Amigos de mirar

Hasta siempre, Barry

2011-01-31T22:31:00.004+01:00

Hola Clari, hoy quisiera compartir contigo un sentimiento de tristeza que me ha invadido al enterarme del fallecimiento de John Barry, compositor al que admiro y autor de bandas sonoras que harán que no me olvide de él mientras viva. Valgan como muestra estos botones:

Por las nubes

2011-01-30T10:38:00.006+01:00

Albert Biestardt, Beach Scene, 1872.

Hola Clari, la verdad es que sí, es una pena todo el tiempo que hemos tenido abandonado este pequeño espacio compartido. Supongo que, en parte al menos, tiene que ver con las vidas alocadas que llevamos, y casi siempre en las nubes. Ello me ha impedido también estar más en contacto contigo ahora que estás lejos de casa. Mucho no voy a poder extenderme, ni ahora, ni probablemente en adelante, pero al menos quisiera ir dejando aquí algunos regalitos con los que hacerte disfrutar, reflexionar, recordar o lo que sea en cada ocasión. No serán más que modestos gestos,pálidos reflejos de mi amor fraternal. Te mando besos envueltos en niebla madrileña.

Albert Biestardt, Sea and Sky.

de vuelta

2011-01-15T01:49:00.002+01:00

Como la nostalgia cobra más fuerza lejos de lo conocido, esta noche he echado de menos los años en los que intercambiábamos cosas por aquí...

Nunca es tarde para retomarlo ¿no? Aunque haya que hacer un hueco entre tanto trabajo...

Tiempo y trabajo

2007-03-14T20:55:00.000+01:00

Puesto que me citas a Platón, intentaré contarte una duda filosófica o al menos vital que últimamente me inquieta. Se trata del tiempo y del peso que el trabajo tiene en él. Creo que lo que más limita al ser humano es el tiempo, es lo único que nos atenaza a todos, en él todos somos iguales, ni los más ricos ni los más poderosos pueden controlarlo o manipularlo. Lo único en lo que nos aventajan a los demás es que pueden deshacerse de ciertas cosas para dedicar su tiempo a lo que verdaderamente desean hacer. Los demás... por una parte tenemos que trabajar. Vivimos en una sociedad en la que para vivir es necesario trabajar. Dentro de esa premisa, cada uno intenta elegir el trabajo que más le llena o en el que más puede aportar, intenta que ese tiempo se dedique a algo lo más interesante posible. Muchos no logran siquiera encontrar un trabajo, otros encuentran uno que no merecen, donde no pueden desarrollarse ni aprender nada, donde no pueden aportar lo que saben ni crear nada. Eso genera frustración, siempre ligada al tiempo mayoritario que ocupa el trabajo en la vida. Si uno pasa ocho horas cada día -en realidad, si el horario es partido, todo el día, desde la hora del desayuno hasta la hora de la cena- en el trabajo, y encima éste no tiene otro sentido que el de ganar dinero, uno siente que está malgastando su tiempo, lo único que el ser humano no puede recuperar ni regenerar. Uno ve más al compañero de trabajo que al compañero de vida, al amigo o a la familia. Uno llega tan cansado que no puede dedicarse a lo que verdaderamente le gusta o le alegra: charlar, leer, escuchar música, escribir, ver una película, pasear... Y el fin de semana, único momento en que se puede disfrutar el sol, a veces uno está tan cansado que no quiere más que descansar tranquilamente y no moverse del sofá. O, en otros casos, salir y olvidarse de todo, trasnochar y luego dormir hasta tarde. ¿Cuándo se dedica uno, entonces, a su vida? Si la circunstancia de uno se convierte meramente en su trabajo, pues en él se instala la mayor parte de su tiempo, ¿cómo salvarse? El problema no se aligera cuando uno encuentra un trabajo que le gusta o que, al menos, le permite no aburrirse y desarrollarse. Cuando esto sucede, parece que hay que estar agradecido. Hay que dar las gracias, y sentirse afortunado, aunque en realidad el dominio del trabajo sobre la vida sigue siendo el mismo. Uno sale a las 8 de casa y vuelve a las 9 o a las 10 de la noche... pero tiene que estar contento. He ahí el dilema que surge: ¿es mejor un trabajo que me guste pero que me ocupe todo el día y me impida hacer mi vida, o uno que no me aporte nada -ser funcionario o algo así- pero que me deje medio día libre para lo que quiero? No encuentro solución a ese dilema. Parece evidente que la primera opción es la mejor, porque al menos uno no siente que está perdiendo su tiempo en algo que no le importa ni le aporta. Pero, ¿cómo se logra encontrar tiempo para hacer lo que uno desea? ¿y para estar, simplemente, un rato a solas y poder reflexionar? ¿ y para estar con los demás? ¿Cómo construir con las migajas del tiempo que quedan el resto de tu vida? Al final uno pasa el noventa y cinco por ciento de su vida consciente -no mientras dormimos- dedicado a trabajar para otra persona, mientras que le quedan una o dos horas al día para dedicarse a uno mismo, horas lastradas por el cansancio acumulado durante la jornada. Y encima parece que hay que celebrarlo, porque uno logra así dinero que le permite pagar una casa, comer... ¿pero vivir?

No lo sé, no lo entiendo, no encuentro una solución. Me doy cuenta de lo afortunada que he sido hasta ahora y de todo el tiempo propio, mío, que he malgastado y que añoraré cuando me falte. No sé qué elegiré cuando me toque. ¿Un trabajo esclavo en una editorial, que me aporte pero que me impida hacer otra cosa que trabajar y luego descansar del trabajo? ¿O un trabajo superfluo que me ocupe media jornada y me deje la otra media para desarrollar mi verdadera vocación?.

Parece que los hombres de hoy en día no podemos construir nuestra vida ni orientarnos hacia nuestra vocación, estamos cercados o inmersos en la circunstancia. En este momento, no una circunstancia histórica difícil como pueda ser una guerra o una dictadura, sino tan sólo una circunstancia social en que el trabajo -y el trayecto de ida y de vuelta- nos envuelve. No tengo nada en contra del trabajo en si, espero que lo entiendas, sólo me preocupa el hecho de que la vida sea sólo trabajo y descanso y trabajo y descanso sin lugar para la reflexión, para la amistad, para el amor, para el arte, para el aprendizaje, para las cosas que realmente hacer que merezca la pena estar aquí. No sé de dónde viene esta injusticia. Por qué nuestro padre ha pasado más horas de su vida con su secretaria que con su mujer, más horas en los autobuses y metros que yendo al cine... No entiendo por qué no es posible conciliar mejor la vida con el trabajo. La vocación con la circunstancia.

Las razones de las cosas

2007-03-13T01:10:00.000+01:00

Hola Clari, buceando en un libro que sin duda te es muy conocido, encuentro esta cita del Parménides de Platón que me apetece compartir contigo:

«Es hermoso y divino el ímpetu ardiente que te lanza a las razones de las cosas; pero ejercítate y adiéstrate mientras eres joven en estos esfuerzos filosóficos, que en apariencia para nada sirven y que el vulgo llama palabrería inútil; de lo contrario, la verdad se te escapará de entre las manos».

fare thee well, miss carrousel

2007-03-12T21:45:00.000+01:00

Un regalito con mala baba...la versión de Van Zandt con banjo y todo para que veas que no es tan horrible!

Moon River

2007-02-23T17:52:00.000+01:00

Una de mis canciones preferidas interpretada por una de mis actrices favoritas. Que la disfrutes, my little sister.

Morning Glory

2007-02-11T13:52:00.001+01:00

Tim Buckley - Morning Glory

Abrazo eterno

2007-02-11T12:25:00.000+01:00

Hola Clari,

Correos debe de estar fatal, pues hace mucho que no recibo ninguna carta tuya. Voy a tener que poner una queja formal.

En cualquier caso, quería compartir contigo esta fotografía que muestra a una pareja sepultada de hace 5.000 a 6.000 años que acaban de descubrir unos arqueólogos en una excavación situada al norte de la ciudad de Mantua (Italia).

¿Verdad que es preciosa?

Besos,

D.

Everything’s Gonna Be All Right

2007-01-25T16:37:00.000+01:00

Bob Marley - No, woman, no cry

No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry.

Said - said - said: I remember when we used to sit
In the government yard in Trenchtown,
Oba - obaserving the ypocrites
As they would mingle with the good people we meet.
Good friends we have, oh, good friends we’ve lost
Along the way.
In this great future, you cant forget your past;
So dry your tears, I seh.

No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry.
ere, little darlin, don’t shed no tears:
No, woman, no cry.

Said - said - said: I remember when-a we used to sit
In the government yard in Trenchtown.
And then Georgie would make the fire lights,
As it was logwood burnin through the nights.
Then we would cook cornmeal porridge,
Of which I’ll share with you;
My feet is my only carriage,
So I’ve got to push on through.
But while I’m gone, I mean:
Everything’s gonna be all right!
Everything’s gonna be all right!
Everything’s gonna be all right!
Everything’s gonna be all right!
I said, everything’s gonna be all right-a!
Everything’s gonna be all right!
Everything’s gonna be all right, now!
Everything’s gonna be all right!

So, woman, no cry;
No - no, woman - woman, no cry.
Woman, little sister, don’t shed no tears;
No, woman, no cry.

Eh! little darlin, don’t shed no tears!
No, woman, no cry.
Little sister, don’t shed no tears!
No, woman, no cry.

Baez & Dylan

2007-01-16T01:31:00.000+01:00

Joan Baez - Diamonds And Rust

Bob Dylan & Joan Baez - When the ship comes in - 1963 march on Washington

Joan Baez - Percy's song

Bob Dylan - I Pity the Poor Immigrant (Hard Rain 1976)

Bob Dylan & Joan Baez - Blowin In The Wind

Bob Dylan & Joan Baez - Blowin' In The Wind (1976)

Bob Dylan & Joan Baez - Railroad Boy (1976)

Bob Dylan & Joan Baez - Deportees (1976)

Bob Dylan & Joan Baez - Never let me go

Bob Dylan - Knockin' on Heaven's Door (1976-Hard Rain)

¿Os animáis Diego y tú con esto?

Hablarle a los muertos

2007-01-11T11:39:00.000+01:00

Como bien sabes, es típico en las películas de Ford:

John Ford, Mr. Lincoln, 1939

HAPPY CHRISTMAS

2006-12-25T15:07:00.000+01:00

Mil gracias por tu regalo, da gusto ver a Johnny riendo y haciendo el bobo...
Aquí está mi regalo, muy irlandés

Papá Noel

2006-12-25T12:39:00.000+01:00

¡Clari, despierta, que ha venido Papá Noel!

Me temo que no ha podido hacer realidad tu sueño, pero al menos te reirás un rato con el regalo que te ha traído:

Siempre aprendiz

2006-12-15T23:57:00.000+01:00

Hola Clari: parece mentira cómo pasa el tiempo y cómo se echa de menos a algunas personas, ¿verdad?

Por casualidad hace unos días hice un hallazgo que me emocionó profundamente, y he querido aguardar hasta hoy para compartirlo contigo.

Se trata de un dibujo de mi admirado Goya, hecho poco antes de morir y conservado en el Museo del Prado. Un dibujo que he buscado infinidad de veces durante mucho tiempo. Y que precisamente he encontrado cuando ya no está la persona a la que me hubiera gustado regalarle una copia.

En él se ve a un viejecillo encorvado y consumido por el paso de los años, con la vista perdida y con grandes dificultades para caminar. Sin embargo, pese al inevitable declive físico, su espíritu permanece ilusionado, sus ganas de aprender intactas. Un lema resume su actitud ante las cosas y ante la vida, lejos del fácil conformismo de algunos y del "yolosetodo" de otros: "Aún aprendo".

Ojalá nosotros logremos seguir el ejemplo que nos han dado.

Te quiero.

Imagen: Francisco de Goya, Aún aprendo, 1824-1828.

Amor loco desde Atenas

2006-12-05T16:35:00.000+01:00

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles
And when I come to her that’s where I belong
Yet I’m running to her like a rivers song

Chorus:
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She’s got a fine sense of humour when I’m feeling low down
And when I come to her when the sun goes down
Take away my trouble, take away my grief
Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

Chorus:
Yes I need her in the daytime
Yes I need her in the night
Yes I want to throw my arms around her
Kiss her hug her kiss her hug her tight

And when I’m returning from so far away
She gives me some sweet lovin’ brighten up my day
Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole
Yes it makes me mellow down in to my soul

Chorus:
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

cohen cohen cohen

2006-11-30T21:43:00.000+01:00

Algunas de mis canciones favoritas...

Dance me to the end of love

The Stranger song

Chelsea Hotel nº 2

y en su versión preciosa de Rufus Wainwright

>

Take this waltz (a partir del poema de García Lorca)

y la increíble Suzanne cantada con pintas setenteras (guau, menudo documento histórico):

UNS

2006-11-30T21:41:00.000+01:00

Mi ración de alegría

2006-11-27T00:31:00.000+01:00

Kandinsky, Pequeñas alegrías, 1913

«Defiendo la alegría,
la precaria, amenazada,
difícil alegría,
al raso, limpia, en cueros,
mi ración de alegría.
No me arrastréis al pozo
de las verdes culebras.
No os arrojo a la cara mi alegría,
os la tiendo tan sólo
como una débil luz, como una mano.
No es ningún baluarte
ni ningún ofensivo privilegio,
es mi único utensilio cotidiano,
mi tela de labor.
No tengo otra bandera
y ostenta unos colores ya un poco desteñidos;
mirad que la levanto a duras penas,
contra viento y marea,
sin sombra alguna de provocación.
Es parcela pequeña, minifundio,
terreno sin cercados ni aparceros
que aro, riego y abono por mí misma,
con fe, de sol a sol.
Tomad el pobre o rico,
el cuestionable fruto que desde ella os ofrezco,
pues sólo desde aquí
os consigo mirar, ayudar, entender,
poner tal vez en claro alguna cosa.
No me la reprochéis ni adobéis de negrura
como un reducto inmundo, segregado;
ved que no la defienden ni pinchos ni alambradas
y que podéis pasar aquí conmigo al sol.
No me arrastréis al pozo
de las verdes culebras».

Carmen Martín Gaite, "Mi ración de alegría", en Poemas, Barcelona, Plaza & Janés, 2001.

Dance with me, my lovely sister

2006-11-18T21:22:00.000+01:00

Dos guiños a Bande à Part (1964), de Jean Luc Godard:

*Música de Nouvelle Vague Band

Love's Been Good to Me

2006-11-18T13:06:00.000+01:00

In Loving Memory of Johnny & June:

I have been a rover
I have walked alone
Hiked a hundred highways
Never found a home
Still in all I'm happy
The reason is, you see
Once in a while along the way
Love's been good to me

There was a girl in Denver
Before the summer storm
Oh, her eyes were tender
Oh, her arms were warm
And she could smile away the thunder
Kiss away the rain
Even though she's gone away
You won't hear me complain

I have been a rover
I have walked alone
Hiked a hundred highways
Never found a home
Still in all I'm happy
The reason is, you see
Once in a while along the way
Love's been good to me

There was a girl in Portland
Before the winter chill
We used to go a-courtin'
Along October hill
And she could laugh away the dark clouds
Cry away the snow
It seems like only yesterday
As down the road I go

I've been a rover
I have walked alone
Hiked a hundred highways
Never found a home
Still in all I'm happy
The reason is, you see
Once in a while along the way
Love's been good to me

Del album póstumo de Johnny Cash, American V: A Hundred Highways (2006)

robinson crusoe

2006-11-17T01:04:00.000+01:00

Amor verdadero

2006-11-06T23:46:00.000+01:00

Pablo Picasso, Los enamorados, 1923

Querida hermana:

aparte de agradecerte tus últimos envíos, tengo pendiente comentarte algunos de ellos, pero hay cosas que no pueden hacerse sin encontrar la tranquilidad de espíritu suficiente ni las fuerzas necesarias.

No obstante, mientras ese momento llega, no me resito a compartir contigo este pasaje, entresacado de Mi último suspiro, autobiografía de un genio nacido hace más de un siglo en un pueblecito de la provincia de Teruel al que ha dado fama universal: Calanda.

«En la época de nuestra juventud, el amor nos parecía un sentimiento poderoso, capaz de transformar una vida. El deseo sexual, que le era inseparable, se acompañaba de un espíritu de aproximación, de conquista y de participación que debía elevarnos por encima de lo meramente material y hacernos capaces de grandes cosas.

Una de las encuestas de los surrealistas más célebres comenzaba con esta pregunta: “¿Qué esperanza pone usted en el amor?” Yo respondí: “Si amo, toda la esperanza. Si no amo, ninguna”. Amar nos parecía indispensable para la vida, para toda acción, para todo pensamiento, para toda búsqueda.

Hoy, si he de dar crédito a lo que me dicen, ocurre con el amor como con la fe en Dios. Tiene tendencia a desaparecer, al menos en ciertos medios. Se le suele considerar como un fenómeno histórico, como una ilusión cultural. Se le estudia, se le analiza... y, si es posible, se le cura.

Yo protesto. No hemos sido víctimas de una ilusión. Aunque a algunos les resulte difícil creer, hemos amado verdaderamente».

Buñuel, Luis y Carrière, Jean-Claude: Mon dernier soupir, Éditions Robert Laffont, París, 1982. Edición española titulada Mi último suspiro, Random House Mondadori, colección Debolsillo, 1982. Traducido por Ana María Fuente.

roman holidays

2006-10-27T22:20:00.000+02:00

Este regalo continua el tuyo de los besos y el de mis actores favoritos...aquí aparece la otra chica, Audrey, y el chico por excelencia, Gregory Peck, en esta película que me encantó y me encantaría volver a ver...ciudad que ambos hemos visitado de la mano de alguien, creo...

katherine hepburn

2006-10-27T22:08:00.000+02:00

Hola Danilo...
muchas gracias por tus dos últimas cartas, la de los besos (por cierto, me gustó el cuadro, de quién es? y la canción?) y la de los consejos, que realmente me tranquilizan.
Quería darte un trocito de la peli con la que me he reído más en mi vida para saborearla este viernes tan casero, pero no la he encontrado. Es "Bringing up baby" con Katherine Hepburn y Cary Grant, llamada aquí "La fiera de mi niña". No sé si la habrás visto, pero me parece maravillosa. Como no lo conseguí, al menos te regalo un homenaje a una de mis dos actrices favoritas (la otra es Audrey, que tomó su apellido por admiración a Katherine) que me parece, sin ser una belleza clásica, una cara de lo más interesante, inteligente y hasta irónica. A ver si te gusta..

La profe

2006-10-27T20:36:00.000+02:00

¡Qué bien, Clara! ¡Qué ilusión!

No te asustes, sino todo lo contrario. Enseñar algo a alguien es muy bonito; a muchos al mismo tiempo, ya ni te digo.

Aunque te han tocado alumnos con una edad difícil, ten en cuenta que es también decisiva en la formación de su personalidad, y que tienes la oportunidad, pese al poco tiempo del que vas a disponer, de abrir sus mentes, de hacer que se interesen por cuestiones a las que antes no habían prestado atención, de despertar vocaciones, etc.

Ya sé que te estás volviendo medio loca con lo que te decimos unos y otros. No obstante, se me ha ocurrido escribirte esta carta y darte una serie de consejillos en forma de frases y dichos célebres por si te son de alguna utilidad.

En primer lugar, estoy seguro de que no vas a tener problemas y de que los alumnos van a tener mucha suerte, pues “no sólo se enseña lo que se sabe, también se enseña lo que se es”.

Además, te va a venir bien esta experiencia, pues siempre se dice que, “si quieres aprender, enseña”.

Para el primer día, has de tener en cuenta que “la vergüenza, una vez perdida, se perdió para toda la vida”.

No debes dejar que te tomen el pelo, pero tampoco olvidar que “lo peor es educar por métodos basados en el temor, la fuerza, la autoridad... porque se destruye la sinceridad y la confianza y sólo se consigue una falsa sumisión”.

Tampoco se trata de abrumar al personal con tus conocimientos; “no es maestro el que transmite información, sino el que es capaz de captar la atención de su pupilo haciéndole comprender aquello que enseña”.

No te desanimes si ves que al principio no te hacen mucho caso, o no asimilas lo que les enseñas: “educar es amar, cuidar con ternura y dedicación una semilla con la ilusión que un día dará sus frutos”.

En cuanto a aprenderte todo el temario en poco tiempo, no te preocupes, “el profesor es aquel que se adelanta a los alumnos en el conocimiento en una hora”.

Por último, y aunque pueda parecerte contradictorio, “siempre que enseñes, enseña a dudar lo que enseñas”.

¡¡Suerte!!

Besos

2006-10-27T19:07:00.000+02:00

Marc Chagall, El aniversario, 1931

Querida hermanita:

estarás conmigo en que uno de los mejores y más maravillosos inventos que se han hecho jamás son los besos, entre desconocidos, entre amigos, entre familiares, entre amantes. Por encima de todos están, creo yo, los besos de amor entre dos miembros de una pareja, me da igual que sean largos o cortos, castos o lascivos.

Me gusta tanto darlos como recibirlos, en los hombros, en las mejillas, en la nariz, en las orejas, en la frente, en la nuca… pero sobre todo, en la boca. La sensación que se experimenta al juntar unos labios con otros es, a mi juicio, inigualable. Los besos te elevan y transportan a otro mundo. Así que te deseo que recibas millones de ellos.

Una pista

2006-10-27T01:29:00.000+02:00

«Amar por ver amar, envidia ha sido;
y primero que amar estar celosa
es invención de amor maravillosa,
y que por imposible se ha tenido.
De los celos mi amor ha procedido
por pesarme que, siendo más hermosa,
no fuese en ser amada tan dichosa,
que hubiese lo que envidio merecido.
Estoy sin ocasión desconfïada,
celosa sin amor, aunque sintiendo:
debo de amar, pues quiero ser amada.
Ni me dejo forzar ni me defiendo;
darme quiero a entender sin decir nada:
entiéndame quien puede; yo me entiendo ».

Luces de la ciudad

2006-10-26T09:08:00.000+02:00

Querida hermana:

ayer regresé a mi casa tardísimo del trabajo, y estaba tan cansado después de un día sumamente largo y complicado, que sólo me apetecía pasar un rato agradable sin tener que escuchar a nadie antes de irme a la cama. Así que decidí refugiarme con el buenazo de Charlot. Hoy, ya con más fuerzas, quisiera compartir contigo media hora de sus City Lights (1931), una genial película que te recomiendo que veas en su integridad si no lo has hecho ya.

Besos,

D

girls from the nort country (II)

2006-10-22T08:53:00.000+02:00

¡Clari, adoro esta canción! ¡Y, cómo no, especialmente esta versión, en la que aparecen dos de mis músicos favoritos!

Casualmente, como continuación de mi carta del pasado día 16, te estaba escribiendo esta otra, en la que había ido poniendo en orden cronológico diferentes versiones de "Girl From the North Country" (todas ellas interpretadas por Dylan, incluido el dúo con Cash) para que vieras las diferencias y que me dijeras cuál te gustaba más.

En cuanto a la versión que me mandas de M. Ward (para mi un completo desconocido hasta hoy y un chico muy a tener en cuenta en adelante), me ha gustado bastante, aunque casi cualquier cosa que pongas junto a estos gigantes queda por fuerza empequeñecida. Por lo pronto, he anotado sus dos discos, Transistor radio (2005) y Post-War (2006), en mi lista de objetos en el punto de mira. Y si Castellón estuviera un pelín más cerca y me sobrara tiempo, iba sin duda alguna a verle el próximo 10 de noviembre.

Besos,

Dani

Bob Dylan – “Girl From the North Country”, Quest (Canadá), 1964

Bob Dylan – “Girl From The North Country”, Loreley (Alemania), 1981

Bob Dylan – “Girl From The North Country”, Avignon (Francia), 1981

Bob Dylan – “Girl From The North Country”, Oakland (California), 1988

Bob Dylan – “Girl From The North Country”, 2004

girls from the north country

2006-10-21T20:54:00.000+02:00

Hola!
Quería enseñarte una versión que he encontrado de Girl of the north Country que me ha parecido preciosa. Pero como no sé pegarla aquí tendrás que ir tú: www.myspace.com/mward
Para compensarte por el esfuerzo te doy esto:

dibujos de Klimt

2006-10-21T20:18:00.000+02:00

Hola hermanito!!!
Muchísimas gracias por tus últimos regalos, por la lluvia, por Dylan y por Calexico, que ahora mismo estarán a punto de entrar en el escenario! Me hizo mucha ilusión escuchar a Bob de jovencito, ahora estoy más obsesionada con Roy Orbison, pero recuerdo la época que tuve de dylanmanía, en la que hubiera dado lo que fuera por verle así, con su gesto infantil y su voz arisca. He decidido darte hoy unos dibujos que he encontrado de Klimt, porque le adoro y me parece increíble cómo a veces, con un par de trazos, logra captar una expresión, una forma de ser o un momento muy complejo. Sus desnudos, sus dibujos de mujeres tocándose o exhibiéndose, me resultan todo menos exhibicionistas, son tan naturales que me emocionan. Cuando estuve en Viena de paso, durante el Interrail, recuerdo que lo que más me impresionó fueron estos dibujos tan sencillos, pues no los conocía. Adoro también sus cuadros, llenos de colores e imaginación, pero me asombra ver que con tan pocos elementos -un lápiz y un papel- logra el mismo efecto. A ver qué me cuentas...

Calexico

2006-10-21T00:46:00.000+02:00

Querida hermana:

mucho me temo que tanto tú como yo nos vamos a perder el concierto que ofrece hoy Calexico en nuestra ciudad para presentar su último disco, Garden ruin (2006). Es una pena, después de lo mucho que disfrutamos viéndoles aquí mismo en 2004. ¿Recuerdas aquella memorable y ecléctica actuación en directo con que nos deleitaron estos chicos de Tucson?

Por si acaso, te refresco la memoria con unos cuantos videos de un concierto que dieron hace un tiempo en mi querida Londres y que constituyen una buena muestra del tipo de música que hacen. Que los disfrutes.

Besitos,

D

Calexico - Sunken Waltz (Live)

Calexico - Crystal Frontier (Live)

Calexico - El Picador (Live)

Calexico - Black Heart (Live)

Calexico - Frontera/Trigger (Live)

Calexico - Corona (Live)

Calexico - Stray (Live)

Singin' in the rain

2006-10-19T18:29:00.000+02:00

¡Hola Clara! ¡Por fin parece que cae algo de agua en nuestra ciudad! Esto merece, sin duda, una celebración, así que te invito a dar un paseo conmigo y a bailar y cantar bajo la lluvia. No lo haremos tan bien como Gene Kelly –que al parecer incluso estaba con fiebre– en la mítica película de Stanley Donen (una de mis favoritas de toda la historia del cine) pero seguro que lo pasaremos estupendamente. ¿Te animas?

PD. Si no llegaras a ver mi carta a tiempo, ten por seguro que esta noche bailaré y cantaré bajo la lluvia y me acordaré de ti.

El jovencito Bob

2006-10-16T00:33:00.000+02:00

Adorable Clarita (esta vez me vas a perdonar que emplee el diminutivo para referirme a toda una mujer que, sin embargo, siempre será más pequeña que yo): no sabes cuánta ilusión me ha hecho recibir tu carta. Realmente has dado en el clavo, tanto con la fotografía de mi preciosa Duna (que no conocía) como con la canción (no menos bella) de Bright Eyes.

En cuanto a la explicación que me pides sobre las "luces del norte", con sumo gusto te la doy si no encuentras suficiente la información contenida en los enlaces que puse en mi carta y que no he sabido resaltar (se encuentran en "auroras boreales" y en "2000"). En cualquier caso, me alegro mucho de que te gustara mi envío.

El de hoy me parece que tampoco te va a dejar indiferente. He leído en la prensa que en Nueva York se ha inaugurado una completa exposición en la que se da buena cuenta de la primera década de la carrera de Dylan (Bob Dylan's American Journey, 1956-1966), y se me ha ocurrido que, puesto que es poco probable que vayamos a verla, no hay nada mejor para paliarlo que obsequiarte con una batería de vídeos en blanco y negro y algunos en color de un joven Bob que apunta ya muy pero que muy alto y que consigue estremecer prácticamente a cualquier alma sensible.

La muestra abarca desde los 15 años de Dylan hasta hasta los 25, periodo en que hace los siguientes discos:

Bob Dylan (1962), The Freewheelin' (1963), The Times They Are A-Changin' (1964), Another Side of Bob Dylan (1964), Bringing It All Back Home (1965), Highway 61 Revisited (1965), Blonde on Blonde (1966).

Una auténtica pasada. Como decía un fan: "Young or old, I love you Bob!"

Bob Dylan: Early Years (Part One)

Bob Dylan: Early Years (Part Three)

Bob Dylan - "Man Of Constant Sorrow"

I am a man of constant sorrow
I've seen trouble all my days
I'll say goodbye to Colorado
Where I was born and partly raised.

Through this open world I'm about to trouble
Through ice and snows, sleet and rain
I'm about to ride that morning railroad
Perhaps I'll die on that train.

Your mother says I'm a stranger
My face you'll never see no more
But there's one promise, darling:
I'll see you on God's golden shore.

I'm going back to Colorado
The place that I started from
If I had known how bad you'd treat me honey
I never would have come.

Bob Dylan - "Girl from the North Country"

Well, if you're travelin' in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.

Well, if you go when the snowflakes storm,
When the rivers freeze and summer ends,
Please see if she's wearing a coat so warm,
To keep her from the howlin' winds.

Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
If it rolls and flows all down her breast.
Please see for me if her hair hangs long,
That's the way I remember her best.

I'm a-wonderin' if she remembers me at all.
Many times I've often prayed
In the darkness of my night,
In the brightness of my day.

So if you're travelin' in the north country fair,
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline,
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.

Bob Dylan - "Blowin' In The Wind"
"Folk Songs And More Folk Songs; WBC TV May 1963"

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' 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.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' 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.

Bob Dylan - "Only A Pawn In Their Game"
Washington DC Civil Rights, March 30th, August 1963.

A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers' blood.
A finger fired the trigger to his name.
A handle hid out in the dark
A hand set the spark
Two eyes took the aim
Behind a man's brain
But he can't be blamed
He's only a pawn in their game.

A South politician preaches to the poor white man,
"You got more than the blacks, don't complain.
You're better than them, you been born with white skin," they explain.
And the Negro's name
Is used it is plain
For the politician's gain
As he rises to fame
And the poor white remains
On the caboose of the train
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid,
And the marshals and cops get the same,
But the poor white man's used in the hands of them all like a tool.
He's taught in his school
From the start by the rule
That the laws are with him
To protect his white skin
To keep up his hate
So he never thinks straight
'Bout the shape that he's in
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

From the poverty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks,
And the hoof beats pound in his brain.
And he's taught how to walk in a pack
Shoot in the back
With his fist in a clinch
To hang and to lynch
To hide 'neath the hood
To kill with no pain
Like a dog on a chain
He ain't got no name
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught.
They lowered him down as a king.
But when the shadowy sun sets on the one
That fired the gun
He'll see by his grave
On the stone that remains
Carved next to his name
His epitaph plain:
Only a pawn in their game.

Bob Dylan "When The Ships Come In"
Washington DC Civil Rights, March 30th, August 1963.

Oh the time will come up
When the winds will stop
And the breeze will cease to be breathin'.
Like the stillness in the wind
'Fore the hurricane begins,
The hour when the ship comes in.

Oh the seas will split
And the ship will hit
And the sands on the shoreline will be shaking.
Then the tide will sound
And the wind will pound
And the morning will be breaking.

Oh the fishes will laugh
As they swim out of the path
And the seagulls they'll be smiling.
And the rocks on the sand
Will proudly stand,
The hour that the ship comes in.

And the words that are used
For to get the ship confused
Will not be understood as they're spoken.
For the chains of the sea
Will have busted in the night
And will be buried at the bottom of the ocean.

A song will lift
As the mainsail shifts
And the boat drifts on to the shoreline.
And the sun will respect
Every face on the deck,
The hour that the ship comes in.

Then the sands will roll
Out a carpet of gold
For your weary toes to be a-touchin'.
And the ship's wise men
Will remind you once again
That the whole wide world is watchin'.

Oh the foes will rise
With the sleep still in their eyes
And they'll jerk from their beds and think they're dreamin'.
But they'll pinch themselves and squeal
And know that it's for real,
The hour when the ship comes in.

Then they'll raise their hands,
Sayin' we'll meet all your demands,
But we'll shout from the bow your days are numbered.
And like Pharaoh's tribe,
They'll be drownded in the tide,
And like Goliath, they'll be conquered.

Bob Dylan - "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie"
Dylan performing his spoken-word poem live on April 12, 1963.

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache´
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

Bob Dylan - "Talkin' World War III Blues"

Some time ago a crazy dream came to me,
I dreamt I was walkin' into World War Three,
I went to the doctor the very next day
To see what kinda words he could say.
He said it was a bad dream.
I wouldn't worry 'bout it none, though,
They were my own dreams and they're only in my head.

I said, "Hold it, Doc, a World War passed through my brain."
He said, "Nurse, get your pad, this boy's insane,"
He grabbed my arm, I said "Ouch!"
As I landed on the psychiatric couch,
He said, "Tell me about it."

Well, the whole thing started at 3 o'clock fast,
It was all over by quarter past.
I was down in the sewer with some little lover
When I peeked out from a manhole cover
Wondering who turned the lights on.

Well, I got up and walked around
And up and down the lonesome town.
I stood a-wondering which way to go,
I lit a cigarette on a parking meter
And walked on down the road.
It was a normal day.

Well, I rung the fallout shelter bell
And I leaned my head and I gave a yell,
"Give me a string bean, I'm a hungry man."
A shotgun fired and away I ran.
I don't blame them too much though,
I know I look funny.

Down at the corner by a hot-dog stand
I seen a man, I said, "Howdy friend,
I guess there's just us two."
He screamed a bit and away he flew.
Thought I was a Communist.

Well, I spied a girl and before she could leave,
"Let's go and play Adam and Eve."
I took her by the hand and my heart it was thumpin'
When she said, "Hey man, you crazy or sumpin',
You see what happened last time they started."

Well, I seen a Cadillac window uptown
And there was nobody aroun',
I got into the driver's seat
And I drove 42nd Street
In my Cadillac.
Good car to drive after a war.

Well, I remember seein' some ad,
So I turned on my Conelrad.
But I didn't pay my Con Ed bill,
So the radio didn't work so well.
Turned on my player-
It was Rock-A-Day, Johnny singin',
"Tell Your Ma, Tell Your Pa,
Our Loves Are Gonna Grow Ooh-wah, Ooh-wah."

I was feelin' kinda lonesome and blue,
I needed somebody to talk to.
So I called up the operator of time
Just to hear a voice of some kind.
"When you hear the beep
It will be three o'clock,"
She said that for over an hour
And I hung it up.

Well, the doctor interrupted me just about then,
Sayin, "Hey I've been havin' the same old dreams,
But mine was a little different you see.
I dreamt that the only person left after the war was me.
I didn't see you around."

Well, now time passed and now it seems
Everybody's having them dreams.
Everybody sees themselves walkin' around with no one else.
Half of the people can be part right all of the time,
Some of the people can be all right part of the time.
But all the people can't be all right all the time
I think Abraham Lincoln said that.
"I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours,"
I said that.

Bob Dylan - "The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Caroll".
"Steve Ellen TV Show; 25th Febuary 1964"

William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'.
And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree murder.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.

Bob Dylan - "With God On Our Side"
"The Tonight Show";BBC TV 12 May 1964"

Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.

Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.

Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.

When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.

I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.

But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.

In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.

Bob Dylan - "All I really want to do".
Live NewPort Folk Festival, july 1964

I ain't lookin' to compete with you,
Beat or cheat or mistreat you,
Simplify you, classify you,
Deny, defy or crucify you.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

No, and I ain't lookin' to fight with you,
Frighten you or uptighten you,
Drag you down or drain you down,
Chain you down or bring you down.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

I ain't lookin' to block you up
Shock or knock or lock you up,
Analyze you, categorize you,
Finalize you or advertise you.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

I don't want to straight-face you,
Race or chase you, track or trace you,
Or disgrace you or displace you,
Or define you or confine you.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

I don't want to meet your kin,
Make you spin or do you in,
Or select you or dissect you,
Or inspect you or reject you.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

I don't want to fake you out,
Take or shake or forsake you out,
I ain't lookin' for you to feel like me,
See like me or be like me.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

Bob Dylan - "Maggie’s Farm"
"NewPort Folk Festival 25th July 1965"

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
No, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
Well, I wake in the morning,
Fold my hands and pray for rain.
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin' me insane.
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor.
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.

I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more.
Well, he hands you a nickel,
He hands you a dime,
He asks you with a grin
If you're havin' a good time,
Then he fines you every time you slam the door.
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more.

I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more.
Well, he puts his cigar
Out in your face just for kicks.
His bedroom window
It is made out of bricks.
The National Guard stands around his door.
Ah, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more.

I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more.
No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more.
Well, she talks to all the servants
About man and God and law.
Everybody says
She's the brains behind pa.
She's sixty-eight, but she says she's twenty-four.
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more.

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
No, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.
Well, I try my best
To be just like I am,
But everybody wants you
To be just like them.
They sing while you slave and I just get bored.
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.

Bob Dylan - "To Ramona"
Bob Dylan performs "To Ramona" in England on his 1965 tour. First verse is sadly cut off, though

Ramona, come closer,
Shut softly your watery eyes.
The pangs of your sadness
Shall pass as your senses will rise.
The flowers of the city
Though breathlike, get deathlike at times.
And there's no use in tryin'
T' deal with the dyin',
Though I cannot explain that in lines.

Your cracked country lips,
I still wish to kiss,
As to be under the strength of your skin.
Your magnetic movements
Still capture the minutes I'm in.
But it grieves my heart, love,
To see you tryin' to be a part of
A world that just don't exist.
It's all just a dream, babe,
A vacuum, a scheme, babe,
That sucks you into feelin' like this.

I can see that your head
Has been twisted and fed
By worthless foam from the mouth.
I can tell you are torn
Between stayin' and returnin'
On back to the South.
You've been fooled into thinking
That the finishin' end is at hand.
Yet there's no one to beat you,
No one t' defeat you,
'Cept the thoughts of yourself feeling bad.

I've heard you say many times
That you're better 'n no one
And no one is better 'n you.
If you really believe that,
You know you got
Nothing to win and nothing to lose.
From fixtures and forces and friends,
Your sorrow does stem,
That hype you and type you,
Making you feel
That you must be exactly like them.

I'd forever talk to you,
But soon my words,
They would turn into a meaningless ring.
For deep in my heart
I know there is no help I can bring.
Everything passes,
Everything changes,
Just do what you think you should do.
And someday maybe,
Who knows, baby,
I'll come and be cryin' to you.

Bob Dylan - "To Ramona" (1965)

Bob Dylan - Piano Improvisation (1965)

Bob Dylan - "It's Alright, Ma" (1965)

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child's balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool's gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.

Temptation's page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover
That you'd just be
One more person crying.

So don't fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.

As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don't hate nothing at all
Except hatred.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Made everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.

An' though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge
And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.

Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you're the one
That can do what's never been done
That can win what's never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.

You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.

A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not fergit
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.

Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.

For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society's pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he's in.

But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.

Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn't talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony.

While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer's pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me?

And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.

Bob Dylan - "Don't Think Twice, It’s All Right" (1965)

It ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don't matter, anyhow
An' it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don't know by now
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I'll be gone
You're the reason I'm trav'lin' on
Don't think twice, it's all right

It ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
An' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe
I'm on the dark side of the road
Still I wish there was somethin' you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talkin' anyway
So don't think twice, it's all right

It ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
Like you never did before
It ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
I can't hear you any more
I'm a-thinkin' and a-wond'rin' all the way down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I'm told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don't think twice, it's all right

I'm walkin' down that long, lonesome road, babe
Where I'm bound, I can't tell
But goodbye's too good a word, gal
So I'll just say fare thee well
I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don't think twice, it's all right

Bob Dylan - "Gates of Eden" (1965)

Of war and peace the truth just twists
Its curfew gull just glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when 'neath the trees of Eden

The lamppost stands with folded arms
Its iron claws attached
To curbs 'neath holes where babies wail
Though it shadows metal badge
All and all can only fall
With a crashing but meaningless blow
No sound ever comes from the Gates of Eden

The savage soldier sticks his head in sand
And then complains
Unto the shoeless hunter who's gone deaf
But still remains
Upon the beach where hound dogs bay
At ships with tattooed sails
Heading for the Gates of Eden

With a time-rusted compass blade
Aladdin and his lamp
Sits with Utopian hermit monks
Side saddle on the Golden Calf
And on their promises of paradise
You will not hear a laugh
All except inside the Gates of Eden

Relationships of ownership
They whisper in the wings
To those condemned to act accordingly
And wait for succeeding kings
And I try to harmonize with songs
The lonesome sparrow sings
There are no kings inside the Gates of Eden

The motorcycle black madonna
Two-wheeled gypsy queen
And her silver-studded phantom cause
The gray flannel dwarf to scream
As he weeps to wicked birds of prey
Who pick up on his bread crumb sins
And there are no sins inside the Gates of Eden

The kingdoms of Experience
In the precious wind they rot
While paupers change possessions
Each one wishing for what the other has got
And the princess and the prince
Discuss what's real and what is not
It doesn't matter inside the Gates of Eden

The foreign sun, it squints upon
A bed that is never mine
As friends and other strangers
From their fates try to resign
Leaving men wholly, totally free
To do anything they wish to do but die
And there are no trials inside the Gates of Eden

At dawn my lover comes to me
And tells me of her dreams
With no attempts to shovel the glimpse
Into the ditch of what each one means
At times I think there are no words
But these to tell what's true
And there are no truths outside the Gates of Eden

Bob Dylan - "The Times they are A-changin'" (1965)

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.

Bob Dylan - "She Belongs To Me" (Two Fragments) (1965)

She's got everything she needs,
She's an artist, she don't look back.
She's got everything she needs,
She's an artist, she don't look back.
She can take the dark out of the nighttime
And paint the daytime black.

You will start out standing
Proud to steal her anything she sees.
You will start out standing
Proud to steal her anything she sees.
But you will wind up peeking through her keyhole
Down upon your knees.

She never stumbles,
She's got no place to fall.
She never stumbles,
She's got no place to fall.
She's nobody's child,
The Law can't touch her at all.

She wears an Egyptian ring
That sparkles before she speaks.
She wears an Egyptian ring
That sparkles before she speaks.
She's a hypnotist collector,
You are a walking antique.

Bow down to her on Sunday,
Salute her when her birthday comes.
Bow down to her on Sunday,
Salute her when her birthday comes.
For Halloween give her a trumpet
And for Christmas, buy her a drum.

Bob Dylan - "Mr. Tambourine Man" (fragment) (1965)

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 followin' you.

Though I know that evenin's 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 followin' you.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
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 followin' you.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' madly across the sun,
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' 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
Seein' 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 followin' you.

Then take me disappearin' 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 beach,
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 and 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 followin' you.

Bob Dylan - "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" (1965)

You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last.
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast.
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun,
Crying like a fire in the sun.
Look out the saints are comin' through
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense.
Take what you have gathered from coincidence.
The empty-handed painter from your streets
Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets.
This sky, too, is folding under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home.
All your reindeer armies, are all going home.
The lover who just walked out your door
Has taken all his blankets from the floor.
The carpet, too, is moving under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you.
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you.
The vagabond who's rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore.
Strike another match, go start anew
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

Bob Dylan - "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue"
"Dont Look Back" UK tour may 1965

Bob Dylan - "Love Minus Zero/No Limit"

My love she speaks like silence,
Without ideals or violence,
She doesn't have to say she's faithful,
Yet she's true, like ice, like fire.
People carry roses,
Make promises by the hours,
My love she laughs like the flowers,
Valentines can't buy her.

In the dime stores and bus stations,
People talk of situations,
Read books, repeat quotations,
Draw conclusions on the wall.
Some speak of the future,
My love she speaks softly,
She knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all.

The cloak and dagger dangles,
Madams light the candles.
In ceremonies of the horsemen,
Even the pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of match sticks,
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she does not bother,
She knows too much to argue or to judge.

The bridge at midnight trembles,
The country doctor rambles,
Bankers' nieces seek perfection,
Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring.
The wind howls like a hammer,
The night blows cold and rainy,
My love she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing.

Highway 61 Entertainment, directed and produced by Joel Gilbert, Bob Dylan 1966 Tour, The Home Movies, Through the Camera of Mickey Jones movie trailer

Bob Dylan - "Tell Me, Momma"; "Baby Let Me Follow You Down" (Eric von Schmidt); "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues"; "One Too Many Mornings"; & "Ballad Of A Thin Man??", Copenhagen (Denmark), 1 May 1966 ???

Tell Me, Momma

0l' black Bascom, don't break no mirrors
Cold black water dog, make no tears
You say you love me with what may be love
Don't you remember makin' baby love?
Got your steam drill built and you're lookin' for some kid
To get it to work for you like your nine-pound hammer did
But I know that you know that I know that you show
Something is tearing up your mind.

Tell me, momma,
Tell me, momma,
Tell me, momma, what is it?
What's wrong with you this time?

Hey, John, come and get me some candy goods
Shucks, it sure feels like it's in the woods
Spend some time on your January trips
You got tombstone moose up and your brave-yard whips
If you're anxious to find out when your friendship's gonna end
Come on, baby, I'm your friend!
And I know that you know that I know that you show
Something is tearing up your mind.

Tell me, momma,
Tell me, momma,
Tell me, momma, what is it?
What's wrong with you this time?

Ohh, we bone the editor, can't get read
But his painted sled, instead it's a bed
Yes, I see you on your window ledge
But I can't tell just how far away you are from the edge
And, anyway, you're just gonna make people jump and roar
Whatcha wanna go and do that for?
For I know that you know that I know that you know
Something is tearing up your mind.

Ah, tell me, momma,
Tell me, momma,
Tell me, momma, what is it?
What's wrong with you this time?

Baby Let Me Follow You Down

[I first heard this from Ric von Schmidt. He lives in Cambridge.
Ric is a blues guitarplayer. I met him one day on
The green pastures of the Harvard University]

Baby let me follow you down, baby let me follow you down
Well I'll do anything in this godalmighty world
If you just let me follow you down.

Can I come home with you, baby can I come home with you ?
Yes I'll do anything in this godalmighty world
If you just let me come home with you.

Baby let me follow you down, baby let me follow you down
Well I'll do anything in this godalmighty world
If you just let me follow you down.

Yes I'll do anything in this godalmighty world
If you just let me follow you down.

Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues

When you're lost in the rain in Juarez
And it's Eastertime too
And your gravity fails
And negativity don't pull you through
Don't put on any airs
When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there
And they really make a mess outa you

Now if you see Saint Annie
Please tell her thanks a lot
I cannot move
My fingers are all in a knot
I don't have the strength
To get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor
Won't even say what it is I've got

Sweet Melinda
The peasants call her the goddess of gloom
She speaks good English
And she invites you up into her room
And you're so kind
And careful not to go to her too soon
And she takes your voice
And leaves you howling at the moon

Up on Housing Project Hill
It's either fortune or fame
You must pick up one or the other
Though neither of them are to be what they claim
If you're lookin' to get silly
You better go back to from where you came
Because the cops don't need you
And man they expect the same

Now all the authorities
They just stand around and boast
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
Into leaving his post
And picking up Angel who
Just arrived here from the coast
Who looked so fine at first
But left looking just like a ghost

I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they'd stand behind me
When the game got rough
But the joke was on me
There was nobody even there to call my bluff
I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough

One Too Many Mornings

Down the street the dogs are barkin'
And the day is a-gettin' dark.
As the night comes in a-fallin',
The dogs 'll lose their bark.
An' the silent night will shatter
From the sounds inside my mind,
For I'm one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind.

From the crossroads of my doorstep,
My eyes they start to fade,
As I turn my head back to the room
Where my love and I have laid.
An' I gaze back to the street,
The sidewalk and the sign,
And I'm one too many mornings
An' a thousand miles behind.

It's a restless hungry feeling
That don't mean no one no good,
When ev'rything I'm a-sayin'
You can say it just as good.
You're right from your side,
I'm right from mine.
We're both just one too many mornings
An' a thousand miles behind.

Bob Dylan - "Ballad Of A Thin Man".
"Eat The Document;Outake; Copenhagen (Denmark), 30th April 1966"

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, "Who is that man?"
You try so hard
But you don't understand
Just what you'll say
When you get home

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You raise up your head
And you ask, "Is this where it is?"
And somebody points to you and says
"It's his"
And you say, "What's mine?"
And somebody else says, "Where what is?"
And you say, "Oh my God
Am I here all alone?"

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel
To be such a freak?"
And you say, "Impossible"
As he hands you a bone

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To just give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations

You've been with the professors
And they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well read
It's well known

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan"

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Now you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting the word "NOW"
And you say, "For what reason?"
And he says, "How?"
And you say, "What does this mean?"
And he screams back, "You're a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home"

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin' around
You should be made
To wear earphones

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Bob Dylan - "Like A Rolling Stone", Newcastle, 1966

Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all come down and did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Bob Dylan - "I don't believe you (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)", Edinburgh (Scotland), 20 May 1966 ???

I can't understand,
She let go of my hand
An' left me here facing the wall.
I'd sure like t' know
Why she did go,
But I can't get close t' her at all.
Though we kissed through the wild blazing nighttime,
She said she would never forget.
But now mornin's clear,
It's like I ain't here,
She just acts like we never have met.

It's all new t' me,
Like some mystery,
It could even be like a myth.
Yet it's hard t' think on,
That she's the same one
That last night I was with.
From darkness, dreams're deserted,
Am I still dreamin' yet?
I wish she'd unlock
Her voice once an' talk,
'Stead of acting like we never have met.

If she ain't feelin' well,
Then why don't she tell
'Stead of turnin' her back t' my face?
Without any doubt,
She seems too far out
For me t' return t' her chase.
Though the night ran swirling an' whirling,
I remember her whispering yet.
But evidently she don't
An' evidently she won't,
She just acts like we never have met.

If I didn't have t' guess,
I'd gladly confess
T' anything I might've tried.
If I was with 'er too long
Or have done something wrong,
I wish she'd tell me what it is, I'll run an' hide.
Though her skirt it swayed as a guitar played,
Her mouth was watery and wet.
But now something has changed
For she ain't the same,
She just acts like we never have met.

I'm leavin' today,
I'll be on my way
Of this I can't say very much.
But if you want me to,
I can be just like you
An' pretend that we never have touched.
An' if anybody asks me, "Is it easy to forget?"
I'll say, "It's easily done,
You just pick anyone,
An' pretend that you never have met!"

Bob Dylan - "Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat" & "Mr. Tambourine Man", 1966

Well, I see you got your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat
Yes, I see you got your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat
Well, you must tell me, baby
How your head feels under somethin' like that
Under your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat

Well, you look so pretty in it
Honey, can I jump on it sometime?
Yes, I just wanna see
If it's really that expensive kind
You know it balances on your head
Just like a mattress balances
On a bottle of wine
Your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat

Well, if you wanna see the sun rise
Honey, I know where
We'll go out and see it sometime
We'll both just sit there and stare
Me with my belt
Wrapped around my head
And you just sittin' there
In your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat

Well, I asked the doctor if I could see you
It's bad for your health, he said
Yes, I disobeyed his orders
I came to see you
But I found him there instead
You know, I don't mind him cheatin' on me
But I sure wish he'd take that off his head
Your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat

Well, I see you got a new boyfriend
You know, I never seen him before
Well, I saw him
Makin' love to you
You forgot to close the garage door
You might think he loves you for your money
But I know what he really loves you for
It's your brand new leopard-skin pill-box hat

bright eyes

2006-10-15T20:13:00.001+02:00

Querido hermano:
Mil gracias por las auroras, me han parecido preciosas, sobre todo las que parecen ciclones y aquella junto a la luna. Ya que siempre te llamo "pedante", ¿sabrías explicarme por qué se forman y qué son en realidad?
Después de pensar en varias cosas, he decidido enviarte dos pares de "ojos brillantes". Los primeros, sabiendo lo que te gustan los gatos, y ahora que a mí también me han conquistado, los de esta linda gatita. Los segundos, los de "Bright Eyes", llamado en realidad Connon Oberst, jovencito con más de cinco discos a sus espaldas que creo que te gustaría. Probaré suerte con una canción llamada "First day of my life"...

"First Day Of My Life"

This is the first day of my life

I swear I was born right in the doorway

I went out in the rain suddenly everything changed

They're spreading blankets on the beach

Yours is the first face that I saw

I think I was blind before I met you

Now I don’t know where I am I don’t know where I’ve been

But I know where I want to go

And so I thought I’d let you know

That these things take forever

I especially am slow

But I realize that I need you

And I wondered if I could come home

Remember the time you drove all night

Just to meet me in the morning

And I thought it was strange you said everything changed

You felt as if you had just woke up

And you said “this is the first day of my life

I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you

But now I don’t care I could go anywhere with you

And I’d probably be happy”

So if you want to be with me

With these things there’s no telling

We just have to wait and see

But I’d rather be working for a paycheck

Than waiting to win the lottery

Besides maybe this time is different

I mean I really think you like me

Aurora Borealis

2006-10-14T13:21:00.000+02:00

Mi queridísima hermana (me vas a perdonar que use por una vez esta expresión, que tan artificial te parece a tí y tan sentida a mí): no podía iniciar nuestra correspondencia sin regalarte en esta primera carta uno de los espectáculos más bellos de la naturaleza que pueden contemplarse en nuestro planeta y que, conociéndote como te conozco, sé con toda seguridad que te va a encantar: las auroras boreales o luces del norte, así llamadas porque es en las latitudes más septentrionales donde han sido vistas con mayor frecuencia a lo largo de la Historia, sobre todo de septiembre a octubre y de marzo a abril.

Antes pensaba que eran exclusivas de las regiones polares, pero poco a poco he ido descubriendo que en algunos lugares de la Península Ibérica se han podido contemplar unas cuantas: por ejemplo en 1764, 1769, a mediados del siglo XIX, durante la Guerra Civil y en 2000. Se me pone la piel de gallina al pensar en la emoción que tuvo que embargar a quienes tuvieron la suerte de ser testigos de semejante espectáculo.

Las auroras pueden variar mucho en cuanto a colores, formas, duración, altura, etc., pero el resultado es siempre espectacular, inolvidable:

Así que vete haciendo las maletas y mete en e