pain.

Not Dark Yet. 1997

Gràcies, Bob. Gràcies per dignificar la nostra feina. Per ser cruel, dolç, iconoclasta, trencador i rebel. Per fer-nos veure que les paraules ens poden transformar, que ens poden elevar per sobre de la miseria humana. Per ser irreverent, il·luminat, rodamón i contradictori. Per fer-nos veure que els temps canvien contínuament.


  1. Icona del comentari de: Bilibin a octubre 13, 2016 | 23:25
    Bilibin octubre 13, 2016 | 23:25
    En podriem posar 14 d'iguals de bones d'en Nick Cave o d'en Tom Waits, en un altre estil, clar. Però això no barata que el Nóbel és per celebrar alta literatura, Thomas Mann, Faulkner, Camus...Si volen fer un Nóbel musical, endavant que el facin, però no mesclem el llegir amb l'escoltar música, ambdues coses maravelloses.
  2. Icona del comentari de: Anònim a octubre 16, 2016 | 12:54
    Anònim octubre 16, 2016 | 12:54
    La poesia va començar sent dita, no escrita...

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