Hello
Gentle Reader
I’ve
made no qualm about my revulsion of the news that Bob Dylan became this year’s
Nobel Laureate in Literature; for reasons already identified. Since the announcement,
it is fair to state my perspective has not changed on Bob Dylan’s Nobel nod;
there still breathes deep within me a sense of abhorrent and arbitrary
resentment that Bob Dylan would be honored with the highest literary award in
Literature, despite not being a writer – at least not in the traditional sense,
as he is being touted and paraded as a poet of the highest pedigree, and a top
rate lyricist and songwriter. These claims maybe true; but only in the most
partial sense. Bob Dylan very well may be a talented wordsmith when crafting
and conducting songs, for him to sing; but he is by no means a poet. Bob Dylan
is first and foremost a musician and a singer. He is noted for his albums: “The
Times They Are a-Changin’,” and “Blonde on Blonde.” Yet these works are now
being inappropriately reclassified beyond their own place in the canon of
integrity and artistic achievement. “The Times They Are a-Changin’,” and
“Blonde on Blonde,” are albums – in other words they are musical achievements
of: song, instrumentation, and lyrics; they belong in the category of music; a
very extroverted form of artistic expression, which is often more able to
gather populist appeal by its inclusive nature. Music and songs can be shared
openly and loudly. Most to all of us have memories of sharing music and songs
with friends in their youth, in dim lit rooms filled with smoke and alcohol in
large supply, sharing the songs which spoke to them of the time. Even now, my
neighbour chooses to spend some nights with a few friends and play music at exaggerated
levels, while smoking copious amounts of weed, with his cohorts. Such is the
pleasure of music and songs; the reveling and the celebratory experience in how
they can be shared: in either a public space or a private environment amongst
friends. Music and songs bring people together, in a sense of equal appreciation,
deprived of the troubles of the mundane world. Music, song and dance – these are
public affairs and displays of goodwill, revelry, and calls for celebration. Books:
short stories, novels, poetry – these are private love affairs. Literature such
as novels, poetry, and short stories, cannot be shared so openly as music. There
is no group of people, sitting in a smoke filled room, drinking alcohol reading
silently amongst themselves. Reading does not equate the festivities of a
party. Reading is a silent and solitary act, which inadvertently alienates its
participants from others. Books mind
you, can be shared and returned, but the joy itself is strictly limited to the individual
and their subjective immersion into its subject matter. Books cannot engross
the public or the mass populace, in the same way music or a song can.
The
conception of both song and music is most likely very similar to that of
literature’s conception. Both are conceived in silence and solitude; with pen
to paper the first scribbles of ink are to be administered, while in those
first scribbles, are the beginning formations of a song or a piece of prose or
poetry. Yet, following this, the two begin to go their separate ways. Once the
novel or the poem has stalled in its first draft conception, the writer may
fight with the words in their intangible space before calling it a day. The
musician/singer is gifted with an instrument to assist even further in their
work be it: guitar, drum, piano or harmonica. By strumming the guitar, beating
the drum, striking a key or blowing the harmonica; the musician is able to
further gain ground with their planned song. While the writer is forced to move
on with life: laundry needs to be folded; dishes need to be done; and dinner
needs to be cooked. Though how they are conceived initially is similar; music
and literature do divorce down the way.
The
debate about music and literature has been a paramount discussion with this year’s
Nobel Prize for Literature. Their similarities being recognized and praised as
a great achievement, as people begin to believe they are not as inseparable as originally
thought; while their differences are poignantly defined with greater clarity,
in hopes to maintain and retain the clear border between the two. Be it one was
a revolutionary in their thought process, and looks forward to a uncomfortable marriage
between literature and music; or one is strictly purist in their perspective of
the divorce of the two; this year’s Nobel Prize for Literature was divisive. On
one hand, there was the populist cheers of the masses as their poet had won; a
relic of the sixties and the counterculture; while on the other was the
literary purists (including myself) who jeered the recognition of someone who
was neither a writer, nor a man of literary letters. On Bob Dylan’s Nobel
success, there was no room for middle ground of neutrality. It was either seen
as a revolutionary success of the Swedish Academy to look beyond the dusty
books of libraries, in order to step out of the box and award a complete
outsider. Or, it was the complete destruction of the establishment, the stain
on both the Nobel’s history, present and future, as a complete outsider, of unworthy
merit had walked away with the most prestigious literary award. Despite praise and
criticism the damage is done, and Bob Dylan accepted the award, and would now
be considered officially a Nobel Laureate.
Throughout
the Nobel controversy, Bob Dylan did not always help himself either. He refused
to return calls to the Swedish Academy, or even acknowledge his Nobel accolade.
This would prompt a member of the Swedish Academy to claim Bob Dylan’s stoic
and silent response as “arrogant and rude.” While some celebrated Bob Dylan,
and other remained indifferent; while others secretly cursed his fortune and
luck over many other writers; Dylan was unreachable and silent; until two-weeks
after the award was announced, Bob Dylan returned Sara Danius’s call. He
admitted the news of receiving the Nobel Prize, had left him speechless, but he
thoroughly appreciated the honour; while also mentioning that he will attend the
Nobel ceremony ‘if possible;’ It would later be confirmed that Bob Dylan would
not be able to attend the ceremony.
The
Nobel controversy would die down. The flames had lost their potency; the coals
now smoldering would burn out. Life must commence as usual; there is laundry to
be folded, dishes to be done, and dinners to cook. Then the big day of December
10th came around, and the years Laureates would soon gather in the
Blue Hall in Stockholm City Hall, where they would be presented with their
Nobel medal and their Nobel diploma’s; the crowning achievement of their
careers.
Generally
speaking, December 10th and the first week of October, usually have
me in high spirits and a good mood. Though this year, I was in a good mood
leading up to December 10th, it was later pissed on by reasons which
shall remain unnamed and unspoken, other than: work has a surprising ability to
turn all bright moods into a sour state of the soul.
The
Nobel Ceremony however, continued on as usual. The laureates for Medicine,
Physics, Chemistry, Literature and Economics; Peace would take place in Oslo,
Norway; would each be honored with their medal and diploma, handed to them by
the Swedish King Carl XVI Gustaf; but before that a speech would be read by one
of the committee members of the corresponding prize. This year’s speech giver
for the Nobel Prize for Literature, from the Swedish Academy was none other
than: Horace Engdahl.
The
Award Ceremony Speech by Horace Engdahl opens with guns a blazing, in which subtlety
this year’s decision has been defended, because its practitioner has mutated
the form away from its vernacular roots, and brought to the greater heights of
more serious literature. Engdahl mentions La Fontaine and Hans Christian
Andersen as two writers in particular in the past who were able to bring their
chosen subject matter out from their squandered ghetto and rise them up to the:
“Parnassian heights,” of great literature. With pleasantries observed and niceties
completed, Horace Engdahl gets to the point with his second paragraph, in which
praises this year’s laureate, and understates the radical aspect of the
decision:
“In
itself, it ought not to be a sensation that a singer/songwriter now stands
recipient of the literary Nobel Prize. In a distant past, all poetry was sung
or tunefully recited, poets were rhapsodes, bards, troubadours; 'lyrics' comes
from 'lyre'. But what Bob Dylan did was not to return to the Greeks or the
Provençals. Instead, he dedicated himself body and soul to 20th century
American popular music, the kind played on radio stations and gramophone
records for ordinary people, white and black: protest songs, country, blues,
early rock, gospel, mainstream music. He listened day and night, testing the
stuff on his instruments, trying to learn. But when he started to write similar
songs, they came out differently. In his hands, the material changed. From what
he discovered in heirloom and scrap, in banal rhyme and quick wit, in curses
and pious prayers, sweet nothings and crude jokes, he panned poetry gold,
whether on purpose or by accident is irrelevant; all creativity begins in
imitation.”
[“The Nobel Prize in Literature 2016 -
Presentation Speech". Nobelprize.org. Nobel Media AB 2014. Web. 18 Dec 2016]
If
you would like to read the entire presentation speech, please see the following
link:
Of
all the highlights of this year’s award, and the continual crisis and criticism
this years Laureate has caused, this speech took the cake for symbolic and
poetic justice.
Eight
years ago, Horace Engdahl made unsavory comments with regards to the American
literature, and a lack of a Nobel Laureate coming from the United States of America
since Toni Morrison had won in nineteen-ninety three. Engdahl’s comments were
that American literature was “too isolated and insular,” meaning it was
incapable of challenging Europe as the literary hub of the world, and would
further continue by stating: “they don't translate enough and don't really
participate in the big dialogue of literature ...That ignorance is restraining.”
I have not dined being a slight a defender of Engdahl’s comments, specifically referring
to the lack of translation; in which many great writers are overlooked because
of a language barrier, and a great of the world is left undiscovered because of
a hesitation to translate. Despite some warranted criticism, many of the
American literary establishment reacted against Engdahl and his comments with
equal vitriolic comments.
In
two-thousand and fourteen, Horace Engdahl had opened up about his previous
comments, and would further elucidate upon them:
“Everyone
reacted as if I’d said that the major American writers had no chance of winning
the Nobel. I said nothing of the sort; I didn’t say that there were no worthy
American writers. I said that American literary life, American criticism and
teaching were limited today by too narrow an access to world literature,
because the number of translations and their reach in the US is feeble.
Everything is focused around their [US] writers and their language, like a hall
of mirrors which reflects a perpetual, infinite image of America.”
Now
though years later, from the initial comments, and hearing Engdahl praise the
decision of his fellow Swedish Academy member’s decision to name American
singer/songwriter, Bob Dylan, as this year’s Nobel Laureate must have been
sweet poetic justice for the American literary establishment. Yet for me it was
ironic, to hear Bob Dylan being praised by a Swedish Academy member who had
once criticized the literary establishment of America, but has extended this
same criticism towards western literature. Now the grumpy old member of the
Swedish Academy was now praising one of the most controversial decisions of the
Swedish Academy of contemporary memory, by going so far as to state in his
speech:
“All
of a sudden, much of the bookish poetry in our world felt anaemic, and the
routine song lyrics his colleagues continued to write were like old-fashioned
gunpowder following the invention of dynamite. Soon, people stopped comparing
him to Woody Guthrie and Hank Williams and turned instead to Blake, Rimbaud,
Whitman, Shakespeare.”
After
Horace Engdahl’s speech about Bob Dylan and his Nobel Prize for Literature, the
stage was turned upwards towards the balcony above the stage; where seated next
to the conductor Marie Rosenmir, was the American ‘punk poet laureate,’ Patti
Smith. Seeing as Bob Dylan was unable to attend the Nobel ceremony, Patti Smith
had gone as his proxy, and in doing so sang his song: “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna
Fall.” However, during the performance of the song, Patti Smith faltered
slightly, incapable to bring forth the lyrics of the song. With great dignity
she apologized, and explained that she was nervous, yet with jubilant applause,
she was able to pick up, from where she found difficulty, and continued the
song as if nothing had happened only moments before. In seeing that moment, I
felt complete sympathy for Patti Smith. Our disagreement over Bob Dylan his new
status as a poet, his Nobel Prize for Literature – they had all dissolved in
that moment in which we have all been before. Patti Smith’s stumble was not a
failure though. She was hesitant in her performance, and overcome with nerves
and anxiety, as many of us have been and will be time and time again. No one
can truly hold it against Patti Smith, who showcased great resolve and resilience
to finish the song with great strength as she had begun. She paid a great
tribute to her fellow musician and singer, and a dear friend I am sure. Her
performance is memorable not because of one small floundering moment, but
rather because of the real human experience of it; the moment in which even the
greatest performers are overcome with the terrors of anxiety and nerves; in
which no one can transcend, no matter how hard we practice or refine ourselves.
The
last stage of Bob Dylan’s words making the appearance for the night was the
banquet speech, which was read by the American Ambassador to Sweden: Azita Raji.
In this banquet speech Bob Dylan, directly comments the question which has
plagued and divided the literary community: “is this literature?” Dylan
contemplates, the English literary giant himself, William Shakespeare
playwright and poet, in how he attempted to deal with the conundrum in which he
has been dealt with as of late. In his speech, Dylan notes:
“I
began to think about William Shakespeare, the great literary figure. I would
reckon he thought of himself as a dramatist. The thought that he was writing
literature couldn't have entered his head. His words were written for the
stage. Meant to be spoken not read. When he was writing Hamlet, I'm sure he was
thinking about a lot of different things: "Who're the right actors for
these roles?" "How should this be staged?" "Do I really
want to set this in Denmark?" His creative vision and ambitions were no
doubt at the forefront of his mind, but there were also more mundane matters to
consider and deal with. "Is the financing in place?" "Are there
enough good seats for my patrons?" "Where am I going to get a human
skull?" I would bet that the farthest thing from Shakespeare's mind was
the question "Is this literature?"’
["Bob Dylan - Banquet
Speech". Nobelprize.org. Nobel Media AB 2014. Web. 17 Dec 2016. http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/2016/dylan-speech.html]
Though
I dare not digress and attempt to get into an argument about the difference
between Shakespeare’s plays and the songs of Bob Dylan; I will say to a degree
that yes Shakespeare most certainly did not preoccupy himself with the thought
of what he was doing was of literary merit or not. This being said, a song by
Bob Dylan does not compare to the Elizabethan sonnet, or the poems of
Shakespeare. Nor do his songs compare with the great poets of the contemporary
era, or of Nobel Laureates come and gone. Bob Dylan’s Nobel grab, has certainly
stirred the debate of whether or not his songs and music are best comparable to
literature. Be they are or be it they are not, has often now come down to being
beside the point. Some have viewed Dylan’s award as an insult to both
literature as a whole as well as poetry; but even more specifically an insult
to American poetry and American poets. Don’t hold your breath, Sharon Olds or
John Asherby; Bob Dylan is the best model of American poetry currently at work
today.
Whether
or not I agree his songs amount to poetry, no longer matters. The damage so to
speak is done. Bob Dylan is officially a Nobel Laureate in Literature, and he
has been inducted to the literary pantheon of the greats, alongside: Rudyard
Kipling, Thomas Mann, Pear S Buck, Albert Camus, Ernest Hemingway and George
Bernard Shaw – the same Laureates in whom he had referred to in his banquet
speech. Though Admittedly Gentle Reader, after a while, Bob Dylan and his
Nobel, have faded from my mind. Though I do not agree with the decision by the
Swedish Academy, and noticed great ironies in the presentation such as Horace Engdahl
reading the ceremony speech, in which he elucidated the academy’s decision. There
is very little I or any dissident or detractor for the decision can do to
change the already drying ink of the status and the win for Dylan. One
colleague at work once commented to me: the prize will forever be ruined for
me, as from now on, there will only be: pre-Bob Dylan [win] and post-Bob Dylan.
To my colleague, you are wrong. The Nobel Prizes (Medicine, Physics, Chemistry,
Literature, Peace and Economics) have a long storied history. Those who have
been chosen to be name a Nobel Laureate, are considered the greatest minds of
their time, which includes writers from William Butler Yeats, T.S. Eliot, Octavio
Paz, Wisława Szymborska, Herta Müller, and Alice Munro. Bob Dylan has not
soiled or destroyed the Nobel Prize for Literature at all. He may have bruised
it, and caused many of us to retreat and lick our wounds, but he has not
obliterated the award. As for the ceremony speech, in which the following
statement was uttered:
“bookish
poetry in our world felt anaemic.”
The
‘bookish,’ poetry in our world is not anaemic. Great poets still exists and are
hard at work as ever, crafting and refining more beautiful poems, as they are
under threat of extinction in a world which no longer wishes to view them with
any importance; preferring the popular music of the radio, to the serious craft
which is going on locked behind closed doors. Serious poets still exists, and
are still at work. Their words still move us; help us see with greater clarity,
and seek to name and understand the world with greater poetic insight.
I
had hoped for a poet to become this year’s Nobel Laurate in Literature; and in
all I wasn't disappointed (though I say that with great irony). However, rather than getting my back up any further to
which only leads to hissing and fighting over the debate of literature, I now
treat Bob Dylan’s Nobel with indifference and apathy. I do not plan on engaging
with his songs or rushing out to buy his albums, I do not hold his songwriting
as a work of a poet either. Bob Dylan was, is, and forever will be a musician
and a singer first and foremost, and after a long list of titles which can be attributed
to his name, poet would most certainly be either near the bottom or at the
bottom. Yet tomorrow is a new year, and a new Nobel Laureate will be named
then. On that note: we can only hope that the Swedish Academy is now complete
with its revolutionary and sensational decisions with future Nobel Laureates. Svetlana
Alexievich was well deserved and a breath of fresh air. Bob Dylan was
controversial from the start. Let’s hope true writers, who write, and must do
battle with the intangible beast of language, are seen fit to gather greater
focus and attention in the coming years, as they deserve it.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take
Care
And
As Always
Stay
Well Read
M.
Mary
For
further reading on this year’s Nobel Laureate and the ceremony please see the
following links:
