Ode to Bob Dylan at 80: A Poem to Irregular Hopes
Enjoining Austin Clarke, Dylan Thomas & Ted Hawkins with Bob Dylan in a poetic ‘strange loop’
Pretty mama, I don’t understand
Tell me what’s so special about this man[1]
As the cherry blossoms curl
To the ground below
A dream twister,
Thran as cloth galluses
His lyrics purl
At mankind’s threads
Along the watchtower.
No more auction block
At 80.
No undertaker’s bell
It is only a number,
Furnished full of tears, still
Ichi-go ichi-e
80 is the lock and life is the key
To the memory palace of memory.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Our poets saw a woman smiling
Her tresses, bright as celandine,
Could not cross the Crana flowing.
Men elbow the counter in public houses
Drink their pints of plain
Bob shall obey the ever known.
Why keep the grape stone
Leave the vine stock?
I know the injured pride of sleep
The strippers at the mocking post.
By the way, that’s a cute hat
And that smile’s so hard to resist.
I was so much older then
I am younger than that now.
So happy just to see you smile
Underneath the sky so blue
Morning has moved the dreadful candle
Appointed shadows cross the nave
Away, decide? What dare we call
Our thoughts, Marcus Aurelius?
Unwanted void or really us?
Tangled up in blue, at dawn, in a wood of sorrel, branchy
Dew-droppy, where sunlight gilded sapling
And silvered holly, or by the bank
Of Breda,
Where our poets saw a woman smiling
Her tresses, bright as celandine
Flashing amber
Sufficient glimpses of someone
Not long ago
Not long aglow
Where our poets saw a woman smiling
Her tresses, bright as celandine
Enjoying Proust’s madeleine.
With their nightingales and psalms
Bu for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art
You can always come back,
Like the ship of Theseus
But you can’t come back all way.
Like little limes, leaning fruitfully
On a tree.
Lines of limes, little limes.
Lovely lines of life at 80.
[1] Opening lyrics from Bad Dog written by Ted Hawkins from his LP Cold and Bitter Tears 2015.
Tags: Austin Clarke, Bob Dylan, Dylan Thomas, Poetry, Ted Hawkins