Bob Dylan, "Desolation Row"
Theyre selling postcards of the hanging
Theyre painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
Theyve got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad theyre 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, hes moaning
You belong to me I believe
And someone says, youre in the wrong place, my friend
You better leave
And the only sound thats 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 fortunetelling 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, hes dressing
Hes getting ready for the show
Hes going to the carnival tonight
On desolation row
Now ophelia, shes 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 professions her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noahs 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
Theyre trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
Shes in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
Have mercy on his soul
They all play on penny whistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From desolation row
Across the street theyve nailed the curtains
Theyre getting ready for the feast
The phantom of the opera
A perfect image of a priest
Theyre spoonfeeding casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then theyll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words
And the phantoms shouting to skinny girls
Get outa here if you dont 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 neros neptune
The titanic sails at dawn
And everybodys shouting
Which side are you on?
And ezra pound and t. s. eliot
Fighting in the captains 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 door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, theyre quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I cant read too good
Dont send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From desolation row
What’s not to understand? It’s a presentation of decadence, with fairy tale figures and cultural icons all thrown into the soup of self-interested regard–pathetic creatures worthy only of amused contempt. The world is a self-defeating, depraved place. He sings about it.
The one creature who is less pathetic is the speaker of the last stanza, the "I" who can simply "rearrange the faces" (whatever that means) of the inadequate ("lame") and call them for what they are. There is more than a little self-pity here. He is put upon and feels himself dragged down by all these other inadequate beings. Poor baby! It’s an adolescent statement of his superiority and wallows in sadness for himself, like Holden Caulfield in _The Catcher in the Rye._
This doesn’t mean that the speaker’s vision of his limited world as a depraved place is necessarily incorrect, and the song, however much it falls short of a commanding vision, is amusing in its presentation of absurd, surreal effeteness. As pop music it’s fine; anything too stupid to be said can be sung, and the vocabulary and reference here is wider than in most rock and roll. However, it’s still an immature vision.
no
References :
This is Bob Dylan. This is how he writes. He is praised as a poet, songwriter and musician. If we truly understood the genius in Dylan, then he no longer would be genius and just be another musician.
I am sorry, but a lot of people have tried to figure him out. If I had to guess, it is a song about getting high, or stoned to the point that you are seeing things.
References :
What’s not to understand? It’s a presentation of decadence, with fairy tale figures and cultural icons all thrown into the soup of self-interested regard–pathetic creatures worthy only of amused contempt. The world is a self-defeating, depraved place. He sings about it.
The one creature who is less pathetic is the speaker of the last stanza, the "I" who can simply "rearrange the faces" (whatever that means) of the inadequate ("lame") and call them for what they are. There is more than a little self-pity here. He is put upon and feels himself dragged down by all these other inadequate beings. Poor baby! It’s an adolescent statement of his superiority and wallows in sadness for himself, like Holden Caulfield in _The Catcher in the Rye._
This doesn’t mean that the speaker’s vision of his limited world as a depraved place is necessarily incorrect, and the song, however much it falls short of a commanding vision, is amusing in its presentation of absurd, surreal effeteness. As pop music it’s fine; anything too stupid to be said can be sung, and the vocabulary and reference here is wider than in most rock and roll. However, it’s still an immature vision.
References :