Posts Tagged ‘Bob Dylan’

No footage and it’s a long one. Maybe my favorite Dylan song. Then again….

Marianne Faithful does a great version, though I find her voice falters in odd places; also Robyn Hitchcock, who, unbeknownst to me until recently, recorded an entire album of Dylan covers. How the hell do I miss these things?

Visions of Johanna by Bob Dylan

Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re tryin’ to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we’re all doin’ our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin’ you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there’s nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind

In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman’s bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the “D” train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it’s him or them that’s really insane
Louise, she’s all right, she’s just near
She’s delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna’s not here
The ghost of ‘lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He’s sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I’m in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it’s so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn

Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, “Jeeze
I can’t find my knees”
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel

The peddler now speaks to the countess who’s pretending to care for him
Sayin’, “Name me someone that’s not a parasite and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him”
But like Louise always says
“Ya can’t look at much, can ya man?”
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev’rything’s been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain

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A Stupid Poem for Winter

What is this stuff?
What is this snow?
Why is it white?
We just don’t know

It covers our feet,
it covers our toes,
it hangs from the branches,
it hangs from our nose

It causes our hubby
to climb on the roof
We fear he will fall
and chip off a toof

It causes fat ice dams;
our windows start leaking
and husband on ladder
a-starts me to freaking

The kids have been home
for nigh 30 days,
Ergo my new wrinkles
and so many new grays

Do they go outside
to build a snow fort?
Do they learn how to ski,
start a new winter sport?

No, it’s the digital age,
they are plugged into their iPods,
They watch Netflicks and Hulu
and get very soft iBods.

I really am tired of bad winter luck,
If the snow doesn’t stop,
you’ll hear me scream “I’m moving to Florida!”
But I hate it there, too.

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