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If I die young
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song. Uh oh, uh oh Lord make me a rainbow, I’ll shine down on my mother
She’ll know I’m safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh,
And life ain’t always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain’t even grey, but she buries her baby; the sharp knife of a short life, well
I’ve had just enough timeIf I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love songThe sharp knife of a short life, well
I’ve had just enough time

And I’ll be wearing white, when I come into your kingdom
I’m as green as the ring on my little cold finger,
I’ve never known the lovin’ of a man
But it sure felt nice when he was holdin’ my hand,
There’s a boy here in town, says he’ll love me forever,
Who would have thought forever could be severed by

The sharp knife of a short life, well,
I’ve had just enough time

So put on your best, boys, and I’ll wear my pearls
What I never did is done

A penny for my thoughts, oh, no, I’ll sell ’em for a dollar
They’re worth so much more after I’m a goner
And maybe then you’ll hear the words I been singin’
Funny when you’re dead how people start listenin’

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song

Uh oh (uh, oh)
The ballad of a dove (oh, uh)
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep ’em in your pocket
Save ’em for a time when you’re really gonna need ’em, oh

The sharp knife of a short life, well
I’ve had just enough time

So put on your best, boys, and I’ll wear my pearls.

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On December 13th of 1963, at a dinner event in New York, the Emergency Civil Liberties Committee awarded its annual Tom Paine Award to Bob Dylan, for his contribution to the fight for civil liberties. Despite not having prepared one, a nervous and slightly drunk Dylan gave a speech that evening — a controversial speech in which he expressed sympathy for Lee Harvey Oswald, the man who, just three weeks previous, had killed John F. Kennedy.

The backlash was immediate, and prompted a fascinating explanatory letter from Dylan to the committee in the days that followed. Transcripts of both the speech and letter can be found below.

Bob Dylan’s speech:

I haven’t got any guitar, I can talk though. I want to thank you for the Tom Paine award in behalf everybody that went down to Cuba. First of all because they’re all young and it’s took me a long time to get young and now I consider myself young. And I’m proud of it. I’m proud that I’m young. And I only wish that all you people who are sitting out here today or tonight weren’t here and I could see all kinds of faces with hair on their head, and everything like that, everything leading to youngness, celebrating the anniversary when we overthrew the House Un-American Activities just yesterday. Because you people should be at the beach. You should be out there and you should be swimming and you should be just relaxing in the time you have to relax. [Laughter] It is not an old peoples’ world. It is not an old peoples’ world. It has nothing to do with old people. Old people when their hair grows out, they should go out. [Laughter] And I look down to see the people that are governing me and making my rules, and they haven’t got any hair on their head — I get very uptight about it. [Laughter]

And they talk about Negroes, and they talk about black and white. And they talk about colors of red and blue and yellow. Man, I just don’t see any colors at all when I look out. I don’t see any colors at all and if people have taught through the years to look at colors — I’ve read history books, I’ve never seen one history book that tells how anybody feels. I’ve found facts about our history, I’ve found out what people know about what goes on but I never found anything about anybody feels about anything happens. It’s all just plain facts. And it don’t help me one little bit to look back.

I wish sometimes I could have come in here in the 1930’s like my first idol — used to have an idol, Woody Guthrie, who came in the 1930’s [Applause]. But it has sure changed in the time Woody’s been here and the time I’ve been here. It’s not that easy any more. People seem to have more fears.

I get different presents from people that I play for and they bring presents to me backstage — very weird, weird presents; presents that I couldn’t buy. They buy — they bring me presents that… I’ve got George Lincoln Rockwell’s tie clip that somebody robbed for me. [Laughter] I have General Walker’s car trunk keys — keys to his trunk that somebody robbed for me. Now these are my presents. I have fallout shelter signs that people robbed for me from Philadelphia and these are the little signs. There’s no black and white, left and right to me anymore; there’s only up and down and down is very close to the ground. And I’m trying to go up without thinking about anything trivial such as politics. They has got nothing to do with it. I’m thinking about the general people and when they get hurt.

I want to accept this award, the Tom Paine Award, from the Emergency Civil Liberties Committee. I want to accept it in my name but I’m not really accepting it in my name and I’m not accepting it in any kind of group’s name, any Negro group or any other kind of group. There are Negroes — I was on the march on Washington up on the platform and I looked around at all the Negroes there and I didn’t see any Negroes that looked like none of my friends. My friends don’t wear suits. My friends don’t have to wear suits. My friends don’t have to wear any kind of thing to prove that they’re respectable Negroes. My friends are my friends, and they’re kind, gentle people if they’re my friends. And I’m not going to try to push nothing over. So, I accept this reward — not reward [Laughter] — award on behalf of Phillip Luce who led the group to Cuba which all people should go down to Cuba. I don’t see why anybody can’t go to Cuba. I don’t see what’s going to hurt by going any place. I don’t know what’s going to hurt anybody’s eyes to see anything. On the other hand, Phillip is a friend of mine who went to Cuba. I’ll stand up and to get uncompromisable about it, which I have to be to be honest, I just got to be, as I got to admit that the man who shot President Kennedy, Lee Oswald, I don’t know exactly where — what he thought he was doing, but I got to admit honestly that I too — I saw some of myself in him. I don’t think it would have gone — I don’t think it could go that far. But I got to stand up and say I saw things that he felt, in me — not to go that far and shoot. [Boos and hisses] You can boo but booing’s got nothing to do with it. It’s a — I just a — I’ve got to tell you, man, its Bill of Rights is free speech and I just want to admit that I accept this Tom Paine Award in behalf of James Forman of the Students Non-Violent Coordinating Committee and on behalf of the people who went to Cuba. [Boos and Applause]

Bob Dylan’s letter:

to anybody it may concern…
clark?
mairi?
phillip?
edith?
mr lamont?
countless faces I do not know
an all fighters for good things that I can not see

when I speak of bald heads, I mean bald minds
when I speak of the seashore, I mean the resting shore
I don’t know why I mentioned either of them

my life runs in a series of moods
in private an in personal ways, sometimes,
I, myself, can change the mood I’m in to the
mood I’d like to be in. when I walked thru the
doors of the americana hotel, I needed to change
my mood… for reasons inside myself.

I am a restless soul
hungry
perhaps wretched

it is hard to hear someone you don’t know, say
“this is what he meant to say” about something
you just said

for no one can say what I meant to say
absolutely no one
at times I even can’t
that was one of those times

my life is lived out daily in the places I feel
most comfortable in. these places are places where
I am unknown an unstarted at. I perform rarely, an
when I do, there is a constant commotion burning
at my body an at my mind because of the attention
aimed at me. instincts fight my emotions an fears
fight my instincts…

I do not claim t be smart by the standards set up
I don’t even claim to be normal by the standards
set up
an I do not claim to know any kind of truth

but like an artist who puts his painting (after
he’s painted it) in front of thousands of unknown
eyes, I also put my song there that way
(after I’ve made it)
it is as easy an as simple as that

I can not speak. I can not talk
I can only write an I can only sing
perhaps I should’ve sung a song
but that wouldn’t a been right either
for I was given an award not to sing
but rather on what I have sung

no what I should’ve said was
“thank you very much ladies an gentlemen”
yes that is what I should’ve said
but unfortunately… I didn’t
an I didn’t because I did not know

I thought something else was expected of me
other than just saying “thank you”
an I did not know what it was
it is a fierce heavy feeling
thinking something is expected of you
but you don’t know what exactly it is…
it brings forth a wierd form of guilt

I should’ve remembered
“I am BOB DYLAN an I don’t have t speak
I don’t have t say nothing if I don’t wanna”
but
I didn’t remember

I constantly asked myself while eating supper
“what should I say? what should I tell ‘m?
everybody else is gonna tell ‘m something”
but I could not answer myself
I even asked someone who was sitting next me
an he couldn’t tell me neither. my mind blew
up an needless t say I had t get it back in its
rightful shape (whatever that might be) an so
I escaped from the big room… only to hear my
name being shouted an the words “git in here
git in here” overlapping with the finding of my
hand being pulled across hundreds of tables
with the lights turned on strong… guiding me
back to where I tried to escape from
“what should I say? what should I say?”
over an over again
oh God, I’d a given anything not t be there
“shut the lights off at least”
people were coughing an my head was pounding
an the sounds of mumble jumble sank deep in
my skull from all sides of the room
until I tore everything loose from my mind
an said “just be honest, dylan, just be honest”

an so I found myself in front of the plank
like I found myself once in the path of a car
an I jumped…
jumped with all my bloody might
just trying to get out a the way
but first screaming one last song

when I spoke of Lee Oswald, I was speaking of the times
I was not speaking of his deed if it was his deed.
the deed speaks for itself
but I am sick
so sick
at hearing “we all share the blame” for every
church bombing, gun battle, mine disaster,
poverty explosion, an president killing that
comes about.
it is so easy t say “we” an bow our heads together
I must say “I” alone an bow my head alone
for it is I alone who is living my life
I have beloved companions but they do not
eat nor sleep for me
an even they must say “I”
yes if there’s violence in the times then
there must be violence in me
I am not a perfect mute.
I hear the thunder an I cant avoid hearing it
once this is straight between us, it’s then an
only then that we can say “we” an really mean
it… an go on from there to do something about
it

When I spoke of Negroes
I was speaking of my Negro friends
from harlem
an Jackson
selma an birmingham
atlanta pittsburg, an all points east
west, north, south an wherever else they
might happen to be.
in rat filled rooms
an dirt land farms
schools, dimestores, factories
pool halls an street corners
the ones that don’t own ties
but know proudly they don’t have to
not one little bit
they don’t have t be like they naturally ain’t
to get what they naturally own no more ‘n anybody
else does
it only gets things complicated
an leads people into thinking the wrong things
black skin is black skin
It cant be covered by clothes an made to seem
acceptable, well liked an respectable…
to teach that or t think that just tends the
flames of another monster myth…
it is naked black skin an nothing else
if a Negro has t wear a tie to be a Negro
then I must cut off all ties with who he has
to do it for.
I do not know why I wanted t say this that
nite.
perhaps it was just one of the many things
in my mind
born from the confusion of my times

when I spoke about the people that went t Cuba
I was speaking of the free right to travel
I am not afraid to see things
I challenge seeing things
I am insulted to the depths of my soul
when someone I don’t know commands that I
cant see this an gives me mysterious reasons
why I’ll get hurt if I do see it… telling me
at the same time about goodness an badness in
people that again I don’t know…
I’ve been told about people all my life
about niggers, kikes, wops, bohunks, spicks, chinks,
an I been told how they eat, dress, walk, talk,
steal, rob, an kill but nobody tells me how any
of ‘m feels… nobody tells me how any of ‘m cries
or laughs or kisses. I’m fed up with most newspapers,
radios, tv an movies an the like to tell me. I want
now to see an know for myself…
an I accepted that award for all others like me
who want to see for themselves… an who don’t want
that God-given right taken away
stolen away
or snuck out from beneath them
yes a travel ban in the south would protect
Americans more, I’m sure, than the one to Cuba
but in all honesty I would want to crash that
one too
do you understand?
do you really understand?
I mean I want t see. I want to see all I can
everyplace there is to see it
my life carries eyes
an they’re there for one reason
the reason to see thru them

my country is the Minnesota-North Dakota territory
that’s where I was born an learned how to walk an
it’s where I was raised an went to school… my
youth was spent wildly among the snowy hills an
sky blue lakes, willow fields an abandoned open
pit mines. contrary to rumors, I am very proud of
where I’m from an also of the many blood streams that
run in my roots but I would not be doing what
I’m doing today if I hadn’t come to New York. I was
given my direction from new york. I was fed in
new york. I was beaten down by new york an I was
picked up by new york. I was made to keep going on
by new york. I’m speaking now of the people I’ve met
who were struggling for their lives an other peoples’
lives in the thirties an forties an the fifties
an I look to their times
I reach out to their times
an, in a sense, am jealous of their times
to think I have no use for “old” people is a betrayin thought
those that know me know otherwise
those that dont, probably’re baffled
like a friend of mine, jack elliott, who says he
was reborn in Oklahoma, I say I was reborn in
New York…
there is no age limit stuck on it
an no one is more conscious of it than I

yes it is a fierce feeling, knowing something you
dont know about’s expected of you. but it’s worse
if you blindly try t follow with explodin words
(for that’s all they can do is explode)
an the explodin words’re misunderstood
I’ve heard I was misunderstood

I do not apologize for myself nor my fears
I do not apologize for any statement which led
some t believe “oh my God! I think he’s the one
that really shot the president”

I am a writer an a singer of the words I write
I am no speaker nor any politician
an my songs speak for me because I write them
in the confinement of my own mind an have to cope
with no one except my own self. I don’t have to face
anyone with them until long after they’re done

no I do not apologize for being me nor any part of me

but I can return what is rightfully yours at any
given time. I have stared at it for a long while
now. it is a beautiful award. there is a kindness
to Mr Paine’s face an there is almost a sadness in
his smile. his trials show thru his eyes. I know
really not much about him but somehow I would like
to sing for him. there is a gentleness to his way.
yes thru all my floundering wildness, I am, when it
comes down to it, very proud that you have given this
to me. I would hang it high, an let my friends see in
it what I see, but I also would give it back if
you wish. There is no sense in keeping it if you’ve
made a mistake in giving it. for it means more’n any
store bought thing an it’d only be cheating t keep it

also I did not know that the dinner was a donation
dinner. I did not know you were gonna ask anyone
for money. an I understand you lost money on the
masterful way I expressed myself… then I am in debt t you
not a money debt but rather a moral debt
if you’d a sold me something, then it’d be a money debt
but you sold nothing, so it is a moral debt
an moral debts’re worse ‘n money debts
for they have to be paid back in whatever is missing
an in this case, it’s money

please send me my bill
an I shall pay it
no matter what the sum
I have a hatred of debts an want to be even in
the best way I can
you needn’t think about this, for money means
very little t me

so then

I’ll return once again t the road

I cant tell you why other people write, but I
write in order to keep from going insane.
my head, I expect’d turn inside out if my hands
were to leave me.

but I hardly ever talk about why I write. an I
scarcely ever think about it. the thought of it is
too alarming

an I never ever talk about why I speak
but that’s because I never do it. this is the
first time I am talking about it… an I pray
the last
the thought of doing it again is too scary

ha! it’s a scary world
but only once in a while huh?

I love you all up there an the ones I don’t love,
it’s only because I do not know them an have not
seen them… God it’s so hard hating. it’s so
tiresome… an after hating something to death,
it’s never worth the bother an trouble

out! out! brief candle
life’s but an open window
an I must jump back thru it now

see yuh
respectfully an unrespectfully

(signed, ‘bob dylan’)

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I`ll name it later

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Dear Mr. Waters,

I am in receipt of your electronic mail dated the 14th of April and duly impressed by the Shakespearean complexity of your tragedy. Everyone in this tale has a rock-solid hamartia: hers, that she is so sick; yours, that you are so well. Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / but in ourselves.” Easy enough to say when you’re a Roman nobleman (or Shakespeare!), but there is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars.

While we’re on the topic of old Will’s insufficiencies, your writing about young Hazel reminds me of the Bard’s Fifty-fifth sonnet, which of course begins, “Not a marble, nor the gilded monuments  / of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; / nut you shall shine more bright in these contents / Than unswept stone, besmear’d with sluttish time.” (Off topic, but: What a slut time is. She screws everybody.) It’s a fine poem but a deceitful one: We do indeed remember Shakespeare’s powerful rhyme, but what do we remember about the person it commemorates? Nothing. We’re pretty sure he was male; everything else is guesswork. Shakespeare told us precious little of the man whom he entombed in his linguistic sarcophagus. (Witness also that when we talk about literature, we do so in the present tense. We we speak of the dead, we are not so kind.) You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect. (Full disclosure: I am not the first to make this observation. cf, the MacLeish poem “Not Marble, Nor the gilded Monuments,” which contains the heroic line “I shall say you will die and none will remember you.”)

I digress, but here’s the rub: The dead are visable only in the terrible lidless eye of memory. The living, thank heaven, retain the avility to surprise and disappoint. Your Hazel is alive, Waters, and you mustn’t impose your will upon anoth’s decision, particularly a decision arrived at thoughtfully. She wishes to spare you pain, and you should let her. You may not find young Hazel’s logic persuasive, but I trod through this vale of tears longer than you, and from where I’m sitting, she’s not the lunatic.

Yours truly,

Peter Van Houten

❥ The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

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