{"id":6836,"date":"2016-10-13T18:25:02","date_gmt":"2016-10-13T16:25:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.beseit.net\/?p=6836"},"modified":"2017-01-09T18:59:58","modified_gmt":"2017-01-09T16:59:58","slug":"el-music-nord-america-bob-dylan-guanya-el-premi-nobel-de-literatura-2016","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/?p=6836","title":{"rendered":"El m\u00fasic nord-americ\u00e0 Bob Dylan guanya el premi Nobel de literatura 2016"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"bob_dylan\"<\/a>El m\u00fasic nord-americ\u00e0 Bob Dylan<\/strong> guanya el premi Nobel de literatura 2016 “per haver creat una nova expressi\u00f3 po\u00e8tica en la gran tradici\u00f3 nord-americana de la can\u00e7\u00f3”, segons ha anunciat aquest dijous la secret\u00e0ria de l’Acad\u00e8mia sueca, Sara Danius. La decisi\u00f3 ha estat una sorpresa, i Danius ha hagut d’aturar-se un moment abans de poder continuar per anunciar el motiu pel qual se li donava el guard\u00f3 a Dylan, ja que durant les dues \u00faltimes d\u00e8cades l’Acad\u00e8mia sueca nom\u00e9s ha recompensat dos poetes, Tomas Transtr\u00f6mer (2011) i Wyslawa Szymborszka (1996). Uns minuts despr\u00e9s, Danius ampliava el missatge inicial: “ Dylan mereix el Nobel perqu\u00e8 \u00e9s un gran poeta en llengua anglesa<\/strong>. Durant una traject\u00f2ria de 55 anys<\/p>\n

[…]<\/a><\/p>\n

1. Blowin’ in the wind. Inclosa al disc ‘The freewheelin’ Bob Dylan’ (1963), \u00e9s un emblema de la can\u00e7\u00f3 protesta. Dylan es pregunta sobre la pau, la guerra i la llibertat<\/p>\nhttp:\/\/www.beseit.net\/mp3\/blowin_in_the_wind.mp3<\/a><\/audio>\n

How many roads must a man walk down
\nBefore you call him a man?<\/p>\n

Yes, ‘n’ how many seas must a white dove sail
\nBefore she sleeps in the sand?
\nYes, ‘n’ how many times must the cannon balls fly
\nBefore they’re forever banned?
\nThe answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
\nThe answer is blowin’ in the wind.<\/p>\n

How many times must a man look up
\nBefore he can see the sky?
\nYes, ‘n’ how many ears must one man have
\nBefore he can hear people cry?
\nYes, ‘n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows
\nThat too many people have died?
\nThe answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
\nThe answer is blowin’ in the wind.<\/p>\n

How many years can a mountain exist
\nBefore it’s washed to the sea?
\nYes, ‘n’ how many years can some people exist
\nBefore they’re allowed to be free?
\nYes, ‘n’ how many times can a man turn his head,
\nPretending he just doesn’t see?
\nThe answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
\nThe answer is blowin’ in the wind.<\/p>\n

2. Tombstone Blues. La can\u00e7\u00f3 de ‘Highway 61 revisited’ (1965) forma part del grapat gens anecd\u00f2tic de lletres surrealistes que Dylan ha escrit, entre les quals tamb\u00e9 hi ha ‘Bob Dylan’s 115th dream’ i ‘Subterranean homesick blues’. Entremig de versos extravagants com “Well, John the baptist after torturing a thief \/ looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief” hi ha una cr\u00edtica a l’autoritat i al poder.<\/p>\nhttp:\/\/www.beseit.net\/mp3\/bob_dylan_tombstone_blues.mp3<\/a><\/audio>\n

The sweet pretty things are in bed now, of course
\nThe city fathers, they’re trying to endorse
\nThe reincarnation of Paul Revere’s horse
\nBut the town has no need to be nervous<\/p>\n

The ghost of Belle Starr, she hands down her wits
\nTo Jezebel the nun, she violently knits
\nA bald wig for Jack the Ripper, who sits
\nAt the head of the Chamber of Commerce<\/p>\n

Mama’s in the factory, she ain’t got no shoes
\nDaddy’s in the alley, he’s lookin’ for food
\nI’m in the kitchen with the tombstone blues<\/p>\n

The hysterical bride in the penny arcade
\nScreaming, she moans, “I’ve just been made”
\nThen sends for the doctor who pulls down the shade
\nAnd says, “My advice is to not let the boys in”<\/p>\n

Now the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside
\nHe walks with a swagger and he says to the bride
\n“Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride
\nYou will not die, it’s not poison”<\/p>\n

Mama’s in the factory, she ain’t got no shoes
\nDaddy’s in the alley, he’s lookin’ for food
\nI’m in the kitchen with the tombstone blues<\/p>\n

Well, John the Baptist, after torturing a thief
\nLooks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief
\nSaying, “Tell me, great hero, but please make it brief
\nIs there a hole for me to get sick in?”<\/p>\n

3 Love sick. L\u2019any 1997 va apar\u00e8ixer \u2018Time out of mind\u2019, el trent\u00e8 disc d\u2019estudi de Bob Dylan. Juntament amb \u2018Tempest\u2019 \u2013que arribaria quinze anys despr\u00e9s\u2013 \u00e9s considerat un dels \u00e0lbums m\u00e9s destacats de l\u2019\u00faltima etapa de Dylan. Hi abunden el blues i els mitjos temps.<\/p>\n

http:\/\/www.beseit.net\/mp3\/bob_dylan_love_sick.mp3<\/a><\/audio>
\nI’m walking through streets that are dead
\nWalking, walking with you in my head
\nMy feet are so tired, my brain is so wired
\nAnd the clouds are weeping<\/p>\n

Did I hear someone tell a lie?
\nDid I hear someone’s distant cry?
\nI spoke like a child, you destroyed me with a smile
\nWhile I was sleeping<\/p>\n

I’m sick of love
\nBut I’m in the thick of it
\nThis kind of love
\nI’m so sick of it<\/p>\n

I see, I see lovers in the meadow
\nI see, I see silhouettes in the window
\nI watch them till they’re gone and they leave me hanging on
\nTo a shadow<\/p>\n

I’m sick of love
\nI hear the clock tick
\nThis kind of love
\nI’m love sick<\/p>\n

Sometimes the silence can be like the thunder
\nSometimes I wanna take to the road and plunder
\nCould you ever be true? I think of you
\nAnd I wonder<\/p>\n

I’m sick of love
\nI wish I’d never met you
\nI’m sick of love
\nI’m trying to forget you<\/p>\n

Just don’t know what to do
\nI’d give anything to be with you
\n———————————-
\nLove sick en catal\u00e0 (Bob Dylan)<\/p>\n

Estic caminant,pels carrers que estan morts
\ncaminant, caminant amb tu al meu cap
\nTinc els peus tan cansats. El meu cervell est\u00e0 tan embolicat
\nI els n\u00favols estan plorant<\/p>\n

He sentit a alg\u00fa dir una mentida?
\nHe sentit el crit distant d’alg\u00fa?
\nVaig parlar com un nen, tu em vas destruir amb un somriure
\nmentre jo estava dormint.<\/p>\n

Estic malalt d’amor
\nPer\u00f2 s\u00f3c al mig d’ell
\nAquest tipus d’amor
\nEstic tan fart d’aix\u00f2<\/p>\n

Veig, Veig amants al prat
\nVeig, Veig siluetes a la finestra
\nEls observo fins que se’n van
\nem deixen penjat en una ombra.<\/p>\n

Estic malalt d’amor
\nEscolto el tic de rellotge
\nAquest tipus d’amor
\nEstic tan fart d’aix\u00f2<\/p>\n

De vegades el silenci pot ser com el tro
\nA vegades vull prendre la carretera i el saqueig (A vegades sento que m’estan enterrant.)
\nPodria alguna vegada ser veritat? penso en tu
\nI em pregunto<\/p>\n

Estic malalt d’amor
\nVoldria no haver-te conegut mai
\nEstic malalt d’amor
\nJo estic intentant oblidar-te<\/p>\n

Simplement no s\u00e9 qu\u00e8 fer
\nDonaria qualsevol cosa per estar amb tu<\/p>\n

4. Hurricane. La can\u00e7\u00f3 protesta inclosa a ‘Desire’ (1975) explica la hist\u00f2ria del boxejador Rubin ‘Hurricane’ Carter, que va ser condemnat juntament amb John Artis d’un triple assassinat a Paterson l’any 1966. Al llarg de vuit minuts i mig, Dylan defensa que rere l’empresonament de Carter hi havia motius racials.<\/p>\n

http:\/\/www.beseit.net\/mp3\/bob_dylan_hurricane.mp3<\/a><\/audio>
\nPistol shots ring out in the barroom night
\nEnter Patty Valentine from the upper hall.
\nShe sees the bartender in a pool of blood,
\nCries out, “My God, they’ve killed them all!”
\nHere comes the story of the Hurricane,
\nThe man the authorities came to blame
\nFor somethin’ that he never done.
\nPut in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
\nThe champion of the world.<\/p>\n

Three bodies lyin’ there does Patty see
\nAnd another man named Bello, movin’ around mysteriously.
\n“I didn’t do it,” he says, and he throws up his hands
\n“I was only robbin’ the register, I hope you understand.
\nI saw them leavin’,” he says, and he stops
\n“One of us had better call up the cops.”
\nAnd so Patty calls the cops
\nAnd they arrive on the scene with their red lights flashin’
\nIn the hot New Jersey night.<\/p>\n

Meanwhile, far away in another part of town
\nRubin Carter and a couple of friends are drivin’ around.
\nNumber one contender for the middleweight crown
\nHad no idea what kinda shit was about to go down
\nWhen a cop pulled him over to the side of the road
\nJust like the time before and the time before that.
\nIn Paterson that’s just the way things go.
\nIf you’re black you might as well not show up on the street
\n‘Less you wanna draw the heat.<\/p>\n

Alfred Bello had a partner and he had a rap for the cops.
\nHim and Arthur Dexter Bradley were just out prowlin’ around
\nHe said, “I saw two men runnin’ out, they looked like little apes
\nThey jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates.”
\nAnd Miss Patty Valentine just nodded her head.
\nCop said, “Wait a minute, boys, this one’s not dead”
\nSo they took him to the infirmary
\nAnd though this man could hardly see
\nHe told ‘em he could identify the guilty men.<\/p>\n

Four in the mornin’ and they haul Rubin in,
\nThey took him to the hospital and they brought him upstairs.
\nThe wounded man looks up through his one dyin’ eye
\nSays, “Why’d you bring him in here for? He ain’t the guy!”
\nYes, here’s the story of the Hurricane,
\nThe man the authorities came to blame
\nFor somethin’ that he never done.
\nPut in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
\nThe champion of the world.<\/p>\n

Four months later, the ghettos are in flame,
\nRubin’s in South America, fightin’ for his name
\nWhile Arthur Dexter Bradley’s still in the robbery game
\nAnd the cops are puttin’ the screws to him, lookin’ for somebody to blame.
\n“Remember that murder that happened in a bar?
\nRemember you said you saw the getaway car?
\nYou think you’d like to play ball with the law?
\nThink it might-a been that fighter that you saw runnin’ that night?
\nDon’t forget that you are white.”<\/p>\n

Arthur Dexter Bradley said, “I’m really not sure.”
\nThe cop said, “A poor boy like you could use a break
\nWe got you for the motel job and we’re talkin’ to your friend Bello
\nYou don’t wanta have to go back to jail, be a nice fellow.
\nYou’ll be doin’ society a favor.
\nThat sonofabitch is brave and gettin’ braver.
\nWe want to put his ass in stir
\nWe want to pin this triple murder on him
\nHe ain’t no Gentleman Jim.”<\/p>\n

Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
\nBut he never did like to talk about it all that much.
\n“It’s my work,” he’d say, “I do it for pay
\nAnd when it’s over I’d just as soon go on my way
\nUp to some paradise
\nWhere the trout streams flow and the air is nice
\nAnd ride a horse along the trail.”
\nBut then they took him to the jailhouse
\nWhere they try to turn a man into a mouse.<\/p>\n

All of Rubin’s cards were marked in advance
\nThe trial was a pig-circus, he never had a chance.
\nThe judge made Rubin’s witnesses drunkards from the slums
\nTo the white folks who watched he was a revolutionary bum
\nAnd to the black folks he was just a crazy nigger.
\nNo one doubted that he pulled the trigger.
\nAnd though they could not produce the gun,
\nThe D.A. said he was the one who did the deed
\nAnd the all-white jury agreed.<\/p>\n

Rubin Carter was falsely tried.
\nThe crime was murder one, guess who testified?
\nBello and Bradley and they both baldly lied
\nAnd the newspapers, they all went along for the ride.
\nHow can the life of such a man
\nBe in the palm of some fool’s hand?
\nTo see him obviously framed
\nCouldn’t help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land
\nWhere justice is a game.<\/p>\n

Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties
\nAre free to drink martinis and watch the sunrise
\nWhile Rubin sits like Buddha in a ten-foot cell
\nAn innocent man in a living hell.
\nYes, that’s the story of the Hurricane,
\nBut it won’t be over till they clear his name
\nAnd give him back the time he’s done.
\nPut in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
\nThe champion of the world.<\/p>\n

5. Visions of Johanna. \u00c9s una de les can\u00e7ons d\u2019amor m\u00e9s estranyes que Dylan ha escrit al llarg dels anys. El m\u00fasic s\u2019acabava de casar amb Sara Lownds, per\u00f2 el record de Joan Baez era tan present que la veu narradora de \u2018Visions of Johanna\u2019 \u2013inclosa a \u2018Blonde on blonde\u2019 (1966)\u2013 troba a faltar el seu antic amor tot i que ja en t\u00e9 un de nou. \u201cLouise, she\u2019s all right, she\u2019s just near \/ s\u2019he\u2019s delicate and seems like the mirror\/ but she just makes it all too concise and too clear \/ that Johanna\u2019s not here\u201d, escriu.<\/p>\nhttp:\/\/www.beseit.net\/mp3\/bob_dylan_visions_of_johanna.mp3<\/a><\/audio>\n

Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re tryin’ to be so quiet ?
\nWe sit here stranded, though we’re all doing our best to deny it
\nAnd Louise holds a handful of rain, tempting you to defy it
\nLights flicker from the opposite loft
\nIn this room the heat pipes just cough
\nThe country music station plays soft
\nBut there’s nothing really nothing to turn off
\nJust Louise and her lover so entwined
\nAnd these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind.
\nIn the empty lot where the ladies play blindman’s bluff with the key chain
\nAnd the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the D-train
\nWe can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
\nAsk himself if it’s him or them that’s really insane
\nLouise she’s all right she’s just near
\nShe’s delicate and seems like the mirror
\nBut she just makes it all too concise and too clear
\nThat Johanna’s not here
\nThe ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face
\nWhere these visions of Johanna have now taken my place.
\nNow, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
\nHe brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
\nAnd when bringing her name up
\nHe speaks of a farewell kiss to me
\nHe’s sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
\nMuttering small talk at the wall while I’m in the hall
\nOh, how can I explain ?
\nIt’s so hard to get on
\nAnd these visions of Johanna they kept me up past the dawn.
\nInside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
\nVoices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
\nBut Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
\nYou can tell by the way she smiles
\nSee the primitive wallflower frieze
\nWhen the jelly-faced women all sneeze
\nHear the one with the mustache say, “Jeeze
\nI can’t find my knees.”
\nOh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
\nBut these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel.
\nThe peddler now speaks to the countess who’s pretending to care for him
\nSaying, “Name me someone that’s not a parasite and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him.”
\nBut like Louise always says
\n“Ya can’t look at much, can ya man.”
\nAs she, herself prepares for him
\nAnd Madonna, she still has not showed
\nWe see this empty cage now corrode
\nWhere her cape of the stage once had flowed
\nThe fiddler, he now steps to the road
\nHe writes everything’s been returned which was owed
\nOn the back of the fish truck that loads
\nWhile my conscience explodes
\nThe harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
\nAnd these visions of Johanna are now all that remain.
\nCompositors: Bob Dylan \/ Dylan Bob
\nLletra de Visions of Johanna \u00a9 Bob Dylan Music Co.<\/p>\n

Mr. Tambourine man<\/p>\n

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
\nI’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
\nHey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
\nIn the jingle jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.<\/p>\n

Though I know that evenin’s empire has returned into sand,
\nVanished from my hand,
\nLeft me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
\nMy weariness amazes me, I’m branded on my feet,
\nI have no one to meet
\nAnd the ancient empty street’s too dead for dreaming.<\/p>\n

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin’ ship,
\nMy senses have been stripped, my hands can’t feel to grip,
\nMy toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
\nTo be wanderin’.
\nI’m ready to go anywhere, I’m ready for to fade
\nInto my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
\nI promise to go under it.<\/p>\n

Though you might hear laughin’, spinnin’, swingin’ madly across the sun,
\nIt’s not aimed at anyone, it’s just escapin’ on the run
\nAnd but for the sky there are no fences facin’.
\nAnd if you hear vague traces of skippin’ reels of rhyme
\nTo your tambourine in time, it’s just a ragged clown behind,
\nI wouldn’t pay it any mind, it’s just a shadow you’re
\nSeein’ that he’s chasing.
\nThen take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind,
\nDown the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
\nThe haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
\nFar from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
\nYes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
\nSilhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
\nWith all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
\nLet me forget about today until tomorrow.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

El m\u00fasic nord-americ\u00e0 Bob Dylan guanya el premi Nobel de literatura 2016 “per haver creat una nova expressi\u00f3 po\u00e8tica en la gran tradici\u00f3 nord-americana de la can\u00e7\u00f3”, segons ha anunciat aquest dijous la secret\u00e0ria de l’Acad\u00e8mia sueca, Sara Danius. La … Continua llegint →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6836","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-retall-de-diaris"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6836","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6836"}],"version-history":[{"count":37,"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6836\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6971,"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6836\/revisions\/6971"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6836"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6836"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.beseit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6836"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}