What Dylan Did

People are crazy and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed.

So they came up with a Pulitzer for Dylan today. Should we be surprised? Only that an award so conventional should honor someone so unconventional. They cited him for his "profound impact on popular music and American culture, marked by lyrical compositions of extraordinary poetic power." That’s a nice way to put it.

What Dylan did was to tell the story in his own words, with all the joy and vituperation he has inside. My god, would that we could all be so in touch with that joy and vituperation. It’s what makes us human: our deepest joy overlaid with our deepest anger—yet few can touch it like he can. Like snakes we crawl forth, like hyenas we rip and tear, like down and dirty christians of old we celebrate that crawling, that ripping, that redemption, that resurrection. Dylan knew this, even as a youngster, and he set it to music.

You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

Is there a better way of putting it? Well, perhaps—but that’s his angle, and anyone with a better angle is free to dangle it out there. Truth is though, Dylan sees things a little clearer than most:

They got some beautiful people out there, man
They kill babies in their crib and say only the good die young
They don’t believe in mercy
Judgment on them is something you’ll never see
They can exalt you up or bring you down main route
Turn you into anything they want you to be

Dylan’s other big thing is he’s not afraid to express regret. Those of us who’ve grown old know that admitting to regret is the mark of defeat. We cannot afford to appear defeated, so we buck up, stiffen the lip and all. Not Zimmie:

The party’s over and there’s less and less to say
I got new eyes, everything looks far away
All the young men with the young women looking so good
Well, I’d trade places with any of ‘em, in a minute if I could.

He’s always willing to tell it like it is, anger and pettiness included, even if it violates the commandments and the happy tripe in the morning paper. Besides, no one’s about to put Bob’s revelations on the evening news.

This place ain’t doing me any good
I’m in the wrong town, I should be in Hollywood
Just for a second there I thought I saw something move
Only a fool in here would think he’s got something to prove.

Or how about this friendly little taunt:

Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb,
Blowing through the curtains in your room.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

And if that’s not enough for you, oh ye of great faith who would believe things in the global marketplace are glowing golden in the hunky dory, Bob’s always willing to take it to the temple and curse the money changers:

There's a retired businessman named Red, cast down from heaven and he's out of his head
He feeds off of everyone that he can touch
He said he only deals in cash or sells tickets to a plane crash
He's not somebody that you play around with much
Miss Delilah is his, a Philistine is what she is
She'll do wondrous works with your fate
Feed you coconut bread, spice buns in your bed
If you don't mind sleepin' with your head face down in a grave.

So enjoy the poetry of Mr. Dylan, and know the real spirit of our times. Recent events testify more than ever to the truth that rings through his words: “We live in a political world... everything is broken.”

I went down where the vultures feed
I would’ve gone deeper but there wasn’t any need
Heard the tongues of angels and the tongues of men
Wasn’t any difference to me.