The Ragged Clown Behind
One of the things about Bob Dylan’s writing is the incredible use of imagery in his songs. They may not always make logical sense, but at they get the point across. The words to Desolation Row or A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall do not progress in any (to me) logical format. Dylan may deny some of the meanings people have given to them over the years. But they grab you and kick you in the rear with a power than you cannot deny. They are of biblical/epic/prophetic proportions.

They're selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They've got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they're restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row
--from Highway 61 Revisited, Copyright © 1965; renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

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 hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',
Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',
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.
--from The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, Copyright © 1963; renewed 1991 Special Rider Music

Yet one of the enduring images I have found in Dylan’s words is the clown/troubadour. I can’t help but put them together in my mind. Whether it is from the circus image in Desolation Row or the clown crying in the alley in Hard Rain, there is often such a figure lurking in the songs. I can’t help but think of it as Dylan himself.

I see him lurking around the world, the society, the day in and day out life of people on the edges or at the centers of power. I see him sounding the tambourine of protest (even as he doesn’t like that idea.) I see him crying through the words as we all just keep ignoring hope and those who are outside. He was not the “voice of a generation.” His words and insights are much broader and much more mysterious than that. (There- I keep using that word- mysterious. How else can I describe it? How else?) They are primal even when he is having fun (Subterranean Homesick Blues) or crying over lost love (Like a Rolling Stone.)

So for me the enduring image of Dylan is in Mr. Tambourine Man, which seems to be a picture in a mirror of Dylan himself- the ragged clown behind. Keep following us, keep writing, keep performing. He may not want us to “pay it any mind,” but we do. We need it.