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.you were drawn for other people....
Just an impression from almost 40 years ago, that I would like to share.
My junior primary school teacher used to teach us Peter Paul and Mary songs. Their music made me want to one day, own a shiny timber guitar and to sing in harmony. I thought Mary was so special...go tell it on the mountain.....
The other day I found 2 old records Peter Paul & Mary , not too scratched. They are playing to a HUGE crowd in one of the photograph, so very popular in their day.They made us believe that a song could change the world.... if enough people joined the chorus.
So I thought maybe some of you may like to read the words penned by Bob Dylan that appear on the back of the "In The Wind" album. It is evocative of the dreams so many of us carry I think.I only have time to type out half now, so it will have to be continued....he gave it no title
Snow was piled up the stairs an onto the street that first
winter when I laid around New York City
It was a different street then-
It was a different village-
no body had nothin-
There was nothing t get-
Instead of being drawn for money you were drawn
for other people-
Everybody used t hang around a heat pipe poundin subterranean
coffee house called Gaslight-
It was at that time buried beneath the middle of McDougall Street-
It was a strange place and not out of a any school book-
More'n seven nights a week the cops an firemen'd storm down the
steps handin out summons for trumped up reasons-
More'n five nites a week out a town bullies'd start trouble an
everybody from John the owner t Dave the cook t Rod the cash
register ringer t Adele the waitress t anybody who was on the
stage t jus plain friends who were hangin around would have
t come up swingin dishes and handles and brooms and chairs an
sometimes even swords'at hung on the wall in order to match
the bullies weight an the bullies was always big bullies-
Everybody that hung out at the Gaslight was close-
Yuh had to be-
In order t keep from goin insane an in order t survive-
An it can't be denied-
It was a hangout-
But not like the street corner-
Down there we weren't standin looking out at a world watchin
girls- an findin out how they walk-
We was looking at each other... an findin out about ourselves-
It is'f these times I remember most sadly-
For they are gone-
An they'll not never come again-
It is 'f these times I think about now-
I think back t one of them nites when the doors was locked
an maybe thirty or forty people sat as close t the stage as
they could-
It was another nite past one o'clock an that meant that the
tourists on the street couldn't get in-
At these hours there was no tellin what was bound to happen-
.....................................
Just an impression from almost 40 years ago, that I would like to share.
My junior primary school teacher used to teach us Peter Paul and Mary songs. Their music made me want to one day, own a shiny timber guitar and to sing in harmony. I thought Mary was so special...go tell it on the mountain.....
The other day I found 2 old records Peter Paul & Mary , not too scratched. They are playing to a HUGE crowd in one of the photograph, so very popular in their day.They made us believe that a song could change the world.... if enough people joined the chorus.
So I thought maybe some of you may like to read the words penned by Bob Dylan that appear on the back of the "In The Wind" album. It is evocative of the dreams so many of us carry I think.I only have time to type out half now, so it will have to be continued....he gave it no title
Snow was piled up the stairs an onto the street that first
winter when I laid around New York City
It was a different street then-
It was a different village-
no body had nothin-
There was nothing t get-
Instead of being drawn for money you were drawn
for other people-
Everybody used t hang around a heat pipe poundin subterranean
coffee house called Gaslight-
It was at that time buried beneath the middle of McDougall Street-
It was a strange place and not out of a any school book-
More'n seven nights a week the cops an firemen'd storm down the
steps handin out summons for trumped up reasons-
More'n five nites a week out a town bullies'd start trouble an
everybody from John the owner t Dave the cook t Rod the cash
register ringer t Adele the waitress t anybody who was on the
stage t jus plain friends who were hangin around would have
t come up swingin dishes and handles and brooms and chairs an
sometimes even swords'at hung on the wall in order to match
the bullies weight an the bullies was always big bullies-
Everybody that hung out at the Gaslight was close-
Yuh had to be-
In order t keep from goin insane an in order t survive-
An it can't be denied-
It was a hangout-
But not like the street corner-
Down there we weren't standin looking out at a world watchin
girls- an findin out how they walk-
We was looking at each other... an findin out about ourselves-
It is'f these times I remember most sadly-
For they are gone-
An they'll not never come again-
It is 'f these times I think about now-
I think back t one of them nites when the doors was locked
an maybe thirty or forty people sat as close t the stage as
they could-
It was another nite past one o'clock an that meant that the
tourists on the street couldn't get in-
At these hours there was no tellin what was bound to happen-
.....................................
