Showing posts with label Desolation Row. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Desolation Row. Show all posts

Thursday, December 19, 2013

What Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot May Have Been Fighting About in Dylan's Desolation Row

"Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot fighting in the captain's tower..." ~Bob Dylan, Desolation Row

What were Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot fighting about in the captain's tower? In order to understand this, it will be helpful to give a brief introduction to Ezra Pound, a major twentieth century poet who came to a disturbing end.

The trigger event for this introduction to Pound was a story earlier this week in The Daily Beast titled The Letter That Changed the Course of Modern Fiction. The article cites the power of serendipity to change literary history, citing a  letter from Ezra Pound to the undiscovered, unrecognized James Joyce. Joyce had been unable to find a publisher for his short story collection known today as Dubliners. The article goes on to show how Pound, through serialization, helped gain an audience for Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and ultimately laid the groundwork for the reverberations set in motion by Joyce's Ulysses.

The high praise for Pound doesn't end with James Joyce, however. Ted Gioia writes:

“Ezra was the most generous writer I have ever known,” Hemingway later remarked. “He helped poets, painters, sculptors and prose writers that he believed in and he would help anyone whether he believed in them or not if they were in trouble.” By Hemingway’s estimate, Pound devoted only around one-fifth of his time on his own writing, focusing the rest of his energy on advancing the careers of others.

So what were Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot fighting about then? The Beast gives no hints regarding the rest of the story. Wikipedia offers a more complete picture.

Ezra Pound was an American who had gone overseas and played a central role in literary circles in London and Paris. His influence brought numerous significant writers to the attention of a wider public including Hemingway himself, Robert Frost, Joyce and T.S. Eliot. Wikipedia cites Hemingway as stating, "He defends [his friends] when they are attacked, he gets them into magazines and out of jail. ... He writes articles about them. He introduces them to wealthy women. He gets publishers to take their books. He sits up all night with them when they claim to be dying ... he advances them hospital expenses and dissuades them from suicide'.

At this point, Pound appears to be a truly heroic character. What came next significantly stained his reputation.

World War I, the Great War as it was called, not only scarred the countrysides of Europe, it left open wounds in the souls of men. Pound was one of these so wounded. It is normal to ask "why" questions when something so momentous and disruptive happens, and Pound was no exception. The conclusion he came to was that international capitalism was the root cause of this horror. Having lost faith in England, he moved to Italy where he embraced Fascism and threw his support behind Mussolini and Hitler.

During World War II he wrote and recorded radio broadcasts against England and the Allies, possibly hundreds of ten minute pro-Axis propaganda pieces. When the war came to a close, Pound was arrested, turned over to authorities to be tried for treason. At one point he purportedly compared Hitler to Saint Joan of Arc and stated that Mussolini was simply "an imperfect character who lost his head."

Pound was placed in a six by six cell in the U.S. Army Disciplinary Training Center where, according to Wikipedia, he was placed in one of the camp's "death cells", a series of six-by-six-foot outdoor steel cages lit up all night by floodlights. He was left for three weeks in isolation in the heat, denied exercise, eyes inflamed by dust, no bed, no belt, no shoelaces, and no communication with the guards, except for the chaplain. After two and a half weeks he began to break down under the strain. Richard Sieburth writes that he recorded it in Canto 80, where Odysseus is saved from drowning by Leucothea: "hast'ou swum in a sea of air strip / through an aeon of nothingness, / when the raft broke and the waters went over me."

Now check out this last segment preceding the summing up in Dylan's Desolation Row. Every aspect of it is about waters. Neptune, god of the sea, the doomed Titanic, symbol of man's glory, calypso, mermaids, and the Odyssey form the frame containing this conflict between Pound and Eliot.

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

The arc of Eliot's life began in a fashion similar to Pound's for he, too, was an American who went abroad. Like Pound he was a social critic and major poet. A keen observer of the times, Eliot had been a protege of Bertrand Russell, the brilliant mathematician, activist and notorious atheist. But in seeing the futility of Russell's line of thinking, he turned to another path and became a Christian.

This world is broken, no matter which system one adopts, Eliot's decision seems to say. Dylan repeats this message over and over through the years. How we respond to this reality -- the Fall in Biblical terms, the opening of Pandora's Box in mythological terms -- is part of what defines us. Eliot went on to win a Nobel Prize. Pound  avoided prison for treason by being declared insane.

Dylan himself avoided being called the leader of a movement, a spokesperson for a generation, or an answer for everyone. He sensed such posturing is a setup for a fall. This did not stop him from asking questions, or raising them and asking them of his listeners.

Ultimately the question still stands: Which side are you on?

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Shakespeare and Dylan Birds of a Feather

Friday evening's Scarlet Rivera concert with Gene Lafond and the Wild Unknown provided a great kick-off for this week's Dylan Fest events. When it came time for an encore, the group did us one better, returning the following night to rock the house at Tycoon's Saturday evening.

During the pre-event mixer last night I had the privilege of finally meeting some of the many people whose names I'd become familiar with but who had no faces... till now. I am referring here to the board of directors for the Armory Arts and Music Center. What a dedicated bunch. The excitement surrounding recent events including purchase of the property next door only serves to cement their resolve that the facility will be preserved.

Being around Dylan people, and by that I mean people who have been long time fans and thought deeply about Dylan's songs and importance, you almost inevitably glean new insights to add to your catalog of understandings. Such was the case last night.

A favorite song among many long-time Dylan listeners is Desolation Row, the capstone on Dylan's remarkable Highway 61 Revisited. The opening line of this song is a familiar one, "They're selling postcards of the hanging..." I have listened to it a hundred, if not five hundred, times. It is shocking to realize that people actually did sell postcards of lynchings. And last night, while upstairs at Tycoons, I learned some new information about the lynching that took place here in 1919, a dark blot in Northland history.

Backstory: I have been aware for many years of the terrible event that took place here. I have even written about it on my blog a few times, as in this moment when I was touched by Billy Holiday's rendition of Strange Fruit Until last night I never realized the the jailhouse was not eight blocks away at Sixth Avenue West, where the county jail had been most of my years in this town. The jail, where these three black men were scraped from was just one block from where they were put to death without trial. Duluth's jail, and Prohibition era speakeasy, was right there in Tycoon's for a time, and then in the building next door.

While getting to know various people, listening and talking, we got to the topic of how many different phrases and songs and lines from songs are so much a part of our culture now but that many of the masses are unaware that their origins come from Dylan songs. One gentleman noted that for the longest time he'd never read any Shakespeare, but when he finally did his first reaction was that his plays were full of cliches... until he realized what an astonishing number of sayings originated with this brilliant man, and before him they weren't cliches at all.

My guess is that many who discover Dylan for the first time also realize that he's been influencing them all along, without them knowing it.What follows is a blog entry I wrote a few years ago with regard to Dylan's tip-o'-the-hat to Shakespeare.

TELL OL' BILL

It just keeps getting better. I'm referring here to the Dylan catalog. It's not the prodigious quantity, but the remarkable quality of work that keeps fans coming back for more.

When Tell Tale Signs: The Bootleg Series Vol. 8 was released last year, my first reaction was, "Oh no, do I have a buy yet another Dylan album already?" Then the word started to get around, some cuts were played on KUMD's Dylan Hour, and a friend said it was a must have. Turns out he was right. After a year I still can't stop listening to the songs on this rich double CD, which is primarily alternative takes and unreleased material from 1989 to present.

The unreleased songs here like "Red River Shore", "Born In Time" and "Marchin' to the City" would have been enough for the foundation of a great album, but shuffle in all these fabulous alternate versions of songs like "Most Of The Time" and "Dignity" and it's just golden.

This weekend the song "Tell Ol' Bill" has been pulsing through my mind. The tune is haunting. The poetry mysterious and suitably subtle and evocative. So I wished to share it here this morning.

Last night I found myself agreeing with Foley Jones who begins his review of this song with the statement, "I’ve been shocked by the lack of attention paid so far to Tell Ol’ Bill."

The simplicity of its imagery and the extent to which it has been realised is what makes the song ‘major’. Just how many times can one man go to the same well and come back with something so full and fresh? Here we’re on archetypal first principles, more symbolism than imagery: the river, the high hill, tranquil lakes and streams, the ground, the wood. How much is he conscious of the possibility of reading ‘River of Life’ into the opening line, do you suppose? The sheer number of times that you get to ask that fundamental question about his ditties is evidence in itself to make the question redundant. That’s what he’s on about alright.

The song has a lot of the core mannerisms of Dylan’s recent work: the country swing, the stolen title, the references to Shakespeare, the preoccupation with death, and the wry fortitude with which that prospect is met.

Tell Ol’ Bill

The river whispers in my ear
I've hardly a penny to my name
The heavens have never seemed so near
All of my body glows with flame

The tempest struggles in the air
And to myself alone I sing
It could sink me then and there
I can hear the echoes ring

I tried to find one smiling face
To drive the shadow from my head
I'm stranded in this nameless place
Lying restless in a heavy bed

Tell me straight out if you will
Why must you torture me within?
Why must you come down off of your high hill?
Throw my fate to the clouds and wind

Far away in a silent land
Secret thoughts are hard to bear
Remember me, you'll understand
Emotions we can never share

You trampled on me as you passed
Left the coldest kiss upon my brow
All of my doubts and fears have gone at last
I've nothing more to tell you now

I walk by tranquil lakes and streams
As each new season's dawn awaits
I lay awake at night with troubled dreams
The enemy is at the gate

Beneath the thunder blasted trees
The words are ringin' off your tongue
The ground is hard in times like these
Stars are cold, the night is young

The rocks are bleak, the trees are bare
Iron clouds go floating by
Snowflakes fallin' in my hair
Beneath the gray and stormy sky

The evenin' sun is sinkin' low
The woods are dark, the town isn't new
They'll drag you down, they'll run the show
Ain't no telling what they'll do

Tell ol' Bill when he comes home
Anything is worth a try
Tell him that I'm not alone
That the hour has come to do or die

All the world I would defy
Let me make it plain as day
I look at you now and I sigh
How could it be any other way?

Credits: Bob Dylan, songwriter
Special Rider Music, publisher





Check out Foley Jones' complete commentary on this great song.
CLICK IMAGES TO ENLARGE

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