Давно хотела выложить эту песню. Нравится она мне. И в целом манера Боба разговаривать с теми, кто ему дорог. Одновременно снисходительно-нежно и холодно-прямо. И последние строки - блеск. Песня посвящена "Joanie" - так он всегда ласково называл Баез. Вообще отношения между Бобом и Джоан можно легко проследить по их песням - Do you hear the voices in the night, Bobby? They're crying for you - You tryin' to be a part of a world that just don't exist - Here comes your ghost again.. - Go away from my window.. - I remember your eyes was bluer than robin's eggs.. - Your cracked country lips I still wish to kiss.. - I'll put flowers at your feet and I will sing to you so sweet - You say you're lookin for someone who will promise never to part - I loved you darely.. - But it ain't me, babe.. - Give me another word for it, you, who so good with words - I'd forever talk to you, but soon my words would turn into a meaningless ring - No one could say it like you said it - I cannot explain that in lines И все эти песни о том, как они поругались, как помирились, как сильно он влюбился в ее голос, как трудно ей было отпускать его прежнего и как странно и радостно было встретиться вновь и забыть старые обиды. В 1965 их дороги разойдутся. В 1974 Боб позвонит Джоан и пригласит в совместный тур. Она напишет "Diamonds and Rust" и, конечно, согласится. Бриллианты ржавчине не покорны. *** Ramona, come closer, Shed softly your watery eyes. The pangs of your sadness will pass as your senses will rise. The flowers of the city Though breathlike, get deathlike sometimes. And there's no use in trying to deal with the dying though I cannot explain that in lines. Your cracked country lips I still wish to kiss, as to be by 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 with worthless foam from the mouth. I can tell you are torn between staying and returning on back to the South. You've been fooled into thinking that the finishing end is at hand. Yet there's no one to beat you. No one to defeat you, except the thoughts of yourself feeling bad. I've heard you say many times That you're better than no one And no one is better than you. If you really believe that, you know you have nothing to win and nothing to lose. From fixtures and forces and friends, your sorrow does stem. That hype you and type you, and making you feel that you gotta be just like them. I'd forever talk to you, but soon my words, 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 crying to you.

Прочла поэму Боба на буклетике к альбому Джоан Баез.
Сижу плачу. Так красиво.. так по-дилановски мощно и пронзительно, и волнующе, и чутко..

In my youngest years I used t' kneel
By my aunt's house on a railroad field
An' yank the grass outa the ground
An' rip savagely at its roots
An' pass the hours countin' strands
An' stains a green grew on my hands
As I waited till I heard the sound
A the iron ore cars rollin' down
The tracks'd hum an' I'd bite my lip
An' hold my grip as the whistle whined
Crouchin' low as the engine growled
I'd shyly wave t' the throttle man
An' count the cars as they rolled past
But when the echo faded in the day
An' I understood the train was gone
It's then that my eyes'd turn
Back t' my hands with stains a green
That lined my palms like blood that tells
I'd taken an' not given in return
But glancin' back t' the empty patch
Where the ground was turned upside down
An' the roots lay dead beside the tree
I'd say "how can this bother me"
Or "I'm sure the grass don' give a damn
Anyway it'll grow again an'
What's a patch a grass anyhow"
An' I'd wipe my hand t' wash the stain
An' fling a rock across the track
With the echo a the railroad train
Hangin' heavy like a thunder cloud
In the dawn a t'morrow's rain
An' I asked myself t' be my friend
An' I walked my road like a frightened fox
An' I sung my song like a demon child
With a kick an' a curse
From inside my mother's womb-

In later years although still young
My head swung heavy with windin' curves
An' a mixed-up path revolved an' stung
Within the boundaries a my youth
'Til at last I backed so far away
From the world's walls an' friendless games
That I did not have a word t' say
T' anyone who'd meet my eyes
An' I locked myself an' lost the key
An let the symbols take their shape
An' form a foe for me t' fight
T' lash my tongue an' rebel against
An' spit at strong with vomit words
But I learned t' choose my idols well
T' be my voice an' tell my tale
An' help me fight my phantom brawl
An' my first idol was Hank Williams
For he sang about the railroad lines
An' the iron bars an' rattlin' wheels
Left no doubt that they were real
An' my first symbol was the word "beautiful"
For the railroad lines were not beautiful
They were smoky black an' gutter-colored
An' filled with stink an' soot an' dust
An' I'd judge beauty with these rules
An' accept it only 'f it was ugly
An' 'f I could touch it with my hand
For it's only then I'd understand
An' say "yeah this's real"
An' I walked my road an' sung my song
Like a saddened clown
In the circus a my own world-

In later times my idols fell
For I learned that they were only men
An' had reasons for their deeds
'F which weren't mine not at all
An' no more on them could I depend
But what I learned from each forgotten god
Was that the battlefield was mine alone
An' only I could cast me stone
An' the symbols which by now had grown
Outa shape but strong in sight
Were seen by me in a sharper light
An' the symbol "beauty" still struck my guts
But now with more a shameful sound
An' I rebelled twice as hard an' ten times as proud
An' I walked my road an' sung my song
Like an arch criminal who'd done no wrong
An' committed no crime but was screamin' through the bars
A someone else's prison-

Later yet in New York town
On my own terms I said with age
"The only beauty's in the cracks an' curbs
Clothed in robes a dust an' grime"
An' I searched for it in every hole
An' jumped head-on t' meet its breast
An' whispered tunes into its ear
An' kissed its mouth an' held its waist
An' in its body swum around
An' on its belly passed out cold
An' like a blind lover bold in flight
I shouted from inside my wounds
"The voice t' speak for me an' mine
Is the hard filthy gutter sound
For it's only this that I can touch
An' the only beauty I can feel"
An' I dove back in by my own choice
T' feed my skin a hungry holes
An' rejected every other voice
An' I walked my road an' sung my song
Like a lonesome king
Standin' in the fury a the queen's garden
Starin' into
A shallow grave-

Time traveled an' faces passed
An' many times thoughts t' me were taught
By names an' heads too many t' count
That touched my path an' soon were gone
But some stayed on t' remain as friends
An' though each is first an' none is best
It is at this time I speak 'f one
Who proved t' me that boys still grow
A girl I met on common ground
Who like me strummed lonesome tunes
With a "lovely voice" so I first heard
"A thing a beauty" people said
"Wondrous sounds" writers wrote
"I hate that kind a sound" said I
"The only beauty's ugly, man
The crackin' shakin' breakin' sounds're
The only beauty I understand"
So between our tongues there was a bar
An' though we talked a the world's fears
An' at the same jokes loudly laughed
An' held our eyes at the same aim
When I saw she was set t' sing
A fence a deafness with a bullet's speed
Sprang up like a protectin' glass
Outside the linin' a my ears
An' I talked loud inside my head
As a double shield against the sounds
"Ain't no voice but an ugly voice
A the rest I don' give a damn
'F I can't feel it with my hand
Then don' wish me t' understand
But I'll wait though 'til yer song is done
'Cause there's something about yuh
But I don' know what"
An' I walked my road an' sung my song
Like a scared poet
Walkin' on the shore
Kickin' driftwood with my shadow
Afraid a the sea-

In a crusin' car I heard her tell
About the childhood hours she spent
As a little girl in an Arab land
An' she told me 'f the dogs she saw
Slaughtered wholly on the street
An' I learned 'f how the people'd laugh
As they beat the gentle dogs t' death
Through a child's eyes who tried an' failed
T' hide one dog inside her house
An' I turned my head without a word
An' coldly stared out t' the road
An' with the wind hittin' half my face
My memory creeped as they highway rolled
Back if not but for a flash
T' the empty patch a grass that died
About the same time a dog was hid
An' that guilty feelin' sprang again
Not over the roots I'd pulled
But over she who saw the dogs get killed
An' I said it softly underneath my breath
"Yuh oughta listen t' her voice ...
Maybe somethin's in the sound ...
Ah but what could she care anyway
Kill them thoughts-they ain't no good
Only ugly's understood."
An' I stuck my head out in the wind
An' let the breeze blow the words
Outa my breath as a truck roared by
An' almost blew us off the road
An' at the time I had no song t' sing-

In Woodstock at a painter's house
With friends scattered 'round the room
An' she talkin' from a chair
An' me crosslegged on the rug
I lit a cigarette an' laughed
An' gulped light red wine an' lost
Every shakin' vein that dwelled
Within the roots a my dancin' heart
An' the room it whirled an' twirled an' sailed
Without one fence standin' guard
When all at once the silent air
Split open from her soundin' voice
Without no warnin' from her lips
An' by instinct my blood reversed
An' I shook an' started reachin' for
That wall that was supposed t' fall
But my restin' nerves weren't restless now
An' this time they wouldn't jump
"Let her voice ring out," they cried
"We're too tired t' stop 'er sing"
Which shattered all the rules I owned
An' left me puzzled without no choice
'Cept t' listen t' her voice
An' when I leaned upon my elbows bare
That limply held my body up
I felt my face freeze t' the bone
An' my mouth like ice or solid stone
Could not've moved 'f called upon
An' the time like velvet floated by
Until with hunger pains it cried
"Don' stop singing ... sing again"
An' like others who have taught me well
Not about themselves but me
She laughed out loud as 'f t' know
That the bars between us busted down
An' I laughed almost an insane laugh
An' aimed it at the ceiling walls
When I realized the command I called
An' my elbows folded under me
An' my head lay back upon the floor
An' my shaky nerves went floatin' free
But I memorized the words t' write
For another time in t'morrow's dawn
An' held close unchallenged dreams
As I passed out somewheres in the night-

I did not begin t' touch
'Til I finally felt what wasn't there
Oh how feebly foolish small an' sad
'F me t' think that beauty was
Only ugliness an' muck
When it's really jus' a magic wand
That waves an' teases at my mind
An' knows that only it can feel
An' knows that I ain't got a chance
An' fools me into thinking things
Like it's my hands that understand
Ha ha how it must laugh
At crippled ones like me who try
T' pick apart the sounds a streams
An' pluck apart the rage 'f waves
Ah but yuh won't fool me any more
For the breeze I heard in a young girl's breath
Proved true as sex an' womanhood
An' deep as the lowest depths a death
An' as strong as the weakest winds that blow
An' as long as fate an' fatherhood
An' like gypsy drums
An' Chinese gongs
An' cathedral bells
An' tones 'f chimes
It jus' held hymns 'f mystery
An' mystery's all too involved
It can't be understood or solved
By hands an' feet an' fingertips
An' it shouldn't be called by a shameful name
By those who look for answers plain
In every book 'cept themselves
Go ahead lightnin' laugh at me
Flash yer teeth
Slap yer knee
It's yer joke I agree
I'm even pointin' at myself
But it's a shame it's taken so much time

So, once more it's winter again
An' that means I'll wait 'til spring
T' ramble back t' where I kneeled
When I first heard the ore train sing
An' pulled the ground up by its roots
But this time I won't use my strength
T' pass the time yankin' grass
While I'm waitin' for the train t' sound
No next time'll be a different day
For the train might be there when I come
An' I might wait hours for the cars t' pass
An' then as the echo fades
I'll bend down an' count the strands a grass
But one thing that's bound t' be
Is that instead a pullin' at the earth
I'll jus' pet it as a friend
An' when that train engine comes near
I'll nod my head t' the big brass wheels
An' say "howdy" t' the engineer
An' yell that Joanie says hello
An' watch the train man scratch his head
An' wonder what I meant by that
An' I'll stand up an' remember when
A rock was flung by a devil child
An' I'll walk my road somewhere between
The unseen green an' the jet-black train
An' I'll sing my song like a rebel wild
For it's that I am an' can't deny
But at least I'll know not t' hurt
Not t' push
Not t' ache
An' God knows ... not t' try -

- Bob Dylan

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Подборочку вот такую сделала. Надо же как-то лечиться) 1. Джоани и Бобби поют Wild Mountain Thyme - отрывок из фильма Don't Look Back, 1965. 2. Мое любимое. Я бы тоже назвала это своего рода дуэтом. Мелодия меня просто преследует... 'Turn, turn, turn again..' Потрясающе, как она чувствует его песни. Сам Боб творит - барабанит за печатной машинкой. Всегда была убеждена, что ни одна клавиатура не заменит этот волшебный стук.. 3. Маленькая пародия на Дилана от Баез на фестивале в Ньюпорте, 1965. Ей это всегда превосходно удавалось. И до сих пор она поет его песни и нет да проскочит, нарочно, конечно, этот монотонный гнусоватый вокал. Она прекрасна. Они оба.

Remember when the music
Brought us all together
To stand inside the rain
And as we'd join our hands
We'd meet in the refrain
We had dreams to live
And we had hopes to give... (c)



Продолжаю о Хрониках. Немалая их часть посвящена людям, вдохновившим Дилана на творчество - поэтам, музыкантам, учителям, друзьям, неизвестным мне героям, о которых читать, однако, было безумно интересно, представлять, как они выглядят, как они двигаются, как говорят, как жестикулируют, как смеются, как звучит их голос. Для Боба не существует мелочей - каждый упомянутый им образ будто оживает буквально на глазах. Он уделяет внимание буквально каждому человеку, появившемуся в его жизни и каждый для него особенный. О тех, кто все же каким-то чудом мне известен (ах, где и кем была моя душа в 60-х остается только гадать, но иногда мне кажется, что я все это прожила и прочувствовала..) читать было интересно вдвойне. Джонни Кэш, Вуди Гафри, Боно, Джоан Баез.. Красавица Джоан, "королева Фолкмузыки", как называл ее автор книги. Именно о ней сегодня и поговорим.



I couldn’t stop looking at her, didn’t want to blink. She was wicked looking – shiny black hair that hung down over the curve of slender hips, drooping lashes, partly raised, no Raggedy Ann doll*. The sight of her made me high. All that and then there was her voice. The voice that drove out bad spirits. It was like she’d come down from another planet. […]
There was no one in her class. She was far off and unattainable – Cleopatra living in an Italian palace.[…]
There was nothing girlish about Joan. Both Scot and Mex, she looked like a religious icon, like somebody you’d sacrifice yourself for and she sang in a voice straight to God.

Для тех, кто совсем не понял, мой корявый перевод))

"Я смотрел на нее, не моргая, не в силах оторвать взгляд. Она была неотразима: черными локонами струились ее блестящие волосы, ниспадающие до самых бедер, подчеркивая их изящный изгиб; ее взгляд из-под полуопущенных ресниц… ничего общего с образом милой улыбчивой куклы. Весь ее облик внушал мне благоговейный трепет. И когда зазвучал ее голос… Это был голос, способный изгонять злых духов. Она казалась неземным созданием. […]
Она была непревзойденна - такая далекая, почти недостижимая – Клеопатра, поселившаяся где-то в итальянском дворце. […]
В ней не было ничего девчачьего, ни капли кокетства. Будучи дочерью шотландки и мексиканца, Джоан походила на церковную икону, на ту, ради которой можно без раздумий отдать жизнь, и пела она так, словно обращалась непосредственно к Богу."

Боб всегда обходил стороной романтическую сторону их отношений с Джоан, хотя они посвятили друг другу много песен и 4 года были почти неразлучны. Но я чувствую эту духовную связь, эту трогательную, полудетскую привязанность, в их, быть может, немного странном, но необъяснимо притягательном дуэте.



Она любила его пародировать и у нее здорово это получалось. Он не обижался. Она видела в нем гения, как и многие, но она больше всех верила в то, что Боб должен стать голосом своего поколения. Он всячески открещивался от этой миссии. Он хотел просто петь и выражать в песнях свои эмоции, а она всегда была борцом - прежде всего. Они пошли разными дорогами. Но в какой-то момент времени они были почти одним целом, их жизни закружились в едином танце - вдохновенном, гармоничном и.. неповторимом. Не будет второго Дилана и второй Баез в фолк-музыке. Да и в музыке вообще. Мне грустно об этом думать. Но я испытываю какой-то непонятный мне самой трепет, наблюдая за их пением.



Bobby/Joan - Wild Mountain Thyme

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6vdEmtUfrE

Joan Baez/Percy's Song

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQ_FFiSbMdg

Очаровательное видео. Домашняя такая обстановка. Джоан поет не для камеры. Для себя. Для Альберта. Но скорее всего - для Боба. Под стук его печатной машинки...)

Joan Baez/Diamond and Rust (song is believed to be dedicated to Bob Dylan)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGMHSbcd_qI

Now you're telling me you're not nostalgic
Then give me another word for it
You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague
'Cause I need some of that vagueness now
It's all come back too clearly
Yes, I loved you dearly
And if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I've already paid

Bob Dylan - To Ramona (song is believed to be dedicated to Joan Baez)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_ZZLgKnw3A

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.

---
*я намеренно не перевела эту реалию, ибо неамериканец вряд ли поймет, о чем идет речь. Есть такая детская тряпичная кукла - рыжеволосая, вечно улыбающаяся девчушка Рэггеди Энн. Там, за бургом ее, разумеется, знает каждый ребенок. А выглядит она вот так: