Dylan

In A Bad Mood

It's not because I'm mean.

Mean guys in a group

Get lots of understanding

And a bowl of soup.

It's not because I'm evil

Underneath the skin.

I keep the drawbridge up

And nobody gets in.

However I've been loved

Regardless what the shrinks,

Jacqui, Joyce or Carolyn

Or anybody thinks.

Or Mary – the psychologist

Who really laid it on -

Said all I said was “shit” -

I'm very glad she's gone.

Therapists are bastards

And I have had enough.

But he who said I was

“A diamond in the rough”.

Renaissance

Art is dead. It was crushed

Beneath the massive weight

Of monsters who are ugly

When they congregate.

And they took the word

“Artist” - it's a lie -

For their loveless selves.

No tears. They never cry.

Will these artists ever die,

The beautiful come back?

Somewhere by the sea

In a small impoverished shack

A person even now

That no one ever knew

Is dreaming up a vision

Both beautiful and true.

Although the truth can be

A killing in the street,

Rap and war and cops

With impunity who beat.

 

Someone's Observation

Someone said that Porter

Was witty, Hart was clever.

That's the best opinion

I've ever read, but ever.

 

Dylan

When I was a boy,

Everything was new,

But not sterling silver.

It tarnished very quickly.

Everyone it seemed

Was interested more

In what I ought to be,

And less in what I was.

I grew up with Dylan,

Critic of the world

Castigating losers

In something like a tune.

I'm among the losers

He is singing to.

I got off on Dylan

Singing about me.

I never thought him beautiful,

But a playful hate,

Folk songs from the 60s,

Not “Danny Boy” or Kern.

A stupid thing to say -

That Dylan isn't beautiful.

Everybody knows

That beauty is passe.

I too am a critic

From my point of view,

Espousing what I like

And damning all the rest.

Critics

As foolish and absurd

As a Sarah Palin speech

Is a hagiography -

Even one of Keats.

His poem about Egypt

Written to compete

With another poet -

Maybe two – I don't remember -

Announced and praised the winner -

Is a pretty dull affair.

And I am Sarah Palin -

Just as ignorant as she -

Except that I am liberal

And she – well, what is she?

She cries – impeach Obama.

I really have to stop

Reading things on Google.

It's bad for my digestion.

However in the world

That assassinated Keats -

A boy who wrote a poem -

And the same for Sarah Palin -

I'm sure that if my poems

Are worth somebody's time

I'll wait until I'm buried

To have them in the air.

Or Rodgers – his opinion

Of Sondheim – though it's mine

And I'm very glad he said it -

Don't say it please to me.

Working on a show

With Rogers, Sondheim wrote

A lyric. Rodgers read it

And hollered, “This is shit!”

That wasn't very nice,

But I imagine it was true.