Hiphopdancer
07-21-2012, 04:58 PM
I'm pretty new to the boards - I don't usually post much. But I was going through my vinyl today and came across Bob Dylan's Nashville Skyline album. Haven't looked at in years, I guess. On the back is a poem about Dylan, written by Johnny Cash. I almost lost my breath when I read those words, written around 1969, for another generation's poet and folk-rhymesayer.
This could have been written about Yauch. Maybe I'm just still emotional, but I wanted to share. Sorry in advance - it's a little long.
Of Bob Dylan
There are those who do not
imitate,
Who cannot imitate
But then there are those
who emulate
At times, to expand further
the light
Of an original glow.
Knowing that to imitate
the living
Is mockery
And to imitate the dead
Is robbery
There are those
Who are beings complete unto
themselves
Whole, undaunted, - a source
As leaves of grass, as stars,
As mountains, alike, alike,
alike,
Yet unalike
Each is complete and
contained
And as each unalike star
shines
Each ray of light is forever
gone
To leave way for a new ray
And a new ray, as from a
fountain
Complete unto itself, full,
flowing.
So are some souls like stars
And their words, works and
songs
Like strong, quick flashes of
light
From a brilliant, erupting
cone.
So where are your mountains
to match some men?
This man can rhyme the tick
of time
The edge of pain, the what
of same
And comprehend the good in
men, the bad in men
Can feel the hate of fight,
the love of right
And the creep of blight
at the speed of light
The pain of dawn, the gone
of gone
The end of friend, the end of end
By math of trend
What grip to hold what he
is told
How long to hold, how
strong to hold
How much to hold of what
is told.
And Know
The yield of rend; the break
of bend
The scar of mend
I'm proud to say that I
know it,
Here-in is a hell of a poet.
And lots of other things.
And lots of other things.
-Johnny Cash
This could have been written about Yauch. Maybe I'm just still emotional, but I wanted to share. Sorry in advance - it's a little long.
Of Bob Dylan
There are those who do not
imitate,
Who cannot imitate
But then there are those
who emulate
At times, to expand further
the light
Of an original glow.
Knowing that to imitate
the living
Is mockery
And to imitate the dead
Is robbery
There are those
Who are beings complete unto
themselves
Whole, undaunted, - a source
As leaves of grass, as stars,
As mountains, alike, alike,
alike,
Yet unalike
Each is complete and
contained
And as each unalike star
shines
Each ray of light is forever
gone
To leave way for a new ray
And a new ray, as from a
fountain
Complete unto itself, full,
flowing.
So are some souls like stars
And their words, works and
songs
Like strong, quick flashes of
light
From a brilliant, erupting
cone.
So where are your mountains
to match some men?
This man can rhyme the tick
of time
The edge of pain, the what
of same
And comprehend the good in
men, the bad in men
Can feel the hate of fight,
the love of right
And the creep of blight
at the speed of light
The pain of dawn, the gone
of gone
The end of friend, the end of end
By math of trend
What grip to hold what he
is told
How long to hold, how
strong to hold
How much to hold of what
is told.
And Know
The yield of rend; the break
of bend
The scar of mend
I'm proud to say that I
know it,
Here-in is a hell of a poet.
And lots of other things.
And lots of other things.
-Johnny Cash