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US singer Bob Dylan has been awarded the 2016 Nobel Prize for Literature.

 

The 75-year-old rock legend received the prize "for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition".

 

Dylan was born Robert Allen Zimmerman in 1941 and began his musical career in 1959, playing in coffee houses in Minnesota.

 

Much of his best-known work dates from the 1960s, when he became an informal historian of America's troubles.

 

Songs like Blowin' in the Wind and The Times They are A-Changin' became anthems of the anti-war and civil rights movements.

 

His move away from traditional folk songwriting, paired with a controversial decision to "go electric" proved equally influential.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-37643621

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Enthusiastic Contrafibularities posted:

 

He is not a patch on Pete Waterman!

Hmmm: let's see...

 

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'

 

Versus:

 

All the way
We're going all the way
Going all the way
Going all the way
We're going all the way

 

Eugene's Lair
Last edited by Eugene's Lair

Every Grain of Sand

Bob Dylan, 1981

In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need,
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed,
There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.
Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake -
Like Cain I now behold this chain of events that I must break.
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.



Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer.
Ah, the sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way,
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay.
I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey I've come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.



I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night,
In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintery light,
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.
I hear the agÃĐd footsteps like the motion of the sea,
Sometimes I turn - there's someone there - other times it's only me.
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man,
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.

El Loro

 

The work of a genius.

 

I was walking
Down the high street
When I heard footsteps behind me
And there was a little old man (hello!)
Scarlet and Gray, chuckling away



Well he trotted
Back to my house
And he sat beside the telly (ahh)
With his tiny hands on his tummy
Chuckling away, laughing all day



i'll have to report you to the gnome office
(gnome office? ahahahah!)



Hah hah hah
Hee hee hee
I'm a laughing gnome and you can't catch me
Hah hah hah
Hee hee hee
I'm a laughing gnome and you can't catch me
Said the laughing gnome



Well I gave him roasted toadstools
And a glass of dandelion wine (*burp* pardon)
Then I put him on a train to Eastbourne
Carried his bags, and gave him a fag (have you got a light boy?)



hey where do you come from?
(gnome-ans land, hehe!)
oh really?



In the morning
When i woke up
He was sitting on the edge of my bed
With his brother who's name was Fred
He brought him along
To sing me a song



alright let's hear it
now, what's that clicking noise?
(that's Fred, he's a metro-gnome, haha)



Hah hah hah
Hee hee hee
I'm a laughing gnome and you can't catch me
Hah hah hah
Hee hee hee
I'm a laughing gnome and you can't catch me



(oh now, i'm a gnome anyway haha)
haven't you got a home to go to?
(no, we are gnome-ads hehe)
didn't they teach you to get your hair cut at school you look like a rolling gnome
(nah, not at the London school of eco-gnome-ics)



Now they're staying
Up me chimney
And we're living on cavier and honey (hurray!)
Cos they're earning me lots of money
Writing comedy prose
For radio shows



it's the errrr
it's the gnome-service of course!



Hah hah hah
Hee hee hee
I'm a laughing gnome and you can't catch me
Hah hah hah
Hee hee hee (oh really)
I'm a laughing gnome and you can't catch me
(one more time!)
Hah hah hah
Hee hee hee
I'm a laughing gnome and you can't catch me

Enthusiastic Contrafibularities

 

My David Bowie joke-ette aside, if we are talking poets then I am going to throw a heavyweight into the ring; Gil Scott-Heron.

 

Try this on for size: The Revolution will not be Televised. 

 

*aapologies for formatting, I'm mobole*

 

Lyrics

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
Blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
Hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
Thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
Pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
Or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
Or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
Brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
Brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
Run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
Women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
Will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
News and no pictures of hairy armed women
Liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back
After a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
Bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
Will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers,
The revolution will be live.

 

Enthusiastic Contrafibularities
Last edited by Enthusiastic Contrafibularities

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