--- In [email protected], "feste37" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
> Did anyone see Martin Scorsese's documentary on Dylan last night? 
> It was brilliant, absolutely riveting. Some clips of Dylan 
> performing I had never seen before. Such driving intensity and 
> authenticity. It made me realize in quite a new way just how 
> brilliant the guy was. I had completely forgotten "A Hard 
> Rain's Gonna Fall," which I used to listen to on my little record
> player over and over and over in, what, 1965 or 1966. Hearing it 
> again after all these years was a revelation, and Allen Ginsberg 
> made some excellent points about the poetic quality of the lyrics. 
> I hadn't heard "Desolation Row" either for about 40 years. It 
> brought back things I had forgotten about my own adolescence. 
> Amazing what a song can do. 

Yes, it is.  They are the soundtracks to the movies 
of our lives.

> Part two is next week, I think. Don't miss it.

I have to wait until the DVD is available here in France,
but I doubt it will be long.  They're into Dylan here,
because they are into words.  But was/is arguably the
most important poet of the twentieth century.  The only
person I can think of whose poetry possibly rocked as many 
people's lives (in the sense of radically shifting their 
states of attention) is Bob Marley.

Some people don't consider them poets because they don't
publish in the New Yorker.  Some people can go suck eggs.
There has never been another poet in the world of popular 
music (which, after all, affects the lives of more people
than all the published "real" poets combined) who can 
hold a candle to him.  The man is a meteor who refuses 
to flame out.  He burns as brightly from time to time in
his 60s as he did in his 20s.  

You mentioned Desolation Row.  The other day, when Jason
posted the article about Rolling Stone's picks for the
Top Ten albums ever made, I reacted to it by diving for
the two Dylan albums on the list.  I finished that drive
down Memory Row with Desolation Row.  It's amazing, even
now.  At the time it released, it was nothing less than
devastating.  I remember listening to it the first time.
It was the last cut on Highway 61 Revisited.  The whole
album was a revelation, every song taking me to places
I had never dreamed of before, but Desolation Row!  It
was an epiphany, in every sense of the word.  It changed
my life forever.  I was never the same person after hear-
ing the first time.  I sat there, shocked, the needle
stuck in the last groove of the record, me unable to get
up and put it back in its cradle.

I remember thinking, "I didn't know it was possible to
write like that."  Fortunately, I have had that same
experience with many other writers in the years since,
but Bob was the first person to make me feel that way.
Bless him.

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
Now 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
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"

Now 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

Praise be to Nero's Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And 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 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
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
>From Desolation Row







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