What began ten years ago as a means of expression has blossomed into a 214-page book. Open for reviews which I will gladly post on this site.
June 14, 2007
Dear Bob Dylan,
Congratulations on the Prince of Austurias Award.
All day I’ve listened to Modern Times. As if to prove once again that I have no identity, nor the ability to speak or dream when caught within the resilient cannon bone of your voice. Beyond what each song provides or doesn’t provide so much as bestows, yes, because that is what each song does, it bestows upon us the brightest gift. From them, we are no longer the listener nor the borrower but the possessor. We are allowed to take each song, touch them one by one, and make them ours.
One of the things the prize jury for the Prince of Austurias Award said was, “He’s considered one of the most important figures of song, a form in which he combines, in a majestic way, the beauty of his poetry and ethical commitment.”
There you have it, a word or two beyond refinement.
What can I do, but keep silent and listen to your songs. I simply don’t know how to give you a truer blessing.
Like the poet John Yau wrote, what can I do. I have dreamed of you so much, what can I do, lost as I am in the sky. Now that I dream of you so much, my lips are like clouds.
August 17, 2005
Dear Bob Dylan,
Pessoa says we never truly realize ourselves. We are like two chasms – a well staring up at the sky.
Arthur Rimbaud says it’s as simple as a musical phrase.
Rainer Rilke says music: the breathing of statues. Perhaps: the silence of paintings. Language where language ends. Time that stands head-up in the direction of hearts that wear out.
I can’t say anything. I can not speak, my tongue is broken. Sappho said that.
All my love,
Lisa
November 28, 2007
Dear Bob Dylan,
Once the last ray of sunlight dissolves over the McDowell mountains and the grey of evening is tossed like gravel over the horizon, it’s no small wonder that I should look to the sky for those first few stars to appear like praying cells and the moon, that oyster which shines like a mission bell.
I find, after so many years, the same inner visions. I follow the path of your dreams. Wherever you turn regardless how awkward, restless or profound. Despite obliviousness toward my own stale and imminent future. Devotion to you remains my fate. Nevertheless.
Seems to me you will always be the fuse, the one in action that enters the room of my mind, your face full of faculty and asking so what are your intentions, what are your interests? Inspired for the trillionth time this year by your sufficiency with words, I will step into the same river twice. A flood of answers will cloud my brain, most of them quite ordinary. Just sentences.
So I will come to myself, beneath this sky which is for all its expansiveness still keeping the stars locked behind and mention, well, I mostly just focus on the songs.
Dear Bob Dylan 