i have to analyze 5 poems of a poet of choice, i chose Dylan and im having a lot of trouble understanding desolation row. If anyone could help me out it be much appreciated. thank you

This one?

pam

They're selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They've got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they're 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, he's moaning
"You Belong to Me I Believe"
And someone says," You're in the wrong place, my friend
You better leave"
And the only sound that's 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, he's dressing
He's getting ready for the show
He's going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row

Now Ophelia, she's '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 profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's 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
They're trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She's 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 they've nailed the curtains
They're getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They're spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words

And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls
"Get Outa Here If You Don't 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 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

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, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

Rob, go to the "discussions" link at the following site:

[www.bobdylan.com]


Les

It strikes me as just a name-dropping assembly of images with no real meaning other than to convey an overwhelming mood of cynical despondency, expressed in the title words which are repeated at the end of each of the ten stanzas.

Reminds me of Louis Macneice's 'Bagpipe Music', in which the expression 'no go' is used 17 times:

It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head of bison.

John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
Kept its bones for dumbbells to use when he was fifty.

It's no go the Yogi-man, it's no go Blavatsky,
All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.

Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather,
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
It's no go your maidenheads, it's no go your culture,
All we want is a Dunlop tire and the devil mend the puncture.

The Laird o' Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober,
Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over.
Mrs. Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion,
Said to the midwife "Take it away; I'm through with overproduction."

It's no go the gossip column, it's no go the Ceilidh,
All we want is a mother's help and a sugar-stick for the baby.

Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn't count the damage,
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage.
His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were lavish,
Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish.

It's no go the Herring Board, it's no go the Bible,
All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle.

It's no go the picture palace, it's no go the stadium,
It's no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums,
It's no go the Government grants, it's no go the elections,
Sit on your arse for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension.

It's no go my honey love, it's no go my poppet;
Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit.
The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall forever,
But if you break the bloody glass you won't hold up the weather.



Post Edited (12-09-03 08:18)

Right, and it is certainly not as enchanting as My Back Pages.


Crimson flames tied through my ears
Rollin' high and mighty traps
Pounced with fire on flaming roads
Using ideas as my maps
"We'll meet on edges, soon," said I
Proud 'neath heated brow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now.

Half-cracked prejudice leaped forth
"Rip down all hate," I screamed
Lies that life is black and white
Spoke from my skull, I dreamed
Romantic facts of musketeers
Foundationed deep, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now.

Girls' faces formed the forward path
From phony jealousy
To memorizing politics
Of ancient history
Flung down by corpse evangelists
Unthought of, thought, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now.

A self-ordained professor's tongue
Too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty
Is just equality in school
"Equality," I spoke the word
As if a wedding vow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now.

In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand
At the mongrel dogs who teach
Fearing not that I'd become my enemy
In the instant that I preach
My existence led by confusion boats
Mutiny from stern to bow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt, somehow
Ah, but I was so much older then
I'm younger than that now.

I used to love that song where the man with the moustache said "geez I can't find my knees". It managed to somehow be melancholy and wistful without actually saying anything at all. Does anybody know what album that was on? I'd love to hear it again.

Geraldine, it's from Visions of Johanna. Go here for the lyrics:

[www.bobdylan.com]


Les

Many thanks Les.

Geraldine, just in case you're interested. The Album, Blonde on Blonde, from which the song is taken is available at a discount price here:

[www.amazon.com]


Les

Thanks again Les but I've never bought anything on the internet. I'll get it in the High Street.

That's fine. I bought some golf clubs through the internet. It worked just fine. Some friends use E-bay all the time. It's perfectly safe I think. The only problem is the shipping cost. For something like a CD, it might be cheaper to shop in town.

Les

please help me for my examination test send me analysis about this poem 'bagpipe music' and tell me who are those persons mentioned in it. thank youIanB wrote:

> It strikes me as just a name-dropping assembly of images with
> no real meaning other than to convey an overwhelming mood of
> cynical despondency, expressed in the title words which are
> repeated at the end of each of the ten stanzas.
>
> Reminds me of Louis Macneice's 'Bagpipe Music', in which the
> expression 'no go' is used 17 times:
>
> It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw,
> All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
> Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made
> of python,
> Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head
> of bison.
>
> John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
> Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
> Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
> Kept its bones for dumbbells to use when he was fifty.
>
> It's no go the Yogi-man, it's no go Blavatsky,
> All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.
>
> Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather,
> Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
> It's no go your maidenheads, it's no go your culture,
> All we want is a Dunlop tire and the devil mend the puncture.
>
> The Laird o' Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober,
> Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot
> over.
> Mrs. Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with
> repulsion,
> Said to the midwife "Take it away; I'm through with
> overproduction."
>
> It's no go the gossip column, it's no go the Ceilidh,
> All we want is a mother's help and a sugar-stick for the baby.
>
> Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn't count the damage,
> Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage.
> His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were
> lavish,
> Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish.
>
> It's no go the Herring Board, it's no go the Bible,
> All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle.
>
> It's no go the picture palace, it's no go the stadium,
> It's no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums,
> It's no go the Government grants, it's no go the elections,
> Sit on your arse for fifty years and hang your hat on a
> pension.
>
> It's no go my honey love, it's no go my poppet;
> Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the
> profit.
> The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall
> forever,
> But if you break the bloody glass you won't hold up the
> weather.
>

>
> Post Edited (12-09-03 08:18)

The opinion that Dylan's Desolation row is "just a name-dropping assembly of images with no real meaning other than to convey an overwhelming mood of cynical despondency" is one that is completely ignorant and illogical. if you'd like to know the truth visit [www.cit.gu.edu.au]

That's a dead link, Dot. Got any others?


Les

Personally, I consider it ignorant and illogical to post an anonymous message with no supporting grounds, and an invalid link. But that's just me.

Still, David Tuffy is findable:

[www.cit.gu.edu.au]

[www.cit.gu.edu.au]

Oops, sorry. Tuffley, not Tuffy.

so sayeth Hedley Lamarr