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06-Nov-2016
Argument about Bob Dylan has peaked for the first time
in 40 years or so, leaving a lot of people wondering if they're still 'forever young', and
which side of the argument is right.
Dylan's relationship to literature is well known. He took his name from a Welsh poet.
When he sang 'Desolation Row' Dylan was locking into the Beat world of Allen Ginsberg
and Jack Kerouac.
He quotes from a range of writers without fear of accusations of plagiarism. Scripture is
close to hand, but also the cornucopia that is the songbook of American popular music.
He copies Woody Guthrie and parodies Elvis Presley. His debt to the blues and gospel is
apparent, but also to Cole Porter.
The compliment is returned. The literary world has relished and lauded the work of Bob
Dylan from the start, admiring his lyrical fertility and vocal ingenuity. On a good day, his
gift for register and timing is still astounding.
The poet laureate Sir Andrew Motion nominated 'Visions of Johanna' his favourite Dylan
song, but then everyone has a favourite Dylan song. The poetry is, in that sense,
common property, hence the popularity of the Nobel Prize decision in many quarters.
The Dylan bibliography is short. I read Tarantula when I was a teenager and could see
even then it was less a product of substance than of substances. A whole literature
thrives on his impact upon popular music, with thorough analysis of the songs for
religious, social and biographical meanings, a critical reception rivalled only by those
other game changers of the 60s, the Fab Four.
Arguments in recent weeks, that Dylan isn't a writer, are contradicted by the evidence.
He's been writing since primary school in Minnesota. Yet dissatisfaction persists. Is he a
writer in the way Patrick White or Boris Pasternak are writers? Is literature about the
2016 www.eurekastreet.com.au
Page 84 of 86
Vol 26 No 22
06-Nov-2016
Books of lyrics are for the fans. Reading 'Like a Rolling Stone' in a cheap paperback is
never the same as hearing that imperious, incomparable song in the original. We even
follow the words to relive Dylan's threatening intonation and deadpan dispatch. How
many of his lyrics do we read for possible shades of meaning, as we would with a good
poem? We leave Dylan to offer the shades, each time he does a new version. He is
famous, even infamous, for attempting new interpretations of his songs through
arrangement and emphasis. But is that literature?
Most likely you go your way and I'll go mine. The Nobel Committee has proven more
flexible with its definition of 'writer' than its critics. Indeed, a comical aspect of this year's
Prize debate is the view it's a slap in the face for the literary establishment, when it's
hard to find a more distinctive landmark of that establishment than the Nobel
Committee.
Initial silence from Bob Dylan after the announcement led one of the Scandinavian
officials to issue a complaint that Dylan was being 'impolite and arrogant'. This
declaration prompted even more vitriolic opinion online on all sides, from fans,
litterateurs, Dylanologists, and other armchair grenadiers. Just as things were getting
completely tangled up in blue Dylan himself broke the silence to explain that news of the
award had left him speechless. So maybe he wasn't that arrogant after all.
Speechless is probably the one thing a Nobel recipient must not be. About the only
requirements of a recipient are that they show up, make a speech, and bank the cheque.
Whether Dylan will follow the pattern of his predecessors by acknowledging his debt to
American writers and talking about the value of his art, remains to be seen.
Speechless though is a normal state for a poet. We shouldn't be surprised. The poetic act
comes out of a state of speechlessness, out of asking how to say things that seem
unsayable. Poetry has always been the verbalisation of things we thought could not be
put into words. Whatever we say about getting the gong, few people argue that Bob
Dylan has succeeded over again in singing of things that leave us speechless.
This is when it gets down to personal favourites for any of us. Here are two of mine.
'Just like Tom Thumb's Blues' opens 'When you're lost in the rain in Juarez and it's Easter
time, too / And your gravity fails and negativity don't pull you through', then tells a story
of dangerous women, serious drinking, and general despair before deciding that 'the joke
was on me, there was nobody even there to bluff. / I'm going back to New York City, I do
believe I've had enough.' This song could be earnest, dire, self-mocking, comical, or a
spoof depending entirely on how it's sung. It reminds me of Horace Walpole: 'The world
is a comedy to those that think; a tragedy to those that feel.' The poetry of the song
relies as much on what is not said, what is withheld, that listeners will provide
themselves.
2016 www.eurekastreet.com.au
Page 85 of 86
Vol 26 No 22
06-Nov-2016
Philip Harvey is the poetry editor of Eureka Street. He maintains a word study site
, a poetry readings site and a workplace blogspot.
2016 www.eurekastreet.com.au
Page 86 of 86
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