Explaining its rational for choosing Dylan for this honour, spokesperson Sara Danius stated it was, “… for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.”

Bob Dylan himself said, “It’s not easy to define poetry.”

He’s also been influential to other poets like Leonard Cohn – to whom Dylan said was the best, next to him – for using music to more effectively communicate their works. As John Lennon explained about song writing, “It’s like sending a postcard… not much space to say a lot.”

My first introduction to Dylan was in an English Literature class. It seems strange now, but up to then I mainly listened to the music. Perhaps the lyrics didn’t have much to say, but he opened different perspectives for me to consider. And, as the Beatles evolved, I was ready for new possibilities.

“You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows”
~ Subterranean Homesick Blues by Bob Dylan
Watch on Youtube

Journalist, Bill Wyman, in support of Dylan, said, “His lyricism is exquisite; his concerns and subjects are demonstrably timeless; and few poets of any era have seen their work bear more influence.

Salman Rushdie tweeted “From Fran Orpheus to Faiz, songs and poetry have been closely linked. Dylan is the brilliant inheritor of the bardic tradition. Great choice.”

As The New York Times succinctly put it, “He finally got the prize because he re-arranged the way we all think.”

One thing for certain… Dylan will continue to acknowledge whatever recognition – musical, humanitarian, artist or writer awards – with equal skepticism.

And, who can blame him when the public is so fickle: supporting him today… condemning him tomorrow? For example: showing up at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival, with an electric Fender Stratocaster guitar – causing a wave of negative reaction.

Unfortunately, the ‘Folk’ community felt betrayed because Dylan seemed to be going against the very values – like traditional authenticity – their protest music represented. Looking back, it’s a shame that guitars, not peace, became a focal point… like holding a “gun” to each other’s head.

Yet Dylan said, in a Martin Scorsese produced documentary, it was electric because he simply needed more volume to be heard. “Country music was going electric too… I felt it didn’t have anything to do with me.”

Yet, the inflexibility within people’s hearts and minds seems so sadly similar to today. Like so many artists before him, he’s paid a deep price for his art.

So, thank you Mr. Z! You’ve gotten us feeling critically creative, again: embracing change. Great music, like great poetry, lasts. His words are as true today as they were yesterday.

“Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown”

~ The Times They Are A-Changin’ by Bob Dylan
Watch on Youtube

And as Maya Angelou observed, “…people will forget what you said… what you did… but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

That’s the way I figure it. FP

Photo Credits

Bob Dylan Street Art –  from Pixabay

Bob Dylan and Joan Baez – from Pixabay

First published at fredparry.ca

Guest Author Bio
Fred Parry

Fred Parry lives in Southern Ontario. He is a lover of people and a collector of stories, music, wisdom, and grandchildren. His raison d’etre? “I’m one of those people who believe that if my work serves the common good, it will last; if not, it will die with me. I still believe that’s true.” Fred spent ten years as a columnist for Metroland Media Group – a division of the publishing conglomerate Torstar Corporation.

His book, ‘The Music In Me’ (2013) Friesen Press is also available via Indigo / Chapters.

Blog / Website: www.fredparry.ca

Little children starving in the night
Hungry eyes do tell
Time to put our differences aside
Learn to feed them well

Always in this heart of mine
Little girls and boys
Is there in that heart of yours
Room for their toys
Somewhere in this world of ours
Time to ease the pain
Somewhere in this world of ours
Time to love again

Little children lost within the night
Lonely eyes do tell
Time to put our differences aside
Learn to love them well

Always in this heart of mine
A place where you belong
Is there in that heart of yours
Room for this song
Somewhere in this world of ours
Room enough to share
Somewhere in this world of ours
Room enough to care

Little children crying in the night
Clouded eyes do tell
Time to put our differences aside
Learn to love them well

Always In This Heart
© 1990, Gil Namur

Photo Credit
Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection
First published at gilnamur.com

Darkness turned to laughter
The past a souvenir
In the promise of a new day – it all became so clear

And it took away the heart of me, it opened my eyes
That you are all a part of me, stars in the sky
Like a veil lifting over me, discerning anew
I knew it wasn’t magic then,
I know that it’s you

Hey languid mama, trade away your tears
And your ocean of sadness, and your deep well of fears
See the wonder within you and I know you just might
Trade a dance of surrender, for a dance of delight

Your darkness turned to laughter
Your past a souvenir
In the promise of a new day – it all became so clear

And it took away the heart of me, it opened my eyes
That you are all a part of me, stars in the sky
Like a veil lifting over me, discerning anew
I knew it wasn’t magic then,
I know that it’s you

A Dance of Delight
© 2008, Gil Namur

Photo Credit
Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection
First published at gilnamur.com

Some judge a man by his status and flair
If they say he’s no good it’s the length of his hair
Or his lack of investment in the real-estate scene
They say they can judge him, I say they’re obscene
But who am I to judge?

Some judge a man by his knowledge and wit
If he’s not into culture he’s a bit of a twit
And if he can’t tell a joke he’s a big waste of time
They say they can judge him, but they’re way out of line
But who am I to judge?

One judges men by their faith and their deeds
Even in judgment He’s aware of their needs
And He’ll never give up until all things have passed
Because then He will judge, who has judged.

© 1985, Gil Namur

Photo Credit
Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection

First published at gilnamur.com

She’s pretty, she has a killer body and she lives in a beautiful home that her husband built for her – the faucets in her ensuite bathroom are 24kt gold – seriously?? And she drives a BMW. Whatever.

Those were my first thoughts of Renée after meeting her one day in 1992. They ultimately became my reasons why I wouldn’t like her. She had everything I didn’t. We couldn’t be friends. 

But we did become friends. I came to know her as kind, thoughtful and loving and she always laughed at me – even at times when I was the only one that thought I was funny. She was 5 foot nothing and proud of it. She instantly became ‘my little buddy’. 

We were soon marvelling at how alike we were – we both had small hands and feet, we both loved Starbucks coffee and we always said “no ice” when we asked for water in a restaurant. We loved to go for walks, and would hike a mountain near her home as often as we could. We shared a love of baking and were always trading recipes. I still get a chuckle when I follow her hand-written chocolate chip ‘cooky’ recipe. 

Renée was diagnosed with a type of brain tumor called astrocytoma shortly after we met. I watched, as did others close to her, as she tried every alternative therapy available at the time (the doctors informed her this was not a tumor that would respond to chemotherapy or radiation.) She kept exercising because, as she put it, “I want to look fabulous when I’m on my way out.” She eventually underwent an operation to de-mass the tumor – it bought her a couple more years. She lived her life…around the seizures, the pain meds and the gradual deterioration. She never complained. It just wasn’t her style.

When her diagnosis became known, I wrote and recorded a song for her called ‘Loved So Sweet’. I wrote it from her perspective, hoping to shed a positive light on a sad situation. I’m not sure if I did it that way for her or for me, but in hindsight I think it helped me deal with the reality of her impending death and the anticipatory grief. I would ultimately play the song for her many times; she thought it was beautiful. No surprise – when it came to my music, she was my biggest fan.

Renée died at the age of 33 on December 23rd during The Blizzard of ’96, as it became known. Anyone living in Victoria at the time would remember that particular Christmas and the amount of snow that fell. It was a tough Christmas, but the immobility from the snowfall became a gift of quality time and closeness.

She taught me much in a short time, just by being who she was. Though she was very much a grown woman, I often caught glimpses of the little girl, and her willingness to let that side of her show made me warm to her even more. She humbled me in more ways than one and forced me to grow up. She was the reason I was able to see my envy at the time for what it was. I hated myself for being ‘that kind of person’, and began working through some important personal issues. I vowed I would never again let my own unhappiness and low self-esteem be a factor in how I viewed another.

My friendship with Renée was brief, and at the time I was angry that her life was cut short. I was angry for me too, at having found a friend, only to have her taken away so quickly. But I know our meeting was no accident, and over time, the anger eventually turned to gratitude. I feel so fortunate to have had the time with her that I did. And what I know of her life now that I didn’t know then has only deepened my respect for who she was, her character and her immense strength. There have been many times over the years that I’ve wished we could get together, have coffee and talk…really talk.

It’s July 20th, and today is her birthday – she would’ve been 53 and fabulous. I will take this day to honor her, listen to her song and remember the beautiful woman she was.

Happy Birthday, little buddy xo

Loved So Sweet

In life, and love, there are no promises
the dark and the light will come and go
but I have lived and I have loved so sweet

My hopes and my dreams
where are they now?
The times that we’d share, taken away
but I have lived and I have loved so sweet

Life, and love
two precious gifts I’ve held
the smile in my heart will never fade
‘cuz I have loved, and I have been loved…so sweet

Glenna Renée Williams  1963 – 1996

Photo Credits

Photos by Carol Good – all rights reserved

I script Gandhāra. It grants me the fierce tenderness
of watching my spine, my muscle in art.

Poems sizzle on the white page/s.
A breathing spirit that guides me in life.
Harp of my tradition , let me strike the strain
immersed in mists.

It restores the child in us and those missing senses.

Four walls form a powerful song that erupts suddenly
in dark recesses of soul, home takes me complete and cured!

I navigate my kite, the sky is
my dear sheer blue life.

Gandhāra art, style of Buddhist visual art that developed in what is now northwestern Pakistan and eastern Afghanistan between the 1st century BCE and the 7th CE.

Photo Credit

Bodhisattva, Gandhara Art – By Zde Wikimedia Creative Commons

Guest Author Bio

Jaydeep Sarangi
Jaydeep Sarangi , is a bilingual writer, academic, editor, translator, academic administrator and the author of a number of significant publications on Postcolonial issues, Indian Writing in English and Australian Literature in reputed journals/magazines in India and abroad. He has recently collaborated as peer reviewer for CLR, Universitat Jaume I, Spain. He is one of the Editors, “Writers Editors Critics” and the Vice President of literary organization, GIEWEC (head office at Kerala). Widely travelled and anthologised both as a poet and a critic, Dr Sarangi has delivered keynote addresses in several national and international seminars, conferences and read poems/research papers in several continents. His latest book of poems in English, A Door-somewhere? was released at Rzeszow University, Poland in the Summer 2014. He is Associate Professor in the Dept. of English , Jogesh Chandra Chaudhuri College (Calcutta University), 30,Prince Anwar Shah Road, Kolkata-700033, WB, India. E mail: jaydeepsarangi@gmail.com

Blog / Website: Author Poet – Dr. Jaydeep Sarangi

Today, as I cook ‘by guess and by golly’, as I garden by trial and error and as I tackle difficult tasks on my own instead of asking for someone’s help (because “what would you do if I wasn’t here?”), I realize she’s everywhere. It dawned on me that it was the things I did in my everyday life that preserved her memory and kept her close. She truly is in every part of me, and gone really is just a word.

Gone Is Just a Word

Mother the words that you gave me
 as a child in need so long ago
 all of those words are still with me
 though some of mine you’ll never know

And Mother your love was never ending
 your laughter I never will forget
I know that your life was never easy
I know now inside just what you meant

And I know you’ll be in every part of me
 and I know that gone is just a word

And if I could ask would you forgive me
 for words that I spoke with anger’s touch
 how can I explain the ache inside me
 remembering a day you had so much

And I know you’ll be in every part of me
 and I know that gone is just a word

Phyllis Evelyn Good  1935-1998

Photo Credits

Photos courtesy of Carol Good – all rights reserved

Breakfast in an old cafe
Donald Fagen playin
Slidin in across the bay
A sea fret on the rise
Ravens congress, seagulls flock, then vanish in the chasm
And Zeus’s daughter still is lost
But where I cannot fathom

An old guitar with rusty strings
Leaning by my window
Calling out for me to sing
My words have all run dry
But deep inside a voice begins, it’s you that locked me up within
I grab that axe and start to sing
It seems I hear my muse again

Photo Credit

Photo is Wikimedia Creative Commons

I lay my head,
Back in bed,
And wish away the day now.
Lullabies and broken lies,
Have all become a dream now.

Waking from the dream,
Red Sky greets me,
He’s offering a smokescreen cure, to cloud me.
Save the pain away,
For another day,
Chaos in my mind, I just can’t take my shit today.

I lay my head,
Back in bed,
And wish away the world now.
Lullabies and broken lives,
Have all become a dream now.

Photo Credit

Red Sky  © Gil Namur – All Rights Reserved

Guest Author Bio

Marshall McCarthy
Marshall is an aspiring novelist and writer, who stops by to offer his thoughts, opinions and musings, hoping to share and even gain a little bit of perspective. He is married (to a wonderful woman), lives in South Central Ontario and may or may not have a small addiction to video games.

Follow Marshall in Facebook

There seems to be confusion
No one can resolve
And in our grand delusion
How often we absolve
Our lack of understanding
For all of their pain
While somewhere in the desert
The faithful pray for rain

There seems to be beginning
There seems to be an end
And in that day of wisdom
Oh how will we defend
Our lack of understanding
Our show of disdain
While somewhere in the desert
Begins to fall the rain

Photo Credit

Microsoft Office Clip Art Collection

First Published At gilnamur.com