Tillykke til Bob Dylan for Nobelprisen

I denne tid - som er en trøstesløs gentagelse af tidligere tider - fik Bob Dylan så Nobelprisen.

WHY :
BECAUSE:




Desolation Row
Bob Dylan


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'd 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 fortune telling 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

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
Now he looked so immaculately frightful as he bummed a cigarette
And he when 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 the 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 are spoon feeding 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 outta 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

Praise 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 doorknob 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, don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row


Sangskrivere: Bob Dylan

Ide: Tyvstjålet fra DR
http://www.dr.dk/nyheder/kultur/anbefalinger/5-grunde-til-dylan-har-faaet-nobelprisen-og-du-skal-lytte-med

men ellers ikke. Jeg er således ude af stand til at have en mening.

BOB DYLAN LYRICS
"Highlands"

Well, my heart's in the highlands, gentle and fair
Honey suckle bloomin' in the wildwood air
Bluebells blazin' where the Aberdeen waters flow
Well, my heart's in the highlands, I'm gonna go there when
I feel good enough to go.

Windows were shakin' all night in my dreams
Everything was exactly the way that it seems
Woke up this mornin' and I looked at the same old page
Same old rat race, life in the same old cage.

I don't want nothin' from anyone, ain't that much to take
Wouldn't know the difference between a real blonde and a fake
Feel like a prisoner in a world of mystery
I wish someone would come and push back the clock for me.

Well, my heart's in the highlands, wherever I roam
That's where I'll be when I get called home
The wind it whispers to the buck-eyed trees of rhyme
Well, my heart's in the highlands, I can only get there one step at a time.

I'm listening to Neil Young, I gotta turn up the sound
Someone's always yellin', "Turn him down"
Feel like I'm driftin', driftin' from scene to scene
I'm wondering what in the devil could it all possibly mean.

Insanity is smashin' up against my soul
You could say I was on anything but a roll
If I had a conscience, well I just might blow my top
What would I do with it anyway, maybe take it to the pawn shop.

My heart's in the highlands at the break of dawn
By the beautiful lake of the black swan
Big white clouds like chariots that swing down low
Well, my heart's in the highlands, only place left to go.

I'm in Boston town, in some restaurant
I got no idea what I want
Or maybe I do but, I'm just really not sure
Waitress comes over, nobody in the place but me and her.

Well, it must be a holiday, there's nobody around
She studies me closely as I sit down
She got a pretty face, with long white shiny legs
I said, "Tell me what I want," she say, "You probably want hard boiled eggs."

I say, "That's right, bring me some."
She says, "We ain't got any, you picked the wrong time to come."
Then she says, "I know you're an artist, draw a picture of me."
I said, "I would if I could but I don't do sketches from memory."

Well, she then, she says, "I'm right here in front of you, or
haven't you looked?"
I say, "All right, I know but I don't have my drawing book."
She gives me a napkin, she say, "You can do it on that."
I say, "Yes I could but I don't know where my pencil is at."

She pulls one out from behind her ear
She says, "All right now go ahead, draw me, I'm stayin' right here."
I make a few lines and I show it for her to see
Well, she takes her napkin and throws it back and says, "That
don't look a thing like me."

I said, "Oh, kind Miss, it most certainly does."
She say, "You must be jokin'," I say, "I wish I was."
Then she says, "You don't read women authors do ya?" at least
that's what I think I hear her say
Well, I said, "How would you know and what would it matter anyway?"

Well she says, "You just don't seem like you do." I said,
"You're way wrong."
She says "Which ones have you read then?" I say, "I've read
Erica Jong."
She goes away for a minute and I slide out, out of my chair
I step outside back to the busy street but nobody is goin' anywhere.

Well, my heart's in the highlands with the horses and hounds
Way up in the border country far from the towns
With the twang of the arrow and the snap of the bow
My heart's in the highlands, I can't see any other way to go.

Every day is the same thing, out the door
Feel further away than ever before
Some things in life it just gets too late to learn
Well, I'm lost somewhere, I must have made a few bad turns.

I see people in the park forgettin' their troubles and woes
They're drinkin' and dancin', wearin' bright colored clothes
All the young men, with the young women lookin' so good
Well, I'd trade places with any of 'em in a minute, if I could.

I'm crossing the street to get away from a mangy dog
Talkin' to myself in a monologue
I think what I need might be a full length leather coat
Somebody just asked me if I've registered to vote.

The sun is beginnin' to shine on me
But it's not like the sun that used to be
The party's over and there's less and less to say
I got new eyes, everything looks far away.

Well, my heart's in the highlands at the break of day
Over the hills and far away
There's a way to get there and I'll figure it out somehow
Well, I'm already there in my mind, and that's good enough for now.

Han mangler en spin-doctor til at fortælle ham, hvad han skal sige til nysgerrige, krævende mennesker f.eks. :

You see "Mr. Jones" . Jeg er en impressionistisk kunstner. Jeg absorberer indtryk - og evner at transformere billedet til musik og tekst. Det vækker tilsyneladende en genklang hos mine fans - eller gad de jo ikke høre på mig. Det er så også det eneste jeg kan. Jeg kan ikke lægge puslespillet sammen til et større religiøst eller politisk budskab. - slut
Det vil journalisten kunne skrive en udmærket artikel om , hvis han er klog og vidende nok.

Og til ekspeditricen skal han lære at sige NEJ : JEG HAR FRI. - slut.

Desværre har han ikke lært det endnu , så han afslår sikkert også Nobel prisen.

hihihihi.    
Jeg tror han har reddet sig selv ud af den suppedas. http://bobdylan.com/

Wiggle Wiggle

Written by: Bob Dylan

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a gypsy queen
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle all dressed in green
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle ’til the moon is blue
Wiggle ’til the moon sees you

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle in your boots and shoes
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, you got nothing to lose
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a swarm of bees
Wiggle on your hands and knees

Wiggle to the front, wiggle to the rear
Wiggle ’til you wiggle right out of here
Wiggle ’til it opens, wiggle ’til it shuts
Wiggle ’til it bites, wiggle ’til it cuts

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a bowl of soup
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a rolling hoop
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a ton of lead
Wiggle—you can raise the dead

Wiggle ’til you’re high, wiggle ’til you’re higher
Wiggle ’til you vomit fire
Wiggle ’til it whispers, wiggle ’til it hums
Wiggle ’til it answers, wiggle ’til it comes

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like satin and silk
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a pail of milk
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, rattle and shake
Wiggle like a big fat snake

http://bobdylan.com/songs/wiggle-wiggle/

Så kan de jo selv tolke svaret. Det er squ svært at sige nej tak på en pæn måde - uden at fornærme folk og alt hvad de står for.

JEg kommer til at tænke på "Den gamle mand og havet"
Hemmingway eftertragtede  Nobel prisen.
Dylan kæmper at blive fri for den.

doctor skrev:hihihihi.    
Jeg tror han har reddet sig selv ud af den suppedas. http://bobdylan.com/

Wiggle Wiggle

Written by: Bob Dylan

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a gypsy queen
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle all dressed in green
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle ’til the moon is blue
Wiggle ’til the moon sees you

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle in your boots and shoes
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, you got nothing to lose
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a swarm of bees
Wiggle on your hands and knees

Wiggle to the front, wiggle to the rear
Wiggle ’til you wiggle right out of here
Wiggle ’til it opens, wiggle ’til it shuts
Wiggle ’til it bites, wiggle ’til it cuts

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a bowl of soup
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a rolling hoop
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a ton of lead
Wiggle—you can raise the dead

Wiggle ’til you’re high, wiggle ’til you’re higher
Wiggle ’til you vomit fire
Wiggle ’til it whispers, wiggle ’til it hums
Wiggle ’til it answers, wiggle ’til it comes

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like satin and silk
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a pail of milk
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, rattle and shake
Wiggle like a big fat snake

http://bobdylan.com/songs/wiggle-wiggle/

Så kan de jo selv tolke svaret. Det er squ svært at sige nej tak på en pæn måde - uden at fornærme folk og alt hvad de står for.

JEg kommer til at tænke på "Den gamle mand og havet"
Hemmingway eftertragtede  Nobel prisen.
Dylan kæmper at blive fri for den.

Han nægtede at modtage Fields-medaljen. Svarer til matematikkens Nobelpris.

Hans begrundelse var, at komiteen overhovedet ikke var i stand til at vurdere hans indsats og han som sådan ikke ville modtage prisen på så ukvalificeret et grundlag.

Han kunne ikke være mere ligeglad med, hvad de hundehoveder mente. Ikke, at jeg forstår, hvad han skriver - og at det er på russisk er såmænd det mindste problem.
Man skal lade være med at kalde proportionssans for arrogance!

Ja det er nok lige netop det der er problemet.

Nå da du ikke kender Bob Dylan så kommer her een af tidligste folk-songs. (hvis man overhovedet kan kalde det det)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ol_W8hyHaE

North Country Blues
Bob Dylan
Come gather 'round friends and I'll tell you a tale
Of when the red iron pits ran a-plenty
But the cardboard-filled windows and old men on the benches
Tell you now that the whole town is empty
In the north end of town my own children are grown
But I was raised on the other
In the wee hours of youth my mother took sick
And I was brought up by my brother
The iron ore poured as the years passed the door
The drag lines an' the shovels they was a-humming
'Till one day my brother failed to come home
The same as my father before him
Well, a long winter's wait from the window I watched
My friends they couldn't have been kinder
And my schooling was cut as I quit in the spring
To marry John Thomas, a miner
Oh, the years passed again, and the giving was good
With the lunch bucket filled every season
What with three babies born, the work was cut down
To a half a day's shift with no reason
Then the shaft was soon shut, and more work was cut
And the fire in the air, it felt frozen
'Till a man come to speak, and he said in one week
That number eleven was closing
They complained in the East, they are paying too high
They say that your ore ain't worth digging
That it's much cheaper down in the South American towns
Where the miners work almost for nothing
So the mining gates locked, and the red iron rotted
And the room smelled heavy from drinking
Where the sad, silent song made the hour twice as long
As I waited for the sun to go sinking
I lived by the window as he talked to himself
This silence of tongues it was building
'Till one morning's wake, the bed it was bare
And I was left alone with three children
The summer is gone, the ground's turning cold
The stores one by one they're all folding
My children will go as soon as they grow
Well, there ain't nothing here now to hold them
Sangskrivere: Bob Dylan
North Country Blues sangtekster © Bob Dylan Music Co.