Further case for the defence of Dylan being a "good" singer. How beautiful is this?
And as far as Dylan the poet, I offer these snippets:
(from "Tombstone Blues")
Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief
Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief
Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"
The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly
Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry."
And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky
Saying, "The sun's not yellow it's chicken."
The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone
Causes Galileo's math book to get thrown
At Delilah who's sitting worthlessly alone
But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter.
I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill
I would set him in chains at the top of the hill
Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever after.
Where Ma Rainey and Beethoven once unwrapped a bed roll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks' home and the college.
I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you, dear lady, from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of this useless and pointless knowledge.
(from "Every Grain of Sand")
In the time of my confession,
in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet
flood every newborn seed
There's a dying voice within me
it's reaching out somewhere
Toiling in the danger
and in the morals of despair
Don't have the inclination
to look back on any mistake
Like Cain, I behold this chain
of events that I must break
In the fury of the moment,
I can see the master's hand
In every leaf that trembles,
in every grain of sand
Oh, the flowers of indulgence
and the weeds of yesteryear
Like criminals, they have choked the breath
of conscience and good cheer
And the sun beat down upon the steps
of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness
and the memory of decay
I gaze into the doorway
of temptation's angry flame
And every time I pass that way
I always hear my name
Then onward in my journey,
I come to understand
That every hair is numbered
like every grain of sand
I have slipped from rags to riches
in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer's dream,
in the chill of a wintery light
In the bitter dance of loneliness
fading into space
In the broken mirror of innocence
on each forgotten face
I hear the ancient footsteps
like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there's someone there,
other times it's only me
I'm hanging in the balance
of a perfect finished plan
Like every sparrow falling,
like every grain of sand
(From "Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands")
The kings of Tyrus, with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss
And you wouldn't know it would have happened 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
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?