Bob Dylan at 51
Maryanne Hannan
July 1, 1999
Me, not him. He was always
older than I, and you could tell
by his success: how he earned
millions making records I used
minimum wage dollars to buy.
And he knew so much more-
It would take me years to grasp how
God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son."
Still, we shared an eerie overlap.
Surely not everyone knew back then
you didn't need a weatherman
to know which way the wind blew.
So, I remain faithful, and follow him,
hoping he just might tell us the truth.
Last night, for instance, from high
in the packed stadium I could see
on his tired face the delicate
satisfaction commensurate with once
having wondered how it feels under
a brand new leopard-skin pillbox hat.
Some things he does for the crowd, others
for himself, and I pretend I can see
the difference because finally, like him,
I'm an artist. I don't want to work
on Maggie's farm no more, but here again,
he was ahead of me. He knew you couldn't
tell them the sun's not yellow, it's chicken
without musical accompaniment or a voice
that set them buzzing. By now, most people
know you gotta serve somebody, but who
can show them how? Not me, not Bob Dylan,
when even the butler, he's got something to prove
and deep down, we're stuck inside the same old blues-
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end?
Like the preview? To read this complete article
and 20,006 more in the archive—JOIN NOW!
Easily find high-quality, well-researched materials that provide a Christian perspective on topics ranging from headlines to history.
Start using this invaluable tool TODAY for preparing your Bible studies, presentations, class lectures, sermons, meetings, and more.
|
It's easy and quick to join:
Brought to You by Christianity Today Int'l |  |
|
| 
Find similar articles
E-mail this page
