Francesco (Clemente)

Francesco (Clemente)

Schizoid Personality Blog

creative blog of a schizoid personality

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Friday, August 20, 2010

Arabian Drums of a **** Hymn

     (Bob Dylan?...)

Back to Dylan who wrote unspeakable poetry. Just like with surrealism paintings, it takes more than one approach to the song (and facts around it) to call it poetry that means a lot. Figuratively speaking, it takes attempting at getting inside Bob Dylan's head. Some moments are quite self-explanatory, others' meaning is Rorschach inkblot test.

SAd Eyed Lady of the Lowlands (1966) was inspired by SAra Dylan whose name was Lownds when he met her. First factual similiarity which makes perfect sense on the knowledgeably surreal level of one's vision. BD once called the song 'the best song I ever wrote'. An 11-minute love hymn that doesn't  even mention my sweet sweet just-a-four-letter-word. Dylan wrote it in Chelsea Hotel, NY and never played in concert.

(from some magazine): "Eleven minutes-plus of serpentine psychodrama. Like jazz and Byron, it goes on and on and on".

I'd say who else is as good at making surreal sex with words as BD?

With your mercury mouth* in the missionary times
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes
Oh, who do they think could bury you?
With your streetcar visions which you place on the grass
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass
Who among them do they think could carry you?
Sad-eyed lady of the Lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet** says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes***, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

*       mercury mouth - slipping away at contact 
**     sad-eyed prophet - possibly Dylan himself 
***   warehouse eyes -   possibly how he manages to store the image of ALL of her in his eyes, which others are unable to do, possibly refers to a slight emptiness inside. 
**** Warehouse eyes + Arabian drums = possibly restlessness or logic he believes she can free him from.

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace*
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace
And your basement clothes and your hollow face
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims
And your matchbox songs and your gypsy hymns
Who among them would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the Lowlands.

* your sheets like metal and your belt like lace - reference to Sara's father's business.

The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss
And you wouldn’t know it would happen like this
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug
And your Spanish manners and your mother’s drugs
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the Lowlands.

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you’d accepted the blame for the farm
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms*
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the Lowlands.

*child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms - most likely Sara's daughter Mary she had with her first husband.

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row*
And your magazine-husband** who one day just had to go
And your gentleness now, which you just can’t help but show
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you’re on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you?
Sad-eyed lady of the Lowlands.

*     sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row - reference to Sara's father's business, Steinbeck. 
**   Magazine husband - Sara's first husband, magazine photographer Hans Lownds.

Bob Dylan is worth being repetitive.
I know hay amores so beautiful that in themselves inspire artists to create masterpieces not many people can (bother to) understand and appreciate.

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