Hello
Gentle Reader
Shall
we finally say: it’s done; it’s over? Let’s put this entire debacle behind us. By
debacle, I mean the Bob Dylan Nobel Prize for Literature fiasco. Surely now
more than ever it can be classified as complete—or better yet: kaput. It’s best
to lay the entire misstep to rest, now that Bob Dylan has both received his
Nobel Diploma and Medal, and now delivered his Nobel lecture and received the
prize money; it’s safe to state: Bob Dylan: is a Nobel Laureate, on all official
accounts.
Do
not get me wrong Gentle Reader, when it was announced that Bob Dylan was the
Nobel Laureate for Literature in two-thousand and sixteen, my stomach dropped,
my head froze, and my blood curdled—before blowing up in a insulted fury,
enraged by the fact that a: singer and musician—a pop culture antique—had received
the world’s most eccentric, lucrative and prestigious literary award. This fact
and thought still burns. But the bruise it leaves behind is less black and
painful as it was initially.
After
the award was announced, the internet blew up into a debate of whether or not
Bob Dylan’s lyrics could be classified as literature. There was no room for any
middle ground. If you entered the debate, you stood on either side. Needless to
say, I stood on the side which vehemently and adamantly denied Dylan’s lyrics
could even be considered literary; let alone be classified as poetry. To this
day: Bob Dylan is not a poet. He is a musician and a folk singer. But poet? No,
that doesn’t belong on his resume. During, the Bob Dylan Nobel Disaster, Dylan
himself never once equated himself to a poet, or his work to poetry. Though, in
a roundabout way he often referred to his work as literary pieces of
composition, which (again in a roundabout way) allowed himself, to be distanced
from other musicians and singers. Still, despite the attempts for apologetics
and more understanding people, to prescribe and administer their sense of egalitarianism
and equality perspective of artistic boundaries, I refuse to release or change
my apparently elitist opinion. Bob Dylan is not a poet. He is not literary. He is
and I quote myself: “a half-baked has been pop culture antique.” I don’t want
to admit it too much, but at times I do think Bob Dylan was awarded the Nobel
Prize for Literature, for the Swedish Academy to make amends for prior
comments, criticisms, and opinions of Horace Engdahl; but also for the Swedish
Academy to appear more engaged and relevant, stepping beyond its perceived
sense of cultural superiority and stuffy intellectual elitism; that instead, it
could get down and rock with the everyday average person, who doesn’t need to
be bookish to necessarily enjoy the award.
Yet
now there is no point in spitting vitriolic statements at the wall. The damage
is done. As of yesterday, Bob Dylan, the most recent Nobel Laureate, delivered
his Nobel Lecture—and just in the nick of time; because if he failed to deliver
the award, by June 10th, the prize money would be revoked. Now it is
clear: Bob Dylan’s Nobel is secured and he joins the ranks of fellow laureates
in the years past: Herta Müller, Wisława Szymborska, Tomas Tranströmer, Octavio
Paz, Yasunari Kawabata, Alice Munro and Pablo Neruda. Yet, Dylan does not even begin
to compare to the preceding greats; as he is easily eclipsed by their talents
and the ideals. Dylan is only a hot air pop culture icon, who has been elevated
way beyond his own status, as a church mouse amongst cats.
Despite
my growing tolerance to the fact that Bob Dylan has received the award, despite
his lack of merit; I still get slightly hot under the collar, knowing there are
more deserving poets—true poets; who deserve the award far more then Bob Dylan.
These poets are working to reshape the genre, bring it into greater focus,
broader scope, and to bring it down from the ivory tower, in which it has
locked itself away. Yet, these poets do not gather the same recognition and
success that Bob Dylan has gathered over his decade long music career—and that
is the key, Bob Dylan’s career, since he began: was always a music career; not
a literary path, not a literary desire, not a literary goal in mind—it has
always been focused solely on musical endeavors and preoccupations; which are completely
different and separate from literary pursuits.
In
his Nobel Lecture—which many have praised as extraordinary—Dylan, recounts his
musical and literary influences. He begins, by discussing Buddy Holiday and the
one time encounter the two had, when Dylan was eighteen, at a Buddy Holly
concert, before his untimely death. It was there Dylan appears to elude to,
that he would go on and begin his musical career; and become in his own right
one of the most renowned pop culture and folk singer musicians out there. It is
shortly after, Bob Dylan changes his lectures course, where he attempts to
justify the decision made for him: that yes indeed he is a man of letters, and
not just music, as he recounts the three great books which had shaped his
career: “Moby Dick,” “All Quiet on the Western Front,” and “The Odyssey.” Through
the great deal of his lecture, Dylan summarizes and recounts these three
classics, and attempts to explain how they have influenced himself personally,
his career, and his musical aspirations. It is at the end though, where Dylan
makes his most startling statement of all.
In
the closing paragraph of his Nobel Lecture Dylan recounts states the fact for
all to hear: “songs are unlike literature. They are meant to be sung, not read.”
Perhaps Bob Dylan realizes himself his work is not literature, his work cannot
compare to previous laureates and dedicated and real writers out there, and so
he himself must make the distinction himself. Songs are not literature, and
they are not poetry—they are completely separate of each other, two estranged
children from divorced home, worlds apart. Rather than fighting this
distinction any further, Dylan succumbs to the reality, and proclaims it
himself. And so, for the first time, since October 13th, of
two-thousand and sixteen, I have had the slightest bit of respect for Bob
Dylan, who himself has stopped attempting to parade himself as a poet, when he
realizes point back he is not. He is a musician, he is a folk singer, he is a
pop culture icon, and he is not, nor ever will be: a poet. His work as he
states point blank, are meant to be sung, not read; and that is what makes them
different from former poetry laureates. Though he doesn’t attempt to assert
himself as better then the fellow poet laureates, he does confess he is not one
of them; and in a subtle manner acknowledges his status as a black sheep within
the Nobel Prize for Literature’s history; as he truly doesn’t fit with the
precedence and the mould, outlined by previous awards, laureates, and the academy.
There
is no point in fighting what has been done and now what is secured. Bob Dylan received
the award, delivered his lecture, and solidified his status as Nobel Laureate.
I personally refuse to accept Bob Dylan as a poet. Bob Dylan himself does not
proclaim himself a poet—despite the masses propagating their philistine perspective
that he is one.
October
is not far away, and certainly on the horizon redemption must lurk. Perhaps next
year, a true writer, a deserving writer, will receive the golden phone call in
the morning. My fingers remain crossed, and as I begin to compile my Nobel
Prize for Literature Speculation List, I am filled with renewed hope and vigor
for the Literature prize to move past this little upset, blight, and stain, so
it may get back on the right course. As for this year’s award, it can be
tolerated—much like one learns to tolerate a pebble in their shoe.
Thank-you
For Reading Gentle Reader
Take
Care
And
As Always
Stay
Well Read
M.
Mary
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