miércoles, 4 de junio de 2008

Lennon Vs. Dylan - Round 1

Ya todos sabemos que en el 64 sólo pasaron dos cosas verdaderamente trascendentes: la muerte de John Fitzgerald Kennedy, y cuando Bob Dylan conocío a los Beatles y los introdujo a la marihuana.

Este segundo hecho, relevante para nuestro post, no haría más que iniciar una influencia mutua entre ambas partes, y ya todos sabemos lo que pasa cuando dos genios se juntan (porque los Beatles son en realidad una sola persona).


Es de mi entender que el más influenciado por Dylan fue John Lennon, y muestra de esto es una de sus canciones del Rubber Soul, y una de mis favoritas de los Beatles en general: Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown). Sin embargo, no me había percatado que Bob Dylan escribió una de sus canciones del Blonde On Blonde como respuesta a este nuevo intento de Lennon. Hablo de 4th Time Around.

Pongo ambas canciones acá, con sus respectivas letras, para que se deleiten y luego arruinen el placer haciendo un ejercicio de análisis exhaustivo comparándolas.

Saludos.

The Beatles - Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)


I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me...
She showed me her room, isn't it good, norwegian wood?

She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere,
So I looked around and I noticed there wasn't a chair.

I sat on a rug, biding my time, drinking her wine

We talked until two and then she said, "It's time for bed"

She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh.
I told her I didn't and crawled off to sleep in the bath

And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flown

So I lit a fire, isn't it good, norwegian wood.

Bob Dylan - 4th Time Around


When she said,
"Don't waste your words, they're just lies,"
I cried she was deaf.
And she worked on my face until breaking my eyes,
Then said, "What else you got left?"
It was then that I got up to leave
But she said, "Don't forget,
Everybody must give something back
For something they get."

I stood there and hummed,
I tapped on her drum and asked her how come.
And she buttoned her boot,
And straightened her suit,
Then she said, "Don't get cute."
So I forced my hands in my pockets
And felt with my thumbs,
And gallantly handed her
My very last piece of gum.

She threw me outside,

I stood in the dirt where ev'ryone walked.
And after finding I'd
Forgotten my shirt,
I went back and knocked.
I waited in the hallway, she went to get it,
And I tried to make sense
Out of that picture of you in your wheelchair
That leaned up against . . .

Her Jamaican rum
And when she did come, I asked her for some.
She said, "No, dear."
I said, "Your words aren't clear,
You'd better spit out your gum."
She screamed till her face got so red
Then she fell on the floor,
And I covered her up and then
Thought I'd go look through her drawer.

And, when I was through

I filled up my shoe
And brought it to you.
And you, you took me in,
You loved me then
You didn't waste time.
And I, I never took much,
I never asked for your crutch.
Now don't ask for mine.


(Nota: John F. Kennedy murió en realidad en el año 1963, dándole incluso mayor importancia al contenido de este post.)

1 comentario:

Fantômas dijo...

Jajajaj. Che, creo que ya te lo dije, pero tu blog está espectacular.

Por los dudas te lo repito.

Un abrazo!