Mr. Tambourine Man

A friend posted Patti Smith's nobel prize performance of Dylan's A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall, and I just can't get enough of it. If you haven't seen it, it's a must watch.

As a result, I've been singing that song all day, including out loud on my bike ride to and from work. But I already blogged about that masterpiece, so here's another fine Dylan number to mark this day:

Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you
Though I know that evenings empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming
Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship
My senses have been stripped
May hands can't feel to grip
My toes too numb to step
Wait only for my boot heels to be wandering
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade
Cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it
Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you
Though you might hear laughing, spinning, swinging madly across the sun
It's not aimed at anyone
It's just a escaping on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facing
And if you hear vague traces of skipping reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time
It's just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn't pay it any mind
It's just a shadow you're seeing that he's chasing
Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you
And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time
Far past the frozen leaves
The haunted frightened trees
Out to the windy bench
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky
With one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea
Circled by the circus sands
With all memory of fate
Driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow
Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you

What a poet indeed. So glad the Nobel prize people feel the same way!

Knocking on Heaven's Door

Today I went to an amazing workshop with Mark Haviland. What a phenomenal human being. Funny, real, irreverent, wise... He taught us that we were all screwed up by our parents (and those of us who are parents are, to one extent or another, screwing up our kids), but we have the choice about how to respond. And because Mark's my kind of guy, both choices have soundtracks.

There's the choice to honor the wound, and allow it to open us, and reveal our own divinity.

Cue Dylan with the original, and G n R with a most excellent cover:

Mama take this badge from me
I can't use it anymore
It's getting dark too dark to see
Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Mama put my guns in the ground
I can't shoot them anymore
That cold black cloud is comin' down
Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Yep, I'm knocking, and what's more, I can feel it opening...

(Stay tuned til tomorrow for option number two)

If You See Her Say Hello

Conscious that I've been watching a wee bit too much TV in my children's absence, I decided to turn it off today and switch to the ipod instead. I was doing some chores, so I kept wandering in and out of the part of the house where I could hear it. Which was all well and good, until I walked into the room and heard this song playing:

If you see her say hello she might be in Tangier
She left here last early spring is living there I hear
Say for me that I'm all right though things get kind of slow
She might think that I've forgotten her don't tell her it isn't so.

We had a falling-out like lovers often will
And to think of how she left that night it still brings me a chill
And though our separation it pierced me to the heart
She still lives inside of me we've never been apart.

And I just fell onto my bed and cried. What can I say? Bob moves me. This song moves me. Maybe those last two lines most of all.

Being apart from those we love is hard. In my kids' case, I know that it is temporary. Which is still hard, but much less heartbreaking than living apart, indefinitely, from the man that my heart seems to be refusing to fully release:

If you get close to her kiss her once for me
I always have respected her for doing what she did and getting free
Oh whatever makes her happy I won't stay in the way
Though the bitter taste still lingers on from the night I tried to make her stay

I see a lot of people as I make the rounds
And I hear her name here and there as I go from town to town
And I've never gotten used to it I've just learned to turn it off
Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm getting soft.

Sundown yellow moon I replay the past
I know every scene by heart they all went by so fast
If she's passing back this way I'm not that hard to find
Tell her she can look me up if she's got the time...

But I'm going to be looking him up in about six weeks when my kids and I go out and visit. And I'm looking forward to it. We all are. I'm not sure what will happen after that, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I reckon...

Subterranean Homesick Blues

This song came on in the car on the way home from a camping trip to Devil's Lake, which seemed perfect in a few respects: 1) Dylan and camping just seem to go together; 2) It was the second of a two-song set, the first of which made me cry, and I was glad for something a little more up tempo (not to mention something that had a prayer of drowning out the happy mayhem coming from the back seat):

Johnny's in the basement
Mixing up the medicine
I'm on the pavement
Thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat
Badge out, laid off
Says he's got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off
Look out kid
It's somethin' you did
God knows when
But you're doin' it again
You better duck down the alley way
Lookin' for a new friend
The man in the coon-skip cap
In the big pen
Wants eleven dollar bills
You only got ten.

The video linked above has Bob holding up cue cards for these lyrics -- super cute -- and I'm usually not one to truncate the words of one of my favorite poets -- but watching that sealed the deal on this one:

Maggie comes fleet foot
Face full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put
Plants in the bed but
The phone's tapped anyway
Maggie says that many say
They must bust in early May
Orders from the DA
Look out kid
Don't matter what you did
Walk on your tip toes
Don't try, 'No Doz'
Better stay away from those
That carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose
Watch the plain clothes
You don't need a weather man
To know which way the wind blows.

Get sick, get well
Hang around an ink well
Ring bell, hard to tell
If anything is goin' to sell
Try hard, get barred
Get back, write Braille
Get jailed, jump bail Join the army, if you failed
Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But users, cheaters
Six-time losers
Hang around the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool
Lookin' for a new fool
Don't follow leaders
Watch the parkin' meters.

It's all pretty great, but I think the next few lines might just be my favorite:

Ah get born, keep warm
Short pants, romance, learn to dance
Get dressed, get blessed
Try to be a success
Please her, please him, buy gifts
Don't steal, don't lift
Twenty years of schoolin'
And they put you on the day shift
Look out kid
They keep it all hid
Better jump down a manhole
Light yourself a candle
Don't wear sandals
Try to avoid the scandals
Don't wanna be a bum
You better chew gum
The pump don't work
'Cause the vandals took the handles.

Feels like kinda an abrupt ending, doesn't it? We're all feeling the same way about the end of the weekend tonight. There was something about being up at Devil's Lake on opening weekend -- the only weekend people like us who don't tend to plan a year in advance can camp there -- when the sun felt hot but the trees had yet to leaf in -- that made us wish we could just stay up there and watch the spring come rather than coming home and going back to work and school...

Sara(h)

I'm a little late getting this song posted -- just barely getting it up in the same month as the day I'm marking with this particular piece of music -- but I sincerely believe better late than never applies here. This photo captures my boyfriend and I at Fort Wilkins State Park in Copper Harbor -- a haven for sure.

And it went from haven to heaven on this last trip when I turned off the shower at the campground and heard, coming through the walls, my man singing this song from the showers in the men's bathroom next door:

Sara, Sara
Whatever made you want to change your mind
Sara, Sara
So easy to look at, so hard to define.

My big old heart just about melted. Bob's Sara may not have an h, but I still love the fact that he loved a woman named Sara(h) and although my boyfriend mainly sang the chorus, I love Bob's lyrics too much to edit them:

I can still see them playing with their pails in the sand
They run to the water their buckets to fill
I can still see the shells falling out of their hands
As they follow each other back up the hill.

Sara, Sara
Sweet virgin angel, sweet love of my life
Sara, Sara
Radiant jewel, mystical wife.

Sleeping in the woods by a fire in the night
Drinking white rum in a Portugal bar
Them playing leapfrog and hearing about Snow White
You in the marketplace in Savanna-la-Mar.

Sara, Sara
It's all so clear, I could never forget
Sara, Sara
Loving you is the one thing I'll never regret.

I can still hear the sounds of those Methodist bells
I'd taken the cure and had just gotten through
Staying up for day in the Chelsea Hotel
Writing "Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" for you.

Sara, Sara
Wherever we travel we're never apart
Sara, Sara
Beautiful lady, so dear to my heart.
How did I meet you ? I don't know
A messenger sent me in a tropical storm
You were there in the winter, moonlight on the snow
And on Lily Pond Lane when the weather was warm.

Sara, Sara
Scorpio Sphinx in a calico dress
Sara, Sara
You must forgive me my unworthiness.

Now the beach is deserted except for some kelp
And a piece of an old ship that lies on the shore
You always responded when I needed your help
You gimme a map and a key to your door.

Sara, Sara
Glamorous nymph with an arrow and bow
Sara, Sara
Don't ever leave me, don't ever go.

There's not much I feel the need to add to this fine song, except maybe a response to that last line, directed at the cover artist from the showers rather than the poet himself:

Don't worry. Your Sara(h) intends to stay right here, with ready access to your brilliant mind, beautiful body, and enormous heart.

Lay Lady Lay

The ipod dialed up this gem at an opportune moment last night (and speaking of gems, this youtube video is of vinyl on a record player -- it's pretty sweet).

It may be hard to find good renditions of his songs on youtube, but man, I love the poet in Dylan and I love it when he sings about my experiences. The only lyric I need to slightly change up to match my own reality is that it's my big brass bed and not my man's -- otherwise, it's all you Bob:

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed

Whatever colors you have in your mind

I'll show them to you and you'll see them shine.

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed

Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile

Until the break of day, let me see you make him smile

His clothes are dirty but his hands are clean

And you're the best thing that he's ever seen.

Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile

Why wait any longer for the world to begin

You can have your cake and eat it too

Why wait any longer for the one you love

When he's standing in front of you.

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed

Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead

I long to see you in the morning light

I long to reach for you in the night

Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead.

Like a Rolling Stone

I ordered up No Direction Home on Netflix before I headed out East this weekend. My man and I both really dig Dylan, and I thought it would be fun to watch it together. As it turns out, we didn't get much of it watched -- not because it wasn't good -- but because we had other priorities in our limited time together.

We did watch the beginning though, where Bob talks about the fact that he never felt like his home, or his hometown, were really home. He said he always felt like he belonged somewhere else -- like home was somewhere to get to, not somewhere to return to. I so get that.

In the chorus of this amazing song, he asks a series of questions. They are aimed at a woman, likely a woman who broke his heart (or at least left a fissure in it):

How does it feel?

Aw, how does it feel?

To be on your own?

With no direction home?

Like a complete unknown?

Like a rolling stone?

But I can answer them, both from the perspective of a child whose home wasn't particularly comforting, and from the perspective of a divorced mother-of-two who decided to leave the home she'd created for herself and her birthed (rather than birth) family.

It feels like shit, a lot of the time. It feels astoundingly lonely. But on the other hand, it feels better to have no direction home than to have a home in name but not in feeling. And it feels better to be a complete unknown than known as someone other than you truly are.

And the thing about a rolling stone, as opposed to, say, a tombstone, is that it's on the move. Which gives it the opportunity to arrive in a very different space, a space that feels like home.

That's where I've found myself, for the first time in my life. I have no doubt that to find myself there required me wanting to be there -- but that was only half of it. The other half is being lucky enough to find someone capable of loving me so completely as to feel like I get to come home every time I hear his voice, or, when I'm really lucky like I am this weekend, every time I feel his touch...

Blowin' in the Wind

Whenever I left my office today, I ran into a sea of people. Walking outside the building, protesters everywhere, I heard someone say it felt like the 60s. Even though I didn't experience the 60s myself, it felt like I imagined it felt then: people were energized, people were making their voices heard, people were expressing their displeasure, but they were doing so peacefully.

How this will all be resolved is hard to imagine at the moment, but it feels like a Dylan moment if ever I've felt one:

Yes, how many years can a mountain exist

Before it's washed to the sea ?

Yes, how many years can some people exist

Before they're allowed to be free ?

Yes, how many times can a man turn his head

Pretending he just doesn't see ?

The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind

The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Yes, how many times must a man look up

Before he can see the sky ?

Yes, how many ears must one man have

Before he can hear people cry ?

Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows

That too many people have died ?

The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind

The answer is blowin' in the wind...

Tangled Up in Blue

Last night I was reminiscing a little bit more about my outspoken British boyfriend, which explains why I woke with this song in my head. It was such a long time ago now, but it seems like yesterday that he played it for me in his dorm room, singing along with Bob:

Early one mornin’ the sun was shinin’,

I was layin’ in bed

Wond’rin’ if she’d changed at all

If her hair was still red...

I like to think that when he hears this song now, he thinks about me, too -- and I'm guessing he probably does. Besides the general excitement of being with him -- he was in a band, he was super funny, he had a really sexy northern-England accent (of the un-moneyed variety), he spent a few hours in "the clink" one night for assaulting someone that he caught looking at my ass (at the time it seemed romantic, now it seems like a sign of a rage disorder brewing) -- we had a really great connection. He came to visit me in the States after I got back home, and we had some good times; I have one particularly fond memory of being up at my cabin, out in the sun on the dock with his guitar, helping him write songs. But he started distancing himself from me pretty much from the moment he got here, declaring: "I'm not going to be waitin' by me mailbox every day, Sarah, just livin' for your letters. So you can forget about that."

Yep, the summer of '92 was the last time I saw him in the flesh -- but to this day I get a little bit of the same excitement when I see someone who shares his essence. My friend and I have long referred to these as "TW sightings" -- TW are his initials.

And although I would quite like to see him again -- I have some regrets about stones left unturned -- it is probably better that I both carry with me and continually encounter these positive aspects of him in others -- since the chances that I would still be able to see and enjoy them in him are not good. My friend told me she saw him a handful of years ago. He'd become a bobby (police officer) and was humorless and unfriendly, at least the night she saw him. That broke my heart a little bit.

More years have passed now. Maybe, like me, he's got his joy back now, or maybe he's still tangled up in blue. I don't know. I'm hoping for the former -- and enjoying Bob's variation on our story:

She turned around to look at me

As I was walkin’ away

I heard her say over my shoulder,

"we’ll meet again someday on the

avenue,"

Tangled up in blue.

Shelter from the Storm

Maybe it's because it's getting colder outside, maybe it's because my daughter's class is studying homes and went on a field trip to a Habitat for Humanity site, maybe it's because I've recently both given and received a figurative shelter from the storm, but it's this number that's on repeat for me today.

You can check out Bob singing it live in 1976 in this video, but it sounds more like it does in my head in this one, where instead of watching Bob you get to check out a dismembered mannequin. A reasonable tradeoff?

Looking at the lyrics, it seems like maybe Bob was grappling with some Jesus themes along with the usual love, loss and hard times that all his songs seem to be about. These lyrics, for example, if read in that light, make for a racier bible story than I ever heard at church:

Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there

With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair

She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Alas, looks like even the Jesus-infused version of Bob has to deal with loss -- check out the next verse:

Now there's a wall between us something there's been lost

I took too much for granted got my signals crossed

Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And once again, I'm reminded, and so I'm reminding you: better to have had the shelter for a night, or a month, or a year, or a decade, and then lost it, than not to have had it at all.

I Want You

Ah, dating in the age of the text. For me, it can be both a disappointing (no voice or touch) way to connect and totally titillating, and after some of the former variety earlier in the week, we had some of the latter last night. Which was followed by some satisfying in-person interaction, and although we didn't have the good fortune of Bob crooning in the background last night, this morning as I was thinking about a song to sum up the parts of yesterday we shared, I could find none better than Bob Dylan's "I want you." Maybe I'm just in classic rock mode at the moment, but as sexed up as some of the rap songs we did hear were, they just don't capture the feeling in the same way.

Here's a link to a clip from the movie I'm not there -- a sexy scene in which the beautiful Heath Ledger is playing Bob Dylan and you can hear Bob singing in the background.