L'Anno Dylaniano

In questi giorni, anche grazie al circolo virtuoso creatosi in alcuni thread, mi sento sempre più Dylaniano sfegatato.
Ho quindi avuto questa idea: scegliamo ogni giorno una canzone di Sua Bobbità, e, da quel momento, quel giorno dell'anno sarà per sempre dedicato a quella canzone.
Io mi impegno a mantenere il sacro registro Excel delle canzoni già scelte. Ogni giorno il primo a postare in questo thread (dalle 0:00 del giorno) potrà scegliere insindacabilmente la canzone del giorno (tra quelle non ancora assegnate).
Mi arrogo il privilegio di cominciare, decretando il 31 Marzo giorno di Desolation Row.

Forse si potrebbero fare delle eccezioni e permettere a ognuno di scegliere la canzone del giorno del proprio compleanno...

Il Calendario Dylaniano trovasi QUI

Cool ..........

Anche se forse sarebbe piu`giusto della settimana .... o addirittura del mese ...... vista l'intensita`delle songs di His Bobness ....



... Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

yeeeessa canzone e testo!a mezzanotte ci penso io (?)

cmq meglio una al giorno perchè con una alla settimana....ci mettiamo sei vite

perrycoloso ha scritto:

meglio una al giorno perchè con una alla settimana....ci mettiamo sei vite

Ben spese pero` ....

Desolation Row

They’re selling postcards of the hanging
They’re painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They’ve got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they’re restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy
“It takes one to know one,” she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning
“You Belong to Me I Believe”
And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place my friend
You better leave”
And the only sound that’s left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The fortune-telling lady
Has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel
And the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he’s dressing
He’s getting ready for the show
He’s going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row

Now Ophelia, she’s ’neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession’s her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah’s great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They’re trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She’s in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
“Have Mercy on His Soul”
They all play on pennywhistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row

Across the street they’ve nailed the curtains
They’re getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They’re spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words
And the Phantom’s shouting to skinny girls
“Get Outa Here If You Don’t Know
Casanova is just being punished for going
To Desolation Row”

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero’s Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody’s shouting
“Which Side Are You On?”
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain’s tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the doorknob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they’re quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can’t read too good
Don’t send me no more letters, no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

SAD EYED LADY FROM THE LOWLANDS...

ora vado nel letto con questa nelle orecchie

Bravo Perry !

Il 1 Aprile è il giorno di:

Sad-Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands

With your mercury mouth in the missionary times
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes
Oh, who among them do they think could bury you?
With your pockets well protected at last
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass
Who among them do they think could carry you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace
And your basement clothes and your hollow face
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims
And your matchbook songs and your gypsy hymns
Who among them would try to impress you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss
And you wouldn’t know it would happen like this
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug
And your Spanish manners and your mother’s drugs
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you’d accepted the blame for the farm
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go
And your gentleness now, which you just can’t help but show
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you’re on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums
Should I leave them by your gate
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Dichiaro il 2 Aprile giorno di License to Kill


License To Kill

Man thinks ’cause he rules the earth he can do with it as he please
And if things don’t change soon, he will
Oh, man has invented his doom
First step was touching the moon

Now, there’s a woman on my block
She just sit there as the night grows still
She say who gonna take away his license to kill?

Now, they take him and they teach him and they groom him for life
And they set him on a path where he’s bound to get ill
Then they bury him with stars
Sell his body like they do used cars

Now, there’s a woman on my block
She just sit there facin’ the hill
She say who gonna take away his license to kill?

Now, he’s hell-bent for destruction, he’s afraid and confused
And his brain has been mismanaged with great skill
All he believes are his eyes
And his eyes, they just tell him lies

But there’s a woman on my block
Sitting there in a cold chill
She say who gonna take away his license to kill?

Ya may be a noisemaker, spirit maker
Heartbreaker, backbreaker
Leave no stone unturned
May be an actor in a plot
That might be all that you got
’Til your error you clearly learn

Now he worships at an altar of a stagnant pool
And when he sees his reflection, he’s fulfilled
Oh, man is opposed to fair play
He wants it all and he wants it his way

Now, there’s a woman on my block
She just sit there as the night grows still
She say who gonna take away his license to kill?

E dichiaro oggi, 3 Aprile, giorno di Ballad of a Thin Man


Ballad Of A Thin Man

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, “Who is that man?”
You try so hard
But you don’t understand
Just what you’ll say
When you get home

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You raise up your head
And you ask, “Is this where it is?”
And somebody points to you and says
“It’s his”
And you say, “What’s mine?”
And somebody else says, “Where what is?”
And you say, “Oh my God
Am I here all alone?”

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, “How does it feel
To be such a freak?”
And you say, “Impossible”
As he hands you a bone

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To just give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations

You’ve been with the professors
And they’ve all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You’ve been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books
You’re very well read
It’s well known

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, “Here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan”

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Now you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting the word “NOW”
And you say, “For what reason?”
And he says, “How?”
And you say, “What does this mean?”
And he screams back, “You’re a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home”

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin’ around
You should be made
To wear earphones

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

E oggi, 4 aprile, e`il giorno di Like a rolling stone ....



http://v.youku.com/v_show/id_XMTY3NDYwNDE2.html

Once upon a time you dressed so fine,
Threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you ?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall,"
You thought they were all a’kiddin' you.
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out.
Now you don't talk so loud,
Now you don't seem so proud,
About having to be scrounging your next meal.

How does it feel ?
How does it feel ?
To be without a home ?
Like a complete unknown ?
Like a rolling stone ?

Aw, you've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely,
But you know you only used to get “juiced” in it.
Nobody’s ever taught you how to live out on the street,
And now you're gonna have to get used to it.
You say you never compromise
With a mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And say, “Do you want to make a deal?

How does it feel ?
How does it feel ?
To be on your own ?
With no direction home ?
A complete unknown ?
Like a rolling stone ?

Aw, you never turned around to see the frowns
On the jugglers and the clowns
When they all did tricks for you.
You never understood that it ain't no good,
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you.
You used to ride on a chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat.
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal ?

How does it feel ?
How does it feel ?
To have ya’ on your own ?
With no direction home ?
Like a complete unknown ?
Like a rolling stone ?

Aw, princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're all drinkin', thinkin' that they’ve got it made.
Exchanging all precious gifts,
But you'd better take your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe.
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used.
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse.
When you ain’t got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you’ve got no secrets to conceal.

How does it feel ?
Aw, how does it feel ?
To be on your own ?
With no direction home ?
Like a complete unknown ?
Like a rolling stone ?

Olè !!!

Ho inserito il link al Calendario Dylaniano nel post iniziale.

Sandro ha scritto:

Ho inserito il link al Calendario Dylaniano nel post iniziale.

Si, volevo suggerire di modificare sempre il primo post con la lista delle canzoni non piu`"disponibili" ...... nel calendario pero`io vedo solo Desolation Row .... ...

Dario57 ha scritto:

Sandro ha scritto:

Ho inserito il link al Calendario Dylaniano nel post iniziale.

Si, volevo suggerire di modificare sempre il primo post con la lista delle canzoni non piu`"disponibili" ...... nel calendario pero`io vedo solo Desolation Row .... ...

Ci sono 2 sheet, Marzo e Aprile, selezionabili in basso a sinistra.

... Giusto ...

Sandro ha scritto:

Dario57 ha scritto:

Sandro ha scritto:

Ho inserito il link al Calendario Dylaniano nel post iniziale.

Si, volevo suggerire di modificare sempre il primo post con la lista delle canzoni non piu`"disponibili" ...... nel calendario pero`io vedo solo Desolation Row .... ...

Ci sono 2 sheet, Marzo e Aprile, selezionabili in basso a sinistra.

Ma perchè invece di fare uno spreadsheet non usi direttamente Google Calendar? è bell'e fatto, e analogamente condivisibile, ogni giorno una cella per scriverci dentro quello che vuoi

Per il 5 aprile mi sembra perfetta .... Tomorrow is a long time ....

If today was not a crooked highway,
If tonight was not a crooked trail,
If tomorrow wasn't such a long time,
Then lonesome would mean nothing to you at all.
Yes, and only if my own true love was waitin',
And if I could only hear her heart a-softly poundin',
Yes and only if she was lyin' by me,
Then I'd lie in my bed once again.

I can't see my reflection in the water,
I can't speak the sounds that show no pain,
I can't hear the echo of my footsteps,
Or can't remember the sound of my own name.
Yes, and only if my own true love was waitin',
And if I could only hear her heart a-softly poundin',
Yes and only if she was lyin' by me,
Then I'd lie in my bed once again.

There's beauty in the silver, singin' river,
There's beauty in the rainbow in the sky,
But no one and nothing else can touch the beauty
That I remember in my true love's eyes.
Yes, and only if my own true love was waitin',
And if I could only hear her heart a-softly poundin',
Yes and only if she was lyin' by me,
Then I'd lie in my bed once again.

Dario57 ha scritto:

Per il 5 aprile mi sembra perfetta .... Tomorrow is a long time ....

Per il 6 aprile, direi ....

It's alright ma (I'm only bleeding)


Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child's balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fools gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proved to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.

Temptation's page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover
That you'd just be
One more person crying.

So don't fear if you hear
A foreign sound to you ear
It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.

As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don't hate nothing at all
Except hatred.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their marks
Made everything from toy guns that sparks
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the President of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.

An' though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge
And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.

Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you're the one
That can do what's never been done
That can win what's never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.

You loose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand without nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.

A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.

Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.

For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despite their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platforms ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God Bless him.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society's pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he's in.

But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.

Old lady judges, watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn't talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony.

While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer's pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me ?

And if my thought-dreams could been seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.

Qui in Italia non è ancora mezzanotte, ma io te la dò buona, non fosse altro perché è una canzone stupenda !

Sandro ha scritto:

Qui in Italia non è ancora mezzanotte, ma io te la dò buona, non fosse altro perché è una canzone stupenda !

D'altra parte io ho la scusa dell'ora locale che a Bucarest e`GMT + 2 .... ... ovvero CET ... Central European Time .... Athens, Bucharest, Istanbul, Sofia, Helsinki, Cairo, Jerusalem, Harare .....

'night ...

Dario57 ha scritto:

Sandro ha scritto:

Qui in Italia non è ancora mezzanotte, ma io te la dò buona, non fosse altro perché è una canzone stupenda !

D'altra parte io ho la scusa dell'ora locale che a Bucarest e`GMT + 2 .... ... ovvero CET ... Central European Time .... Athens, Bucharest, Istanbul, Sofia, Helsinki, Cairo, Jerusalem, Harare .....

'night ...

Sorry, CET sono io a Vicenza, tu sei EET (Eastern European Time).

Anzi a voler essere precisi, adesso io sono CEST (Central European Summer Time) e tu sei EEST

(Perdona la pignoleria, litigo con le timezones tutto il giorno )

Nessuna pignoleria, e`giusto ... ero gia`addormentato ieri sera, ovvio che Bucarest sta nel Eastern European Time con le altre citta`che ho citato ....

7 aprile ..... My back pages .....

Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rollin’ high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
“We’ll meet on edges, soon,” said I
Proud ’neath heated brow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now

Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth
“Rip down all hate,” I screamed
Lies that life is black and white
Spoke from my skull. I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers
Foundationed deep, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now

Girls’ faces formed the forward path
From phony jealousy
To memorizing politics
Of ancient history
Flung down by corpse evangelists
Unthought of, though, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now

A self-ordained professor’s tongue
Too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty
Is just equality in school
“Equality,” I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now

In a soldier’s stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I’d become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My pathway led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now