BOB DYLAN
Gates of Eden
Of war and peace the truth just twists
Its curfew gull just glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when 'neath the trees of Eden
The lamppost stands with folded arms
Its iron claws attached
To curbs 'neath holes where babies wail
Though it shadows metal badge
All and all can only fall
With a crashing but meaningless blow
No sound ever comes from the Gates of Eden
The savage soldier sticks his head in sand
And then complains
Unto the shoeless hunter who's gone deaf
But still remains
Upon the beach where hound dogs bay
At ships with tattooed sails
Heading for the Gates of Eden
With a time-rusted compass blade
Aladdin and his lamp
Sits with Utopian hermit monks
Side saddle on the Golden Calf
And on their promises of paradise
You will not hear a laugh
All except inside the Gates of Eden
Relationships of ownership
They whisper in the wings
To those condemned to act accordingly
And wait for succeeding kings
And I try to harmonize with songs
The lonesome sparrow sings
There are no kings inside the Gates of Eden
The motorcycle black madonna
Two-wheeled gypsy queen
And her silver-studded phantom cause
The gray flannel dwarf to scream
As he weeps to wicked birds of prey
Who pick up on his bread crumb sins
And there are no sins inside the Gates of Eden
The kingdoms of Experience
In the precious wind they rot
While paupers change possessions
Each one wishing for what the other has got
And the princess and the prince
Discuss what's real and what is not
It doesn't matter inside the Gates of Eden
The foreign sun, it squints upon
A bed that is never mine
As friends and other strangers
From their fates try to resign
Leaving men wholly, totally free
To do anything they wish to do but die
And there are no trials inside the Gates of Eden
At dawn my lover comes to me
And tells me of her dreams
With no attempts to shovel the glimpse
Into the ditch of what each one means
At times I think there are no words
But these to tell what's true
And there are no truths outside the Gates of Eden
Música "folk", de un pueblerino, rural, no-urbano, menos neoyorkino, poeta del rock dicen, de los vaqueros no-mierda. Va con amor
ResponderEliminarsabías que el gran poeta del folk rock norteamericano se "convirtió a Cristo", en su versión protestante?! Creo que fue en 1978. Cosa admirable por varias razones, porque es judío, porque todo mundo creía que era ateo, porque no checan sus letras con la derecha religiosa (cf. la letra de esta canción).
ResponderEliminarSorprendente y no sé... algo suena mal en esta historia.
¿Y el poliedro? en tiempos de esta rola estaba convertido en la traducción de los contrastes de su momento, en una lírica que movió al mundo de chavos que encontraban figuras para rebelarse del autoritarismo o la gerontrocracia. Las encontraban.
ResponderEliminarLe perdono la mística en la recepción de su música, entre el ateísmo o no, Cristo o el Ché, ja, pero el coqueteo facho de la moralina salvadora del mundo gracias a dios o al Estado, a algún programa de régimen normalizador de los excesos de la anomia... ufff
Con todo, insisto, este "rural" o salvaje, dirían los civilizadores, traspasó las barreras gremiales del rock dominados por "lo" urbano.