VENTAS DE IRUN

El hombre que piensa a menudo que es mejor estar en otro sitio que donde está se excomulga de sí mismo

HDT

Diario 20 de Noviembre de 1857

The man who is often thinking that it is better to somewhere else than where he is excommunicates himself.

HDT 

11 de Noviembre de 2012

En el tren desde San Sebastián hasta Irún para la 48 B/SS.Es tu 17 edición consecutiva.El tren está tan lleno de corredores que casi no se puede respirar y aunque lo rechazas piensas en los trenes de la muerte.No pudiste ver los huertos al lado de la vía del tren en Ventas de Irún, ni tampoco oir música.Tampoco piensas.Solo quieres llegar cuanto antes y cuando llegues solo querrás salir cuanto antes.A la llegada una lluvia intensa que casi no parará y que te obliga  a estar refugiado y quieto durante más de una hora antes de la salida.No piensas que fuera mejor estar en otro sitio.Quieres estar aquí, aunque no sabes por qué.Concentras la mirada en el color otoñal de los árboles.Solo cuando empiezas a correr desaparece, casi del todo, la prisa.Agradecerías que lloviera un poco menos, pero no rechazas la lluvia.Terminas en 1 hora 41 minutos y 36 segundos.Un caldo te devuelve el calor perdido.

Música no escuchada: "I pay in blood but not my own":

Night after night, Day after day
They strip your useless hopes away
The more I take the more I give
The more I die the more I live
I got something in my pocket make your eyeballs swim
I got dogs could tear you limb from limb
I'm circlin' around the Southern Zone
I pay in blood, but not my own.

Low cards are what I've got
But I'll play this hand whether I like it or not
I'm sworn to uphold the laws of God
You could put me out in front of a firing squad
I've been out and around with the rising men
Just like you my handsome friend
My head's so hard, must be made of stone
I pay in blood, but not my own

Another politician coming out the abyss
Another angry beggar blowing you a kiss
You got the same eyes that your mother does
If only you could prove who your father was
Someone must of slipped a drug in yer wine
You gulped it down and you cross the line
Man can't live by bread alone
I pay in blood, but not my own

How I made it back home, nobody knows
Or how I survived so many blows
I've been thru Hell, What good did it do?
You bastard! I'm suppose to respect you!
I'll give you justice, I'll fathom your purse
Show me your moral that you reversed

Hear me holler and hear me moan
I pay in blood but not my own
You get your lover in the bed
Come here I'll break your lousy head
Our nation must be saved and freed
You've been accused of murder, how do you plead?
This is how I spend my days
I came to bury, not to raise
I'll drink my fill and sleep alone
I play in blood, but not my own

Bob Dylan



I’ve read a lot about how people interpret this song on different web sites, it’s very fascinating. The Point of view can be several types of men, and I am not gonna list everyone here, but these are the ones I find most believable:
Bob Dylan himself
A Soldier comming home from war
A hitman/assassin kind of guy
The Crucifixion of Jesús

There are definitely biblical references in the song and the title Pay in Blood has to be a refernce to blood offerings in the Jewish religion or the importance of The Blood of Christ in Christianity, but my take on the song is that it is about what Bob Dylan recently told Rolling Stone, that USA was built on “the back of slaves” they (USA) paid in blood but not thir own.

From: http://johannasvisions.com/great-song-pay-in-blood-by-bob-dylan-a-land-built-on-slavery/

@BOBDYLAN AT MADRID (7-06-2023) AND CHÂTEAU LA COSTE ("RAIL CAR", 25-05-2024) (II)

@BOBDYLAN AT MADRID 7-06-2023 (II, "PLAYBOYS & PLAYGIRLS" (DYLAN); THE COWARD & THE HERO (THOREAU)): Oh, ye playboys and playgirls  Ain’t a-gonna run my world   Ain’t a-gonna run my world  Ain’t a-gonna run my world  Ye playboys and playg...

 (A MIRACLE SEEMS: POETS MAY BE BORN AND SING IN OUR DAY, IN THE PRESIDENCY OF JOE BIDEN)

They say ev'rything can be replaced,
Yet ev'ry distance is not near.
So I remember ev'ry face
Of ev'ry man who put me here.

Dicen que todo puede ser reemplazado

Pero cualquier distancia es suficiente

Por ello recuerdo cada rostro

De todos los que me trajeron aquí 

( "I shall be released")

Bob Dylan has unveiled his largest sculpture to date at Château La Coste in Provence, France. Rail Car, the new site-specific ironwork sculpture, has been created for permanent installation in the Château’s outdoor art estate, to be displayed alongside works by leading contemporary artists and architects such as Louise Bourgeois, Ai Weiwei, Tracy Emin and Tadao Ando. 

Rail Car - an immersive, ironwork freight car installation set on train tracks – engages prominent motifs in Dylan’s art, as well as relating to aspects of his past. As Dylan describes in his Chronicles: Volume One, 'I’d seen and heard trains from my earliest childhood days and the sight and sound of them always made me feel secure. The big boxcars, the iron ore cars, freight cars, passenger trains, Pullman cars. There was no place you could go in my hometown without at least some part of the day having to stop at intersections and wait for the long trains to pass.'

The repurposed freight car that Dylan has integrated into the sculpture is a WIIX 723 double-door boxcar used to transport paper rolls for Willamette Industries, a timber and paper company based in Oregon. Work began on Rail Car in the summer of 2019, involving engineering teams in both France and the United States. The artwork was first created in Los Angeles, then disassembled, crated and shipped to France to be installed onsite at Château La Coste.

'The car has been placed in the most magical setting on the old Roman road that meanders through the forest here [at Château La Coste]. It is incredibly moving that Bob personally chose the location for his masterpiece to be on this trail that was trodden for hundreds of years by weary travellers. When I first met him in Los Angeles something obviously clicked – perhaps it was because both of us love the unique Provencal landscape – or Bob wouldn’t have embarked on his incredible journey to create Rail Car. Since his piece is all about travel, Rail Car miraculously fuses road and rail into one.'

Paddy McKillen, Founder and Owner, Château La Coste.

The unveiling of Rail Car coincides with an exhibition featuring 23 of Dylan’s paintings, entitled Drawn Blank in Provence, running until  7 November in Château La Coste’s Renzo Piano-designed art gallery.

And hark! here comes the cattle-train bearing the cattle of a thousand hills, sheepcots, stables, and cow-yards in the air, drovers with their sticks, and shepherd boys in the midst of their flocks, all but the mountain pastures, whirled along like leaves blown from the mountains by the September gales. The air is filled with the bleating of calves and sheep, and the hustling of oxen, as if a pastoral valley were going by

Y ESCUCHAD. AQUÍ VIENE EL TREN DEL GANADO CON LAS RESES DE MIL COLINAS, APRISCOS, ESTABLOS Y CAÑADAS POR EL AIRE, ARRIEROS CON SUS VARAS Y JÓVENES PASTORES EN MEDIO DE SUS REBAÑOS, TODO SALVO LOS PASTOS MONTAÑOSOS, ARREMOLINADOS COMO HOJAS TRAÍDAS DESDE LAS MONTAÑAS POR LOS VENDAVALES DE SEPTIEMBRE.

(...)

But the bell rings, and I must get off the track and let the cars go by:

PERO LA CAMPANA SUENA Y DEBO APARTARME DE LA VÍA Y DEJAR PASO A LOS VAGONES:

What's the railroad to me?

I never go to see Where it ends .

it fills a few hollows,

And makes banks for the swallows,

It sets the sand a-blowing,

And the blackberries a-growing,

QUÉ ME IMPORTA LA VÍA

NUNCA VOY A VER 

DÓNDE TERMINA

LLENA ALGUNOS AGUJEROS

Y HACE TALUDES PARA LAS GOLONDRINAS

LEVANTA LA ARENA QUE VUELA

Y LOS ARÁNDANOS QUE CRECEN

“We do not ride on the railroad; it rides upon us. Did you ever think what those sleepers are that underlie the railroad?  Each one is a man, an Irishman, or a Yankee man. The rails are laid on them, and they are covered with sand, and the cars run smoothly over them. They are sound sleepers, I assure you. And every few years a new lot is laid down and run over; so that, if some have the pleasure of riding on a rail, others have the misfortune to be ridden upon.” 

— Henry David Thoreau, “Where I lived and What I Lived For,” 

Walden

 Our most serious problem, perhaps, is that we have become a nation of fantasists. 

WENDELL BERRY

FROM KING LEAR'S FOOL TO BOB DYLAN'S DESOLATION ROW (III)

 

FOOL    AND I'LL GO TO BED AT NOON

( Act III, Scene 6)

Ahora a media noche todos los agentes

Y el grupo de superhombres

Salen y rodean a cualquiera

Que sabe más que ellos

Entonces los traen a la fábrica

Donde la máquina de ataques al corazón

Es atada sobre sus hombros

Y entonces el queroseno

Es traído desde los castillos

Por agentes de seguros que van

A comprobar que nadie escapa

A la Fila de la Desolación

(Bob Dylan)

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 pennywhistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row

(...)

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 doorknob 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

(Bob Dylan)

© 1965 by Warner Bros. Inc.; renewed 1993 by Special Rider Music

THE FORMS OF BEAUTY FALL NATURALLY

"It is almost the only game which the trees play at, this tit-for-tat, now this side in the sun, now that, the drama of the day."

Es casi el único juego en el que los árboles participan, este intercambio, ahora esta parte al sol, ahora aquella, su drama diario.

Diario 25 de Diciembre de 1840

El pensamiento en una frase es su parte sólida, que durará hasta el fin de los tiempos.

HDT

Las formas de la belleza caen naturalmente alrededor del camino de quien está en la ejecución de su trabajo propio.

HDT

( A week ….)

The forms of beauty fall naturally around the path of him who is in the performance of his proper work; as the curled shavings drop from the plane, and borings cluster round the auger. Undulation is the gentlest and most ideal of motions, produced by one fluid falling on another. Rippling is a more graceful flight. From a hill-top you may detect in it the wings of birds endlessly repeated. The two waving lines which represent the flight of birds appear to have been copied from the ripple.

HDT

( A week ….)

Fotografía de Jose Luis Rios

Girl From The North Country (Bob Dylan, citado por Manuel Vilas: "¿Por qué amamos a Bob Dylan?", ABC Cultural 30-11-2013)

Well, if you'retravelin' in the north country fair, 

Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline, 

Remember me to one who lives there. 

She once was a true love of mine. 


FROM DULUTH (CIUDAD NATAL DE BOB DYLAN) TO SAN FRANCISCO

 

BOB DYLAN'S RAIL CAR IN ITS FOOTSTEPS (26-05-2024)

 

 (Bob Dylan's Rail Car ©Chateau la Coste)

« Je vais sortir. Il faut oublier aujourd’hui les vieux chagrins, car l’air est frais et les montagnes sont élevées Les forêts sont tranquilles comme le cimetière. Cela va m’ôter ma fièvre et je ne serai plus malheureux dorénavant ». 

Thomas de Quincey. Confessions d’un mangeur d’opium.

 

 

 

When Odysseus in The Odyssey visits the famed warrior Achilles in the underworld – Achilles, who traded a long life full of peace and contentment for a short one full of honor and glory –  tells Odysseus it was all a mistake. “I just died, that’s all.” There was no honor. No immortality. And that if he could, he would choose to go back and be a lowly slave to a tenant farmer on Earth rather than be what he is – a king in the land of the dead – that whatever his struggles of life were, they were preferable to being here in this dead place.

That’s what songs are too. Our songs are alive in the land of the living. But songs are unlike literature. They’re meant to be sung, not read. The words in Shakespeare’s plays were meant to be acted on the stage. Just as lyrics in songs are meant to be sung, not read on a page. And I hope some of you get the chance to listen to these lyrics the way they were intended to be heard: in concert or on record or however people are listening to songs these days. I return once again to Homer, who says, “Sing in me, oh Muse, and through me tell the story.”

https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/literature/2016/dylan/lecture/

Thoreau says, even today, with Homer and the "wanted man" delivering the above lecture:

The coward ever sings no song,
He listens to no chime,
He has no heart, he has no tongue,
To build the lofty rhyme.

"BROKEN WORDS NEVER MEANT TO BE SPOKEN" (WENDELL BERRY, WILLIAM MERWIN Y BOB DYLAN; 16-04-2023+7-02-2024)

There are only two points in history when likely 10-12yr S&P 500 returns fell this far short of Treasury yields: August 1929 and December 1999.

If you don't care, you're not alone. By the time stocks reached their bubble peaks in 1929 and 2000, investors didn't care then either. pic.twitter.com/JL3703ClKX

— John P. Hussman, Ph.D. (@hussmanjp) February 6, 2024

#everything is #brokenhttps://t.co/oqtLWbA87o

Broken buckles, broken laws

Broken bodies, broken bones

Broken voices on broken phones

Broken treaties, broken vows

Broken pipes, broken tools

People bending broken rules#dylan https://t.co/dHQzQEr5X6

— Guillermo Ruiz Zapatero (@ruiz_zapatero) February 6, 2024

"BROKEN WORDS NEVER MEANT TO BE SPOKEN" (WENDELL BERRY, WILLIAM MERWIN Y BOB DYLAN)

POETS MAY BE BORN AND SING IN OUR DAY, IN THE PRESIDENCY OF DONALD J. TRUMP

Though we know well,

“That’t is not in the power of kings [or presidents] to raise
A spirit for verse that is not born thereto,
Nor are they born in every prince’s days”;

yet spite of all they sang in praise of their “Eliza’s reign,” we have evidence that poets may be born and sing in our day, in the presidency of James K. Polk,

“And that the utmost powers of English rhyme,”
Were not “within her peaceful reign confined.”

The prophecy of the poet Daniel is already how much more than fulfilled!

“And who in time knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue? To what strange shores
This gain of our best glory shall be sent,
T’ enrich unknowing nations with our stores?
What worlds in th’ yet unformed occident,
May come refined with the accents that are ours.

(Henry David Thoreau, "A week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers", Sunday)

Aunque sabemos bien,

“Que no está en el poder de los reyes [o presidentes] elevar

Un espíritu poético que no haya nacido tal,

Y que los poetas no nacen en cada uno de los días del príncipe”,

Y a pesar de todo lo que ellos cantaron en alabanza del “reinado Eliza”, tenemos pruebas de que los poetas pueden nacer y declamar en nuestro día, en la presidencia de James K. Polk,

“Y que los mayores poderes de la rima inglesa”

No fueron “confinados a su pacífico reinado”

¡La profecía del poeta Daniel ha sido ya mucho más que cumplida!.

“¿Y quién sabe a tiempo si podremos desatar

El tesoro de nuestra lengua? ¿A qué playas extrañas

Esta victoria de nuestra mejor gloria será enviada,

Para enriquecer naciones desconocidas con nuestros almacenes?

Que mundos todavía en el occidente informe

Pueden ser refinados con los acentos que son los nuestros"

Henry David Thoreau

(Fragmento de "A week on the Concord and Merrimack rivers", Sunday)

Traducción de Guillermo Ruiz

(Primera vez aquí el 21 de marzo de 2009 y el 28 de marzo de 2008)

No estoy hablando, tan solo caminando

Camino adelante, alrededor de una curva

Corazón que arde y todavía desea

En el ultimo lugar remoto en el fin del mundo

 

Bob Dylan ("Ain't talking", del album "Modern Times", Columbia 2006)

 

(Traducción de Guillermo Ruiz)

They killed him once and they killed him twice

Killed him like a human sacrifice

The day that they killed him, someone said to me, "Son

the age of the Antichrist has just only begun"

Air Force One comin' in through the gate

Johnson sworn in at 2:38

Let me know when you decide to throw in the towel

It is what it is, and it's murder most foul

(...)

Play "Marching Through Georgia" and "Dumbarton's Drums"

Play darkness and death will come when it comes

Play "Love Me or leave Me" by the Great Bud Powell

Play "The Blood-Stained Banner, Play "Murder Most Foul"

Bob Dylan, (Roough and Rowdy ways, Murder Most Foul, Columbia 2020)

Cuadro "Cow's skull:Red, White and Blue"

Georgia O'Keeffe (American, 1887–1986)

Cow's Skull: Red, White, and Blue, 1931

Oil on canvas; H. 39-7/8, W. 35-7/8 in. (101.3 x 91.1 cm)

Alfred Stieglitz Collection, 1952 (52.203)

"Cow's Skull: Red, White, and Blue" is masterful, both as an eloquent abstraction of form and line and as a richly symbolic image that raises issues of nationalism and religion. The compositional arrangement is starkly simple. The skull, precisely modeled and strictly frontal in its placement, becomes an image of great mystical power, like a sacred relic. The religious connotation is reinforced by the cross configuration of the extended horns and vertical support (probably the tree or easel upon which the skull was hung).

 

"Cow's Skull: Red, White, and Blue" is symbolic of America as O'Keeffe saw it, represented by the New Mexico desert and its relics; and almost as a joke, she painted the canvas with the three colors of the American flag.