Black rider, black rider, you've been living too hard Been up all night, have to stay on your guard The path that you're walking, too narrow to walk Every step of the way, another stumbling block The road that you're on, same road that you know Just not the same as it was a minute ago
Black rider, black rider, you've seen it all You've seen the great world and you've seen the small You fell into the fire and you're eating the flame Better seal up your lips if you wanna stay in the game Be reasonable, mister, be honest, be fair Let all of your earthly thoughts be a prayer
Black rider, black rider, all dressed in black I'm walking away, you try to make me look back My heart is at rest, I'd like to keep it that way I don't wanna fight, at least not today Go home to your wife, stop visiting mine One of these days, I'll forget to be kind
Black rider, black rider, tell me when, tell me how If there ever was a time, then let it be now Let me go through, open the door My soul is distressed, my mind is at war Don't hug me, don't flatter me, don't turn on the charm I'll take a sword and hack off your arm
Black rider, black rider, hold it right there The size of your cock will get you nowhere I'll suffer in silence, I'll not make a sound Maybe I'll take the high moral ground Some enchanted evening, I'll sing you a song Black rider, black rider, you've been on the job too long
I remember stumbling across this oddity years ago, and have just rediscovered it. It's an animated version of an interview he did at age 20, around the time portrayed in the much-hyped biopic. It's actually very well done, except that Bob doesn't quite look like that. But he looks a whole lot of different ways. I want to do something with this, but I'm not sure what.
And as a sort of postscript to my non-review of the Dylan biopic, yes, I've been struggling, and no, no one is listening, just like those whisperers in Dylan's song drowned out by a chorus of howls. On New Years Eve, I will be having the most festive CT scan of my life, and a few days after that I have to have a sort of bullseye painted on my belly so they can tell where my colon leaves off and the rest of me begins. (Actually, it's in case they have to remove the whole thing.) They will draw my blood and analyze it, and they will listen to my heart with its odd skipping rhythm. Then on Ukrainian Christmas, I will go under the knife, or whatever it is they use these days.
I had to tell myself today, really just tell myself, look, you're not gonna die. This won't kill you, it will merely test you. Maybe more severely than I have ever been tested, in spite of near-fatal alcoholism and one mental breakdown after another over a lifetime. I actually got into such a deep slump spiritually that I was sure no one would care or even notice that I had died, that I had no legacy, that all I had done for my loved ones was for naught and they would just carry on as if I had never existed.
I couldn't go on that way, so as usual I needed some Dylan to boost me up, or at least get me walking again, in some direction. Any direction. Not sure what happened, but I have gained purchase a bit, and no longer am quite so sure I'll die on the table and that will be that, the end of everything.
It's weird how cliched things actually do happen, such as your life passing before your eyes, and all sorts of odd memories are popping up and replaying themselves, not all of them very good or bad, just neutral things. But the playlist of Dylan songs I am quite literally compiling for my memorial service (if I even have one) is not so neutral. I have taken this dress rehearsal for my own death as an alarming sign, and this has caused me to plunge around mentally like a deer in a forest fire, not knowing which way to run.
There is always something apocalyptic about Bob's most comforting songs. "Death is Not the End" is a nice little spiritual, with a women's chorus singing "Lawd, Lawd", but one verse proclaims: "When the cities are on fire with the burning flesh of men
Just remember that death is not the end."
Or should I listen to "My Own Version of You"? "All through the summers, into January
I've been visiting morgues and monasteries
Looking for the necessary body parts
Limbs and livers and brains and hearts."
Good old Bob! Aren't you pleased with the way he has mellowed? But perhaps this song is appropriate for someone whose literal guts are about to be compromised. Is that why I feel so violated? Or whatever this is. It's a good thing no one reads this, or so I tell myself, because it's about the least-festive thing you can read at this time of year.
But it's been a weird Christmas, a weird end-of-year, and I keep trying to focus on walking the dock at Burnaby Lake, blackbirds eating out of my hand, wild geese exploding in formation right over my head at Blakeburn Lagoon, all the simple, blazingly lifeward things that feed me and keep me whole, if that's the right word. I won't be whole after this, in fact I will be literally gutted, but will it matter, is it like having your tonsils out, I wonder? Can I do without that part of me? I guess we'll see, but until then, keeping the lights turned on in my mind is the biggest task I have ever had to face.
My Own Version of You
All through the summers into January
I’ve been visiting morgues and monasteries
Looking for the necessary body parts
Limbs and livers and brains and hearts
I want to bring someone to life - is what I want to do
I want to create my own version of you
It must be the winter of my discontent
I wish you’d taken me with you wherever you went
They talk all night - they talk all day
Not for a second do I believe what they say
I want to bring someone to life - someone I’ve never seen
You know what I mean - you know exactly what I mean
I’ll take the Scarface Pacino and the Godfather Brando
Mix ‘em up in a tank and get a robot commando
If I do it up right and put the head on straight
I’ll be saved by the creature that I create
I get blood from a cactus - gunpowder from ice
I don’t gamble with cards and I don’t shoot no dice
Can you look in my face with your sightless eye
Can you cross your heart and hope to die
I’ll bring someone to life - someone for real
Someone who feels the way that I feel
I study Sanskrit and Arabic to improve my mind
I want to do things for the benefit of all mankind
I say to the willow tree - don’t weep for me
I’m saying the hell with all things that used to be
I get into trouble and I hit the wall
No place to turn - no place at all
I pick a number between one and two
And I ask myself what would Julius Caesar do
I’ll bring someone to life - in more ways than one
Don’t matter how long it takes - it’ll be done when it’s done
I’m gonna make you play the piano like Leon Russell
Like Liberace - like St. John the Apostle
Play every number that I can play
I’ll see you baby on Judgement Day
After midnight if you still want to meet
I’ll be at the Black Horse Tavern on Armageddon Street
Two doors down, not that far to walk
I’ll hear your footsteps - you won’t have to knock
I’ll bring someone to life - balance the scales
I’m not gonna get involved in any insignificant details
You can bring it to St. Peter - you can bring it to Jerome
You can move it on over - bring it all the way home
Bring it to the corner where the children play
You can bring it to me on a silver tray
I’ll bring someone to life - spare no expense
Do it with decency and common sense
Can you tell me what it means to be or not to be
You won’t get away with fooling me
Can you help me walk that moonlight mile
Can you give me the blessings of your smile
I want to bring someone to life - use all my powers
Do it in the dark in the wee small hours
I can see the history of the whole human race
It’s all right there - its carved into your face
Should I break it all down - should I fall on my knees
Is there light at the end of the tunnel - can you tell me please
Stand over there by the Cypress tree
Where the Trojan women and children were sold into slavery
Long ago before the First Crusade
Way back before England or America were made
Step right into the burning hell
Where some of the best known enemies of mankind dwell
Mister Freud with his dreams and Mister Marx with his axe
See the rawhide lash rip the skin off their backs
You got the right spirit - you can feel it you can hear it
You got what they call the immortal spirit
You can feel it all night you can feel it in the morn
Creeps into your body the day you are born
One strike of lightning is all that I need
And a blast of ‘lectricity that runs at top speed
Show me your ribs - I’ll stick in the knife
I’m gonna jump start my creation to life
I want to bring someone to life - turn back the years
Do it with laughter - do it with tears
I don't plan on seeing the too-much-hyped Bob Dylan biopic, not because I don't appreciate Dylan, but because I do - he has been my touchstone and my inspiration for more than 50 years. And I've read at least a dozen Dylan bios, all highlighting different facets of this modern-day Picasso of music.
I watched a couple of the movie trailers, and to me this actor appears to be doing a parody or imitation of Dylan, the way a standup comic would do an impersonation of a famous actor. I guess you could enjoy it more if you were less emotionally-involved with the subject and the time period. My older brothers played guitar and sang during the folk boom of the '60s, so that particular time period really resonates with me. But I'd rather hear my brothers sing those dearly-familiar Dylan songs.
The first time I ever heard one, and I had no idea who actually wrote it, was when I was ten years old and my brother Walt sang "A Hard Rain's A-gonna Fall". Even though I was only a kid, those hypnotic lyrics and the way the song built and built to such a tremendous climax is forever recorded in my brain. It had echoes of the ancient call-and-response ballad, Lord Randall, but at the same time it was completely original and fire-new. The fact that he sang it on the back porch of our cottage on Lake of Bays, with the loons crying and the waves lapping, made it even more memorable.
And how I miss hearing my brother Arthur, who died a couple of months after John Lennon, sing "When the Ship Comes In". It went straight to my heart. But then, other singers and artists always knew the value of his songs and were eager to sing and record them. The songs are accessible in a way Dylan isn't. Wasn't then and isn't now, and that is what makes him so compelling.
The hype around the movie (and oh, how sick I am of hearing people insist "you'll love it!"), which is inspiring so many drooling accolades that I am immediately suspicious of it, has sent me right back to the source, including this amazing, gut-wrenching live performance of "Hard Rain", infinitely more passionate and raw than the studio version. Recorded in 1963, which is right around the time I heard Walt sing it. It's a kind of impassioned howl, halfway between lonesome mountain-man and a moon-crazed coyote.
I live on a street named
after a Saint
Women in the churches wear powder and paint
Where the Jews and the Catholics and the Muslims all pray
I can tell a Proddie from a mile away
Goodbye Jimmy Reed - Jimmy Reed indeed
Give me that old time religion, it’s just what I need
For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory
Go tell it on the mountain, go tell the real story
Tell it in that straightforward puritanical tone
In the mystic hours when a person’s alone
Goodbye Jimmy Reed - Godspeed
Thump on the Bible and proclaim a creed
You won’t amount to much, the people all said
‘Cause I didn’t play guitar behind my head
Never pandered, never acted proud
Never took off my shoes and threw them into the crowd
Goodbye Jimmy Reed - goodbye and goodnight
Put a jewel in your crown and I’ll put out the light
They threw everything at me, everything in the book
Had nothing to fight with but a butcher’s hook
They have no pity - they don’t lend a hand
I can’t sing a song that I don’t understand
Goodbye Jimmy Reed - goodbye and good luck
I can’t play the record ‘cause my needle got stuck
Transparent woman in a transparent dress
Suits you well - I must confess
I’ll break open your grapes, I’ll suck out the juice
I need you like my head needs a noose
Goodbye Jimmy Reed, goodbye and so long
I thought I could resist her but I was so wrong
God be with you, brother dear
If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you here?
Oh, nothing much, I’m just looking for the man
I came to see where he’s lying in this lost land
Goodbye Jimmy Reed and everything within ya
Can’t you hear me calling from down in Virginia
I keep seeing bits and pieces of Dylan's Never-Ending Tour 2024, which just wound up LAST MONTH. This is why no one can keep up with Dylan - no music critic, no biographer, no song-ographer or whatever it's called. The "complete Dylan lyrics" book ended in 2012, which is simply laughable since all his best work was still ahead of him.
I have this germ of an idea which I may not have the energy to pursue - something that allows me to put my feelings about Dylan on paper where I can see them, but I don't want some hackneyed form. I've even thought of an imaginary conversation or a Q & A (though NOT an interview), and God knows I've been talking to Dylan since I hit puberty at least. Though I was aware of him long before that. Hard Rain did it, and I was never the same after that.
So, breaking it wide open, what form might it take? If I do pursue it, if I have the energy, it will have to take shape or form on its own and not be burdensome or something I HAVE to work on. And imaginary conversations have gotten me into deep waters before, particularly if someone else sees them. Anyway, in those YouTube snippets. Dylan is sitting down behind the piano for the whole thing, unable to stand no doubt, and it's even hard to see him. But he has always been that way. You have to come to him, and the weird thing is, people do. They still do. He looks incredibly old and grizzled, and one wonders what it would be like to actually talk to him, whether he'd magically "get" me as so few people have (and most of those people are dead by now). Probably not, would not even want to talk to someone outside his tight little circle. He's not friendly particularly, but why should he be?
One does wonder why he can't seem to retire or even to slow down, but so long as the songs keep coming, he likely won't. "The songs know me, and they know that I can sing them" is the most enigmatic statement I have ever seen on songwriting, or anything else. They do just come to him, like Mozart taking dictation, like Gershwin spewing out bright balloons while playing piano at a party, and only capturing one or two of them and writing them down. But those geniuses didn't live past their 30s, so they had to write fast. It was always assumed Dylan would flame out early, and had he not had that bogus "motorcycle accident", he likely WOULD have died at 27, like most of them did.
So for the curious, here is how he looks and sounds more-or-less now (2022).
Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The hand made 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
Made 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
And though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you gotta dodge
And It's Alright Ma, I can make it
Advertising signs that con
You into thinking your 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 yougot 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 ensure 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 destinys
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 thay 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
Obscentity, 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's probably put my head in a guillotine
But It's Alright Ma, it's life and life only
A brush with greatness! I am sure this impromptu autograph was pre-planned, but that's OK. Since Dylan barely gives any interviews, this is like having glimpses of a rare bird (or maybe Bigfoot?). The show is totally lame, so this is a one-minute clip, just the good part.
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
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 Sideof Bob Dylan album, having failed to bond with his first (though the next one, TheFreewheeling Bob Dylan, was getting closer).
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.
Everything went from bad to worse, money never changed a thing Death kept followin', trackin' us down, at least I heard your bluebird sing Now somebody's got to show their hand, time is an enemy I know you're long gone I guess it must be up to me
If I'd thought about it I never would've done it, I guess I would've let it slide If I'd pay attention to what others were thinkin', the heart inside me would've died Well, I was just too stubborn to ever be governed by enforced insanity Someone had to reach for the risin' star I guess it was up to me
Oh, the Union Central is pullin' out, the orchids are in bloom I've only got me one good shirt left and it smells of stale perfume In 14 months I've only smiled once and I didn't do it consciously Somebody's got to find your trail I guess it must be up to me
It was like a revelation when you betrayed me with your touch I'd just about convinced myself, nothin' had changed that much The old Rounder in the iron mask, he slipped me the master key Somebody had to unlock your heart He said it was up to me
Now, I watched you slowly disappear down into the officer's club I would've followed you in the door but I didn't have a ticket stub So I waited all night 'til the break of day, hopin' one of us could get free Ho, when the dawn came over the river bridge I knew it was up to me
The only decent thing I did when I worked as a postal clerk Was to haul your picture down off the wall near the cage where I used to work Was I a fool or not to protect your real identity? You looked a little burned out, my friend I thought it might be up to me
I met somebody face to face, I had to remove my hat She's everything I need and love but I can't be swayed by that It frightens me, the awful truth of how sweet life can be But she ain't gonna make a move I guess it must be up to me
Now, we heard the Sermon on the Mount and I knew it was too complex It didn't amount to anything more than what the broken glass reflects When you bite off more than you can chew, you got to pay the penalty Somebody's got to tell the tale I guess it must be up to me
Dupree came in pimpin' tonight to the Thunderbird Cafe Crystal wanted to talk to him, I had to look the other way Now, I just can't rest without you, love, I need your company But you ain't a-gonna cross the line I guess it must be up to me
There's a note left in the bottle, you can give it to Estelle She's the one you been wonderin' about, but there's really nothin' much to tell We both heard voices for a while, now the rest is history Somebody's got to cry some tears I guess it must be up to me
So go on, boys, and play your hands, life is a pantomime The ringleaders from the county seat say you don't have all that much time And the girl with me behind the shades, she ain't my property One of us has got to hit the road I guess it must be up to me
If we never meet again, baby, remember me How my lone guitar played sweet for you that old-time melody And the harmonica around my neck, I blew it for you, free No one else could play that tune You know it was up to me
Who struggled
with pain so the world could go free
Mother of
Muses, sing for me.
Sing of
Sherman, Montgomery and Scott
And of Zhukov, and
Patton, and the battles they fought
Who cleared
the path for Presley to sing
Who carved the
path for Martin Luther King
Who did what
they did and they went on their way
Man I could
tell their stories all day
I’m falling in
love with Calliope
She don’t
belong to anyone, why not give her to me
She’s speakin’
to me, speakin’ with her eyes
I’ve grown so
tired of chasing lies
Mother of
Muses, wherever you are
I’ve already
outlived my life by far.
Mother of
Muses, unleash your wrath
Things I can’t
see, they’re blocking my path
Show my your
wisdom, tell me my fate
Put me
upright, make me walk straight
Forge my
identity from the inside out
You know what
I’m talking’ about.
Take me to the
river, release your charms
Let me lay
down a while in your sweet lovin’ arms
Wake me shake
me, free me from sin
Make me
invisible, like the wind
Got a mind to
ramble, got a mind to roam
I’m travellin’
light, and I’m slow comin’ home
In Greek mythology, Mnemosyne is the goddess of memory, and the mother of the nine Muses. The term Mnemosyne is derived from the same source as the word mnemonic, that being the Greek word mnēmē, which means "remembrance, memory". A titaness, Mnemosyne was the daughter of Uranus and Gaia. Mnemosyne was the mother of the nine Muses, fathered by her nephew, Zeus:
BLOGGER'S COMMENTARY. I have fallen in love, not with Calliope, but with Bob Dylan, all over again. Only now he's an 80-year-old phenomenon once more in the thick of a year-long world tour, a task which would be daunting to a man half that age. Yes, and that tour likely features mostly new material, including songs we have not even heard yet. Through the wonders of YouTube, we are now able to hear and even SEE him perform only a day or so after the show. Entire performances are popping up that only took place last week.
Mother of Muses is one of my favorite songs on Rough and Rowdy Ways (released last year, and considered by many to be the finest album he has ever produced). It's both tender and haunting, with an undertone of flinty defiance as he rhymes off the names of the heroes he so admires. (Only Dylan could mention Elvis Presley and Martin Luther King in almost the same breath, and still make it work.) Initially, this post was going to be "the divine feminine in Rough and Rowdy Ways", but there were so many references to women, divine in one way or another (like the "transparent woman in a transparent dress"), that I had to cut it down and focus on one song which seemed like the concentrated essence of all the others.
Yes, Mother of Muses is a lovely and poetic title for a sighingly beautiful song - but until I did a little bit of digging, I had no idea what it really meant. My Greek mythology is rusty, but Dylan's isn't. His knowledge of mythology, literature, and (most especially) the Bible is legendary. Not only that - his knowledge has both tremendous breadth and spooky, mysterious depth. In fact, I believe Bob Dylan is one of the greatest minds of our time. Who else has won the Nobel Prize for writing what is so erroneously labelled as "popular music"?
So what I found, and maybe it should not have astonished me as much as it did, is that there WAS an actual "mother of Muses" named Mnemosyne. I had heard the name before, of course, and the term "mnemonic" as a device for remembering things. But Mnemosyne is not only the mother of memory, but the mother of NINE muses, the first one being Calliope (the one Bob Dylan is falling in love with), who is responsible for EPIC POETRY.
Which is why this song completely knocks me over.
It's perhaps no mistake that in calling on his "muse", Dylan chooses the "mother of all Muses", one who has the power to transform and redeem. She is not unlike the female face of Jesus. This verse especially spells out the extent of her power:
Mother of Muses, unleash your wrath
Things I can’t see, they’re blocking my path
Show my your wisdom, tell me my fate
Put me upright, make me walk straight
Forge my identity from the inside out
You know what I’m talking’ about.
The line "put me upright, make me walk straight" has made me weep more than once. Dylan is 80 years old, looks as old as time, and seems small, slight and frail. I know very well from my own deteriorating body about the ravages of age and the slipping away of mobility. This line describes a power which can literally lift him up bodily and set him down on a purposeful path, guiding each step along the way.
But the spookiest line of all in this richly-laden poem is, "Forge my identity from the inside out/You know what I'm talkin' about." No, we don't, Bob - we are gasping in awe at the way in which an ancient Greek goddess can become your own mother, with the relationship close enough that she seems to have literally given birth to you. I've worked my way through many a Dylan biography, and the one I am reading now (a 1,000-page tome by a Scottish writer named Ian Bell) focuses mainly on the fact that Dylan's identity as an artist is in a constant state of flux, as if he doesn't really have one. I hope he is listening to this song right now.
Just think of it: those "women of the chorus", the nine Muses who call Mnemosyne their mother, are almost literally Dylan's backup singers. But this primal mother-figure also has a son, and as we trudge through the travesty of a season originally meant to honor the Son of Man, I am immensely grateful that our greatest living poet has found yet another way to be born again.
POST-POST-OBSERVATIONS. You knew there had to be more! I noticed that in the Wikipedia entry, Mnemosyne was called a "titaness", which is a half-assed way of saying she was a bloody TITAN (why not just come out and say it?). This means, among other things, that she really kicks ass, with considerable mythological clout behind her motherly legend. I knew nothing of titans, and found way too much when I looked it up, but here is the gist of it for those who are interested:In Greek mythology, the Titans were the pre-Olympian gods. They were the twelve children of the primordial parents Uranus (Sky) and Gaia (Earth), with six male Titans: Oceanus, Coeus, Crius, Hyperion, Iapetus, and Cronus, and six female Titans, called the Titanides or Titanesses: Theia, Rhea, Themis, Mnemosyne,Phoebe, and Tethys. Cronus mated with his older sister Rhea and together they became the parents of the first generation of Olympians – the six siblings Zeus, Hades, Poseidon, Hestia, Demeter, and Hera. Some descendants of the Titans, such as Prometheus, Helios, and Leto, are sometimes also called Titans.
So if we got the whole clan together for Christmas, we'd need more than one turkey.
I didn’t really have to grapple much. It’s the kind of thing
where you pile up stream-of-consciousness verses and then leave it alone and
come pull things out. In that particular song, the last few verses came first.
So that’s where the song was going all along. Obviously, the catalyst for the
song is the title line. It’s one of those where you write it on instinct. Kind
of in a trance state. Most of my recent songs are like that. The lyrics are the
real thing, tangible, they’re not metaphors. The songs seem to know themselves
and they know that I can sing them, vocally and rhythmically. They kind of
write themselves and count on me to sing them.
I didn't mean To treat you so bad You shouldn't take it so personal I didn't mean To make you so sad You just happened to be there, that's all
When I saw you say "goodbye" to your friend and smile I thought that it was well understood That you'd be comin' back in a little while
I didn't know that you were sayin' "goodbye" for good
But, sooner or later, one of us must know That you just did what you're supposed to do Sooner or later, one of us must know That I really did try to get close to you
I couldn't see What you could show me Your scarf had kept your mouth well hid I couldn't see How you could know me But you said you knew me and I believed you did
When you whispered in my ear And asked me if I was leavin' with you or her I didn't realize just what I did hear I didn't realize how young you were
But, sooner or later, one of us must know That you're just doin' what you're supposed to do Sooner or later, one of us must know That I really did try to get close to you
I couldn't see When it started snowin' Your voice was all that I heard I couldn't see Where we were goin' But you said you knew an' I took your word
And then you told me later, as I apologized That you were just kiddin' me, you weren't really from the farm An' I told you, as you clawed out my eyes that I Never really meant to do you any harm
But, sooner or later, one of us must know That you just did what you're supposed to do Sooner or later, one of us must know That I really did try to get close to you
This song appears on Dylan's second-to-best album, Blonde on Blonde (1966), the best (of course!) being Rough and Rowdy Ways, which he released only last year. My analysis of this song, line-by-line, attempts to prove my thesis: though never recognized as such, it is a shockingly detailed, almost literal re-telling of his stormy, complicated and often sado-masochistic relationship with Joan Baez.
I didn't mean To treat you so bad You shouldn't take it so personal
The song starts off with this heartless and cynically dismissive assertion. In essence, he's saying to Joan, "Hey, I demolished you emotionally, but stop being so touchy about it. It didn't mean anything to me."
I didn't mean To make you so sad You just happened to be there, that's all
That glimmer of compassion ("I didn't mean to make you so sad") is then negated, if not stomped into the ground, by the cruelly casual "you just happened to be there, that's all". This is beyond dismissive - it borders on contempt, as if a figure as crucial to his career as Baez was just a bystander or a piece of furniture in his path (if not in his way).
When I saw you say "goodbye" to your friend and smile I thought that it was well understood That you'd be comin' back in a little while
I didn't know that you were sayin' "goodbye" for good
Now, this MAY be related to a scene from the infamous 1966 documentary Dont Look Back (apostrophe omitted on purpose, for reasons unknown). Cameras followed Dylan around on his London tour, and though the concert performances are outstanding, the really fascinating part takes place in Dylan's hotel room, filled with hangers-on (including a then-unknown Donovan, soon to eclipse Dylan on the hit parade) and media people hanging about like vultures. But one of these hangers-on was Baez, who came along with Dylan on tour (inviting herself, I believe) as a tag-along. Though Baez generously gave Bob's fledgling career a boost in 1961 by bringing him up onstage with her (when he was "a complete unknown" - sorry!), Dylan even more famously did NOT return the favor. It's as if she wasn't even considered. Was she asking too much, or did she have a hidden agenda all along, boosting her OWN career by giving the meteoric "unwashed phenomenon" a leg-up which he didn't actually need?
In any case, the dynamics here are tangled and complex. The thwarted Joan was left strumming a stray guitar in the hotel room and singing in an ear-splitting voice that is really meant to be heard from a distance. I don't remember the song, but it sure wasn't anything original. She was still singing archaic, traditional folk ballads like Mary Hamilton and Silver Dagger, with Dylan having long passed and surpassed her several years before.
"When I saw you say goodbye to your friend and smile" - that whole verse actually, literally happened. A particularly obnoxious sycophant named Bobby Neuwirth, supposedly Joan's good friend, attacked her verbally on-camera for no reason, claiming she was nothing but a flat-chested has-been (!). Joan tried to laugh it off, but you could see how devastated she was as she slipped out the door to catch the nearest plane home. Goodbye for good. But Dylan attempts to yank the yo-yo string by assuming she'd be "coming back in a little while" - an arrogant assertion if ever there was one.
But, sooner or later, one of us must know That you just did what you're supposed to do Sooner or later, one of us must know That I really did try to get close to you
Again, this is so back-handed! "You just did what you're supposed to do" may be a reference to the way Baez proudly displayed the still-wet-behind-the-ears Dylan on stage during HER concert performances. After singing Masters of War or With God on Our Side, she'd get the audience all stirred up by asking the crowd, "Would you like to meet the young man who wrote that song?", prompting screams of adulation. And "I really did try to get close to you" can be taken at least two ways. It echoes the story of the disgusting sycophant Richard Farina, who, shockingly, married Joan's teenaged sister Mimi just to "get close to" Joan. For career reasons only.
I couldn't see What you could show me Your scarf had kept your mouth well hid I couldn't see How you could know me But you said you knew me and I believed you did
More enigmatic statements, but "your scarf it kept your mouth well hid" may be a shockingly direct detail (in the way Dylan can throw in shockingly direct details, even in the middle of the most surrealistic song). In Dont Look Back, Joan attempts to attract some attention by covering her mouth with a gauzy scarf and doing a sort of seductive harem dance in the hotel room. For no apparent reason, Neuwirth casually, mockingly rips into her. She dances around like Mata Hari, trying desperately to look as if she's just goofing around and having a good time, as Dylan coldly ignores her and Neuwirth gores her in her most vulnerable places. "Look, there's Fang Baez, wearing one of those see-through blouses that you don't even wanna!" Ignoring all this, Dylan is as self-absorbed as always. "But you said you knew me and I believed you did" seems to hint that HE felt (bizarrely) betrayed by HER. Today we'd call that "gaslighting".
When you whispered in my ear And asked me if I was leavin' with you or her I didn't realize just what I did hear I didn't realize how young you were
Oh, now THIS one! This is very direct. At the time of the London tour, Dylan was secretly married to Sara Lownds, a figure who is to this day mysterious because she has never spoken to the media about Dylan or anyone/anything else. Baez knew nothing of her or of his secret marriage, but was to find out in a shocking, hurtful way. She came to his hotel room after hearing a rumor that he was sick, bringing him a shirt she had picked out for him. Sara answered the door, took the shirt, thanked her nicely, and closed the door again. "You or her" is sung with such vitriol that it can only be for real. "I didn't realize just what I did hear/I didn't realize how young you were" is a bit mysterious, since Baez is half a year older. And why is he playing so innocent with that "I didn't realize" business? "How young you were" is a bit of a puzzle, but it's known that Dylan was attracted to the 17-year-old Mimi Baez (then still in high school) before he took up with Joan.
I couldn't see When it started snowin' Your voice was all that I heard I couldn't see Where we were goin' But you said you knew an' I took your word
Am I reaching here? Not by much. In the lyrics of Baez' melancholy anthem to Dylan, Diamonds and Rust, there appear these lines:
Now I see you standing
With brown leaves falling around And snow in your hair Now you're smiling out the window Of that crummy hotel over Washington Square
Our breath comes out white clouds Mingles and hangs in the air Speaking strictly for me
We both could have died then and there
Yes, SNOW. But the snow falling all around them and lighting on his famous nimbus of hair was blinding his view. Can't see in front of me, Joanie, it's SNOWING outside. And "your voice was all that I heard" - well, that's a bit obvious. What else does he care about 'cept what she (meaning her voice) can do for his career? "Couldn't see where we were goin'" might be literal (Dylan is blind as a bat without his glasses, and too vain to wear them in public), but it can also mean where the relationship was going. It was inseparable from the complicated dynamics of their briefly-intertwining careers. It seems to me he (at least initially) liked and admired her, but SHE was madly, passionately in love with him. "But you said you knew an' I took your word" seems to suggest Baez wanted to retain sort of share in Dylan for "discovering" him, and the direction she was taking him in (a sort of creative partnership) wasn't what he wanted at all. He was too proud to receive help from anyone, and by that time he was already more famous than Baez would ever be. So, once again, the line has a flavour of accusation, as if he trusted HER and she somehow betrayed him.
And then you told me later, as I apologized That you were just kiddin' me, you weren't really from the farm An' I told you, as you clawed out my eyes that I Never really meant to do you any harm
This may just be a Dylanesque detail thrown in for drama. Hmmmm, did he really apologize to her, how sincerely, and exactly for what? For shooting down her floating hopes with a poisoned arrow? "Clawed out my eyes" and "never meant to do you any harm" both seem like fiction to me. But years later, in answer to a sappy song Dylan recorded called Oh, Sister (which most felt was a sort of backhanded, even chastising love song for Baez - he wasn't quite through with her yet), Baez wrote a song right back at him, called Oh, Brother! In it she clearly refers to the nasty triangle of Dylan, Baez and Sara Lowndes. But all this came much later. Could Dylan see (even with his blind eyes) "where we were going", after all?
The line about "from the farm" makes no sense to me at all, unless it's a reference to Maggie's Farm. Upon which Dylan ain't going to work no more. Oh, or it could be this - on the same album, there's a line in Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands (known to be a paean to Sara): "They wish you'd accepted the blame for the farm." I can't make this one out either, except her "streetcar visions" may be a reference to A Streetcar Named Desire and Blanche Dubois losing the family plantation, Belle Rive. OK, I know, it's far-fetched, but so is Dylan, sometimes.
But, sooner or later, one of us must know That you just did what you're supposed to do Sooner or later, one of us must know That I really did try to get close to you
Sooner or later, and he doesn't seem to care too much if it IS sooner or later, "one of us" must know (and in Diamonds and Rust, Baez talks about Dylan's talent for "keeping things vague") that she served her purpose - what she was "supposed to do", which is to make him famous. But did he really try to get close to her, and what exactly does that mean? In the Richard Farina sense? Though Dylan's famous, probably fictional "motorcycle accident" in 1966 gave him the massive time-out he needed to survive, ironically, Farina died at the same time in an actual motorcycle accident. Richard Farina, who was married to Joan Baez's 17-year-old sister. Oh, what a tangled web, and how skillfully and ruthlessly Dylan weaves fiction and fact together! But this is one nasty song, and I can't see how to read it any other way.
In subsequent years - MUCH later - Dylan praised Baez to the skies, even rhapsodizing about her in a bizarre 30-minute award acceptance speech in the early 2000s. Too little, too late? Though Baez generously and publicly congratulated Dylan for his 2020 masterpiece, Rough and Rowdy Ways, she has also said she has no desire to meet up with him again. Sooner or later, one of them (meaning HIM) must know just what he did to her, and how wounds that deep and devastating can never heal.
