Just a short interim blog in my rundown of Bob Dylan's 38 studio albums, prompted by reading the back of my vinyl copy of The Times They Are a-Changin'. As you'll see from the picture below, there are four "outlined epitaphs", as Dylan calls them, as though he were writing a funeral oration for his young life, at a time when he was entering a new period of fame and artistic maturity. What's striking about these epitaphs for me are that they seem the most honest and faithful account I've read of his experience growing up in Minnesota, especially given how prone Dylan was to telling tall tales (like the one about arriving into New York on a "freight train").
I've reproduced my favourite of the four epitaphs below, as it seems the most personal:
The town I was born in holds no memories
I've reproduced my favourite of the four epitaphs below, as it seems the most personal:
The town I was born in holds no memories
but for the honkin’ foghorns
the rainy mist
an the rocky cliffs
I have carried no feelings
up past the lake superior hills
the town I grew up in is the one
that has left me with my legacy visions
it was not a rich town
my parents were not rich
it was not a poor town
an my parents were not poor
it was a dyin town
(it was a dyin town)
a train line cuts the ground
showin where the fathers an mothers
of me an my friends had picked
up an moved from
north Hibbing
t south Hibbing
old north Hibbing . . .
deserted
already dead
with its old stone courthouse
decayin in the wind
long abandoned
windows crashed out
the breath of its broken walls
being smothered in clingin moss
the old school
where my mother went to
rottin shiverin but still livin
standin cold an lonesome
arms cut off
with even the moon bypassin its jagged body
pretendin not t see
an givin it its final dignity
dogs howled over the graveyard
where even the markin stones were dead
an there was no sound except for the wind
blowin through the high grass
an the bricks that fell back
t the dirt from a slight stab
of the breeze . . . it was as tho
the rains of wartime had
left the land bombed-out an shattered
south Hibbing
is where everybody came t start their
town again. but the winds of the
north came followin an grew fiercer
as the years went by
but I was young
an so I ran
an kept runnin . . .
I am still runnin I guess
but my road has seen many changes
for I’ve served my time as a refugee
in mental terms an in physical terms
an many a fear has vanished
an many an attitude has fallen
an many a dream has faded
an I know I shall meet the snowy North
again-but with changed eyes nex time round
t walk lazily down its streets
an linger by the edge of town
find old friends if they’re still around
talk t the old people
an the young people
runnin yes . . .
but stoppin for a while
embracin what I left
an lovin it-for I learned by now
never t expect
what it can not give me
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