But who am I doing this.
Why do I feel this need for a long time, which is not a desire, is really a need?
To write about this man. Knowing how easy it would slide down the slippery slope of exaltation.
Knowing that I run the risk of being superficial.
that the topic is thorny. Very.
That is, for me, like putting on a boat and get lost in a big sea, that you do not know the boundaries.
has always fascinated me.
Since I was a kid. Since
grandmother Marille (Marille German for apricot. I had the great privilege of having a grandmother Apricot), now very old and tired, I listened with my cassette recorder with the Philips, with a single mono speaker, and he called Modafil , for some mysterious assonance heard in the head. Modafil! as the famous magazine of home seamstresses.
He is a liar. Introverso.Un an anarchist, indeed certainly an egotist. A misogynist. Crazy. An inconsistent. A careless. A moody
unbearable. Egocentric. An unreliable. A fanatic. A depressed. A loner. A spirited. A possessed.
a creep.
He has eyes that see the milky sap flow in trees. Sprinkle the blood capillaries.
He lifted the heavy lid of stone worn smooth from above the black souls. He feels all the pains of life, not to hear at all.
to him and start all over.
I write this because I have always had a missionary vocation. To help others to open the door. That door that mysteriously
for me has opened up a universe of priceless poetry and literature and music together.
Both concentrated and dense that exceed the specific gravity of mercury.
So dense that attracted me like a black hole attracts matter, eats in total darkness.
Patrick Humphries writes:
"Without Bob Dylan, rock and roll as we know it would not exist.
His music is the source from which smiling all the rivers and tributaries and the currents of modern songs.
Each ebb and flow of popular music in the last four decades can be heard here.
These songs in their time have forever changed the musical horizon. And yet there cast their shadows.
All this from one man.
(...) He gave pop music a whole new vocabulary, brought poetry in rock, irrevocably transformed the music profile, inspiring future generations of musicians.
Its importance as an artist goes beyond his work. Above all it was a catalyst.
Without the influence of Dylan probably would not have gone beyond the Beatles "She Loves You" and the Rolling Stones would have been one of the many cover bands in south London.
As Bruce Springsteen says: "Bob freed our minds like Elvis (Presley) has freed our bodies."
It's not just Springsteen to declare himself a disciple of high-profile Dylan: REM, Sheril Crow, U2, Elvis Costello, David Gray, Sinead O'Connors, Beck, The Clash, Tracy Chapman, Mark Knopfler, among others, testify to his influence in their lives and in their music.
It 'true that Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Tom Waits would have never picked up a guitar without Dylan.
Dylan is the statue of liberty boat that greets each of singers and songwriters who is at sea. Listen
Dylan in concert, till today, still astounding for the intensity of his songs and it is a fact that today, after forty years no one else manages to produce songs of such complexity and depth.
No one can compete with his eloquence and his enthusiasm for words. This is a man intoxicated
by language, drunken encounter power of poetry with music.
Dylan has enriched our language, our music and our culture.
He did so with wit, intelligence, a simple sense of absolute poetic genius. "
Well, yes I know. It 'so much. It seems too much.
But if you feel this vibration that resonates and makes you fall into either or yourself out there, you know what I mean.
This vibration of this item that contains the America, Africa, Northern Europe and all skin colors of the world.
This voice makes me shiver when the "s" to pronounce "z" and cut like a scalpel souls, bodies, thoughts, loves, pains.
A preliminary of this kind, vague, do you have Eric Clapton when he sings ".. and I say yes (yeszz..) you were wonderful tonite".
Dylan was the only songwriter who was nominated for the Nobel prize for literature for the lyrics of a song.
"Visions of Johanna." This is the song.
But that does not have the pretension to explain it. You can dissecting, slicing, looking from a distance with a telescope. O
closely with a microscope. Never reveal it at the bottom.
The license, to users of the great eternal and universal poetry you enjoy the emotions it arouses.
With no further right, no chance of being able to explain, deploy, own.
You can not project the spherical surface of the earth on a map. No, you can not.
Those papers that we see and use, conical projections, Mercator and other types of cards, are the product of artifice.
are adaptations. Compromises.
In fact if you use them for air navigation over long distances you have to keep in mind a parallel and virtual reality: the great circle and rhumb lines. Want angles real? Do you want the real distance? Both no. It is not possible.
The same goes for poetry. Contemplala from a distance, keeping his chin resting on his clasped hands.
not to deploy. Not for the price of doing another thing from what it was.
I read a lot about Dylan.
I also own the Bible. The Dylan's Bible mean. (A gift of love) and 'a huge volume of millecinquecentopagine trechilidipeso. Lyrics 1962-2001.
Incomplete, of course. The songs are almost all.
With all the translations of famous literary experts. There was one that suits me.
I'm okay with any.
I'm not with explanations in many scholarly footnotes, the most imaginative.
must accept the fact that this extraordinary genius is not commensurable. Like any genius.
What is true is that it draws from as low as a corsair looting, plundering as predator, like a murderous gang raid.
In the history, geography, literature, the souls, bodies, in the Gospels, in the miseries of the wretched. In
arrogance and opulence of the hypocrites. In the effort of living.
I was a teenager and listened to "I Want You" on the jukebox in the air of smoky bar on a Saturday night. The juke box with the heavy red rotellona to select the songs, the glass tilted and labels yellowing of the songs written by hand. The couple was
"Mr. Tamburine Man" in the celestial version of the Byrds. What kind of atmosphere, people!
I was being kidnapped by the sounds even without being able to understand a single word of English:
"The guilty undertaker sighs The lonesome organ grinder cries
the silver saxophones say I should refuse you .."
"The guilty undertaker sighs on, the organ grinder crying solitary and the silver saxophones say, I should not take you back with me ... "Dylan had twenty years the voice of a man through and through. In high school he attended in Minnesota, played piano in a school band of adolescents: a teacher said he heard a scream come out of his mouth and savage and inhuman to be "horrified".
this man so loved and was loved back equally. But the two women had lost both the fundamental. and Suzie Sara. They have inspired both, I think, at least a hundred songs. In fact, the pundits speak of a "cycle of Suzie" and a "cycle of Sara." Then dozens of stories that did not, however, have restored the peace he sought.
Suzie Rotolo, Italian-American girl with whom he divided the year in Greenwich Village, but poor in a room that contained the happiness of a great love, Suzie she left for Italy to study. Never came back from Bob. He met an Italian and married him. He still lives in Italy. Botta
lethal.
Sara gave him four children and at one point a kick in the ass, probably deserved.
The peace movements have made a flag, have always tried to get hold of him. That, indeed, has never been close to these movements, and indeed it dissociates.
I distance myself from everything and everyone, man. The businessmen's
prepare the steps of the concerts and he systematically change on stage lights already on, driving me crazy musicians. It breaks the songs and make them unrecognizable to the point that you do not know what you're listening to.
Clear the tracks, ties and every impression, every day.
But I imagine the cheek of soggy bass that Gambetta and his party and vibrates at a frequency of a dragonfly buzz, when it attacks "Thunder on the mountains."
And I hear something that is beyond my imagination and my ability to understand, when his voice intones "Trying to get to heaven."
And this is enough for me. I just guess.
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