Posts for Tag: Bob Dylan

Rede von Bob Dylan zum Nobelpreis, Update

Das ist leider die einzige Fassung der Rede, die ich bisher im Netz finden konnte. Wenn die Qualitätsmedien, statt solche Artikel zu schreiben, auf den Text verlinken, werde ich die folgende Fassung ersetzen können.

Update: Na gut, es kam nicht von den Qualitätsmedien, sondern zuerst von Twitter: 

Text of Bob Dylan’s Nobel Prize acceptance speech

Bob Dylan

Though not in attendance at the ceremony in Stockholm, Bob Dylan nevertheless accepted the Nobel Prize for Literature today.

As people in Dylan’s hometown of Hibbing celebrated the accomplishments of their famous son, the U.S. Ambassador to Sweden, Anita Raji, read Dylan’s speech into the record.

It was short, grateful, and focused on the question of “What is Literature?”

Good evening, everyone. I extend my warmest greetings to the members of the Swedish Academy and to all of the other distinguished guests in attendance tonight.

I’m sorry I can’t be with you in person, but please know that I am most definitely with you in spirit and honored to be receiving such a prestigious prize. Being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature is something I never could have imagined or seen coming. From an early age, I’ve been familiar with and reading and absorbing the works of those who were deemed worthy of such a distinction: Kipling, Shaw, Thomas Mann, Pearl Buck, Albert Camus, Hemingway.

These giants of literature whose works are taught in the schoolroom, housed in libraries around the world and spoken of in reverent tones have always made a deep impression. That I now join the names on such a list is truly beyond words.

I don’t know if these men and women ever thought of the Nobel honor for themselves, but I suppose that anyone writing a book, or a poem, or a play anywhere in the world might harbor that secret dream deep down inside. It’s probably buried so deep that they don’t even know it’s there.

If someone had ever told me that I had the slightest chance of winning the Nobel Prize, I would have to think that I’d have about the same odds as standing on the moon. In fact, during the year I was born and for a few years after, there wasn’t anyone in the world who was considered good enough to win this Nobel Prize. So, I recognize that I am in very rare company, to say the least.

I was out on the road when I received this surprising news, and it took me more than a few minutes to properly process it. 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?”

When I started writing songs as a teenager, and even as I started to achieve some renown for my abilities, my aspirations for these songs only went so far. I thought they could be heard in coffee houses or bars, maybe later in places like Carnegie Hall, the London Palladium. If I was really dreaming big, maybe I could imagine getting to make a record and then hearing my songs on the radio. That was really the big prize in my mind. Making records and hearing your songs on the radio meant that you were reaching a big audience and that you might get to keep doing what you had set out to do.

Well, I’ve been doing what I set out to do for a long time, now. I’ve made dozens of records and played thousands of concerts all around the world. But it’s my songs that are at the vital center of almost everything I do. They seemed to have found a place in the lives of many people throughout many different cultures and I’m grateful for that.

But there’s one thing I must say. As a performer I’ve played for 50,000 people and I’ve played for 50 people and I can tell you that it is harder to play for 50 people. 50,000 people have a singular persona, not so with 50. Each person has an individual, separate identity, a world unto themselves. They can perceive things more clearly. Your honesty and how it relates to the depth of your talent is tried. The fact that the Nobel committee is so small is not lost on me.

But, like Shakespeare, I too am often occupied with the pursuit of my creative endeavors and dealing with all aspects of life’s mundane matters. “Who are the best musicians for these songs?” “Am I recording in the right studio?” “Is this song in the right key?” Some things never change, even in 400 years.

Not once have I ever had the time to ask myself, “Are my songs literature?”

So, I do thank the Swedish Academy, both for taking the time to consider that very question, and, ultimately, for providing such a wonderful answer.

My best wishes to you all,
Bob Dylan

Siehe auch hier und hier

Hard rain und die Juwelen klimpern dezent.

A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin'
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin'
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall

Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded with hatred
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall

Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner's face is always well-hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin'
But I'll know my song well before I start singin'
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall



Wo warst Du, mein blauäugiger Sohn? 
Und wo warst Du, meine liebstes kleines? 
Ich stolperte an den Hängen von zwölf nebligen Bergen
Ich ging, und ich kroch auf sechs buckligen Straßen
Ich trat in die Mitte von sieben traurigen Wäldern
Ich war da draussen vor einem Dutzend toten Ozeanen
Ich war zehntausend Meilen im Rachen eines Friedhofs
Und es ist ein schwerer, ein schwerer, und es ist ein schwerer 
es ist ein schwerer Regen, der fallen wird.

Was hast Du gesehen, mein blauäugiger Sohn? 
Und was hast Du gesehen, meine liebstes kleines?
Ich sah ein neugeborenes Baby von wilden Wölfen umringt
Ich sah eine Straße aus Diamanten, mit niemendem darauf
Ich sah einen schwarzen Ast mit Blut das ständig tropfte
Ich sah einen Raum voll mit Männern mit ihren Hämmern ausbluten
Ich sah eine weisse Leiter ganz von Wasser bedeckt
Ich sah zehntausend Redner, deren Zungen durchschnitten
Ich sah Gewehre und scharfe Schwerter in der Händen von Kindern
Und es ist ein schwerer, ein schwerer, und es ist ein schwerer 
es ist ein schwerer Regen, der fallen wird.

Was hast Du gehört, mein blauäugiger Sohn?
Und was hast Du gehört, meine liebstes kleines?
Ich hörte ein rollendes Geräusch, das eine Warnung hinaus donnerte.
hörte das brüllen einer Welle, die die ganze Welt ertränken könnte
hörte einhundert Trommler deren Hände brannten wie Feuer
hörte zehntausend flüstern aber niemand hörte zu
hörte einen Menschen hungern, und hörte viele Leute lachen
hörte das Lied eines Poeten, der im Rinnsal starb
hörte das Rufen und das Schreien eines Clowns, in einer schmalen Gasse:
Und es ist ein schwerer, ein schwerer, und es ist ein schwerer 
es ist ein schwerer Regen, der fallen wird.

Was hast Du angetroffen, mein blauäugiger Sohn?
Und was hast Du angetroffen, meine liebstes kleines?
Ich traf ein Kind neben einem toten Pony
Ich traf einen weißen Mann mit einem schwarzen Hund an der Leine
Ich traf eine junge Frau deren Körper brannte.
Ich traf eine junges Mädchen, das schenkte mir einen Regenbogen
Ich traf einen Mann der verwundet war in Liebe
Ich traf einen anderen Mann verwundet in Hass
Und es ist ein schwerer, ein schwerer, und es ist ein schwerer 
es ist ein schwerer Regen, der fallen wird.

Was was wirst Du nun tun, mein blauäugiger Sohn?
Und was wirst Du nun tun, meine liebstes kleines?
Ich gehe zurück, denn der Regen wird bald fallen
Ich gehe zu den Tiefen der tiefsten schwarzen Wälder
Wo es viele Menschen gibt und deren Hände ganz leer sind.
Wo der Niederschlag des Gifts ihre Gewässer überflutet
Wo das Heim im Tal zusammentrifft mit dem dunstigen dreckigen Gefängnis
Und das Gesicht des Henkers ist immer gut versteckt
Wo Hunger droht, wo die Seelen vergessen sind
Wo schwarz eine Farbe, und wo Nichts eine Zahl ist.
Und ich werde es erzählen und es denken und es sagen und es atmen
Und es spiegeln von dem Berg, sodass alle Seelen es sehen können
Und dann werde ich auf dem Ozean stehen bis ich versinke
Aber ich werde mein Lied genau kennen bevor ich zu singen beginne:
Und es ist ein schwerer, ein schwerer, und es ist ein schwerer 
es ist ein schwerer Regen, der fallen wird.

Gerhard Bach 11.12.2016