Wednesday, March 03, 2010

b. dylan

word got out, came around,
about this young guy
making music in the Village
knew he changed his name from Zimmerman

saw his wild strange mess photo,
and his songs came in on radio,
tried to wake us up, talked for us,
kept coming, slapping us awake

he wasn’t Peter, Paul or Mary
his voice and diction were unruly disorder,
played a funky guitar, so that
his harmonica was a dissonant plus

but his words, oh, the words were tight
they were packed weights, color and light,
riding melodies that rang hearts and minds,
even the timing for his coming was right

we wanted and needed him
there was a space in culture just then,
an opening wide enough for him to joggle through
tip his cap and be Bob Dylan for us all

2 comments:

Annie said...

"But his words... were packed weights, color and light..." So, true. I listened to him ten years after his introduction, because my older brother had all his albums. Bob Dylan, Buffy St. Marie, and early Donovan helped to build my sense of social consciousness, and my love for music created with significance, complexity despite the seeming simplicity, and stark emotion. On my own, I listened to their influences, people like Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie. Thank you for this poem!

Andy Sewina said...

Yeah, dead good (pun not intended) but this would make a fine tribute, when the time comes!