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
In a young summer's youth, 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, 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 unseen consciousness, I possessed in my grip
A magnificent mantelpiece, though its heart being chipped
Noticing not that I'd already slipped
To the 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 in 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 to the shadows
All is gone, all is gone, admit it, take flight
I gagged in contradiction, 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?"
This song has a history with me. Way back in the mid-'60s, I would listen to Dylan with my brother Arthur (5 years older than me, already in university, and he'd bring a little weed when he came home to visit). For some reason we had just fastened on to the Another Side of Bob Dylan album, having failed to bond with his first (though the next one, The Freewheeling Bob Dylan, was getting closer).
But I wouldn't figure that out until much later, when I read several Dylan biographies and put the pieces of his life together I still weaken and read another one every now and then, though most of them are pretty terrible. The only one I really like is Down the Highway by Howard Sounes, the most vilified and hated of all Dylan biographies because it contains some highly personal details which seem to sully the great master's reputation.
Another Side was loaded with gems, not the least of which is the blazing glory of Chimes of Freedom. But Ballad in Plain D was the one we both loved. We would smoke up when the parents were at choir practice and listen to this song almost obsessively, mostly because it seemed to be a very rare glimpse of the inner Dylan. He was for the most part pretty defended by his own brilliance, with his slashing, crashing, flashing imagery protecting the hypersensitive soul within.
We had all sorts of conjecture about this song: who was it about, anyway? (We know nothing of Suze Rotolo at the time, though her picture was right there on the cover of Freewheeling). Arthur seemed to think it was the same girl from Spanish Harlem Incident ("your pearly eyes so fast and slashin'/And your flashin' diamond teeth"). The fact that "her skin it was bronze" seemed to point that way, though I was later to realize Suze was more blonde-ish.
But whoever it was about, this was a romantic obsession of Byronic proportions, a grand drama of love and destruction played out beneath a bare light bulb with plaster from the walls sifting down. It was just so naked, so flat-out ("her sister and I in a screaming battle-ground"), so near-violent, with poor Suze (though we didn't know it was Suze) cowering in the shadows.
Her mother and sister were the villains of the piece, the ones who ruined everything and finally sundered their romance. They seemed to come straight out of a bad fairy tale, with Suze an innocent Cinderella-figure in the thrall of this heartless wickedness. The ending, with Dylan blinded with tears and running into the night, was heartbreaking, but also completely unlike the folk hipster we knew and loved. So vulnerable, so devastated! To have lost "the could-be dream lover of my lifetime" due to other people's narrowness and cruelty.
And the denouement, with Dylan lying on the bed in a dark room with tree branches knocking on the window and rain coming in. "Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?" More than vivid, this song grabs you by the guts and pulls you right in. I don't know why so many people don't like it. I believe Dylan, a man of conscience who is truly remorseful when he hurts anyone, regrets demonizing Suze's family this way, when surely, his own behaviour was what triggered the split.
But I wouldn't figure that out until much later, when I read several Dylan biographies and put the pieces of his life together I still weaken and read another one every now and then, though most of them are pretty terrible. The only one I really like is Down the Highway by Howard Sounes, the most vilified and hated of all Dylan biographies because it contains some highly personal details which seem to sully the great master's reputation.
My brother's denouement is much sadder. Arthur lived on the streets of Toronto for several years, coping with severe mental illness before dying in a fire in 1980. I wasn't able to listen to Dylan for ten years, until caving in and buying Desire ("Your pleasure knows no limits, your voice is like a meadowlark/But your heart is like an ocean, mysterious and dark"). I was back on again.
Then came another long dry period, and realizing YouTube wasn't gonna post any Dylan - you had to try to find bootlegs by someone called Elston Gunn. This changed a few years ago, and we hit the jackpot with his entire life's work right there in front of us, for free. And like everyone else, I felt like Rough and Rowdy Ways was what enabled me to survive the pandemic. I'd sit there very late at night and listen to it and listen to it and cry my guts out.
Best of all, he is as faithful to his genius now as when he escaped middle America and sought his fortune in the Village. When you go on the official Dylan YouTube channel now, his tour itinerary appears in the description, where and when, and how to get tickets. To quote one of his own songs, Minstrel Boy: he's still on that road.
