Who I am, Who Bob Dylan is, and Who Bob Dylan is to me

The first time I met Dylan was when a friend of mine
liked a boy she thought similar to dylan.

the second time I met dylan was when I watched a movie about him in which a woman was
giving out an amazing performance. I was
far left behind what intellectually the movie
went for.
but I look back now to think it was
rather ironic that I met dylan the second time in a woman’s
portrayal. that’s what I’ve done all my life (if you count me a woman and what I do a portrayal).
I heard I want you and liked it immensely. I went ahead and bought several records.

yet when I truly met dylan for the very first time that is the dylan of mine was on a warm afternoon in a crowded bus waking up from a daze to find out that my!
those lyrics to just like a woman
could redefine life. as it is. as it was.
we met each other there. the bridge laid forth the city
underneath. and I met dylan on water where one walks
leaving no footprints behind
also ironic (if you call dylan one and what he does footprints).

then began a ambitious archiving project and long hours of
contemplation on his words. Have
I tried to understand? you bet. Who hasn’t?
so our relationship grew.
mostly on highways for I spend a lot of hours on highways. then
i fell in love a bunch of times and out of it and found dylan to be comforting. I made several mistakes
broke up with many friends
and witnessed multiple family catastrophes.
so dylan I went to to take a piece of mind but he never gives you that, but we managed to come to such terms:
either I was to screw up, cry
or intentionally plan to screw up, then cry
and he was to take me to somewhere where
people looked small. and ideas mattered little.
we smoke quietly on riverbeds
me and him in his young days
and the old him was hiding out in cool shades
looking at me like sayin’ “kid”
nothing else though. just kid.
the immense comfort of having a man to be a kid by.
I would say “life means little don’t it
bobby? I know I feel I see? don’t I know?”

he never answered. he always frowned. the young him
especially. never smiled.

the closest he got to revealing me what life meant and all
was on a dolmus ride back home past midnight. drunk I was
and battered (I am mostly drunk, and even more often battered anyhow) over that water where we first met in the truest terms
he then threw aimlessly a handful of gold coins
over my head. and had a habit of doing so afterwards everytime.
because I had learnt the gateway opens for drunks
and I began taking it.

then there was a night warm and summer-like
we came across each other for the first time in person
flesh and bone, I mean.

I walked around at 8 the next morning and in my long dress and overnight
weariness and stench of tobacco
I walked down the streets
smiling
perhaps bright as the morning star
saying to every lost soul I came across
“look look I meant to be what I meant to be”
walking down the hillside with lousy Istanbul on my right
“look look city of mine
I will be who I will be
for people fall through only the cracks they fit to fall through.”
Istanbul said “you’re still a bit high,
but enthusiastic, I’ll give you that,
if nothing else.”

oh and I had once a dream about him
where he stood mid stage as me and my friend discussed
whether it was him. he looked different. an old man
of any kind. but he looked up with his piercing (I happen to think that specific adjective works for only bobby’s eyes) eyes
and I knew it was him. but he was angry with me.
still don’t know why.
I should have asked, perhaps
but he scares me a little.

I made memories for each of his worlds. and discovered songs. even the ones I discovered I went back and discovered again. simple twist of fate for example, refelt that on my way home one spring afternoon.
just when the weather got warm.

we sat knees up to our chests
i wanted to be a kid


“kid”

I sparked

I was the kid
who never quite broke through
but hung midair dangling
acknowledging things will not change
but depending on them to do so.

at the age of 21 (which resounds of resentment, if you must know)

cursed with knowing just where
everyone ached. constantly.

dylan was vast. at best endless.
had enough juice to handle enough tragedy
and shelter one from the worst
by not caring. small matters. who cares.
I would drain my awareness into his harmonica
and would feel refreshed.


I knew he wouldn’t hurt anyhow

often I would dig my hands in my pockets and look up
into the foggy clouds and smile
no reason. just smile. at my own doorstep
thinking I looked very artsy. and poetic.
with books pressed against my chest.
and that dylan in my ear.


first storyline I managed to hold on for long
enough to really put down had a boy in it
who began as a bystander to the story
then became the lead.
a boy who played the guitar and had curly hair
and when I realized there really was no boy
but a vague imitation of dylan
I made him break up all relations
and marry a girl named Sara.
and he moved away. haven’t seen him since, though
I hear sometimes, at night
he made it big time.
like real big.


I also wanted to play the guitar.
dying to be a part of the process

needless to say, that didn’t happen.

but turns out
no guitar does not necessarily mean
no bob. instead it only means more of
kid
just kid though
nuthin else.


we’re separate processes it turns out and don’t know what you would say
but I think bob is ok with mine.
he kids me from time to time but that’s all.
he’s surprisingly tender.
never growls. never raises his voice.


they say now that you’re 70.
going fast down the lane, you know.

but I will chase you life after life
a tree a snail a banker perhaps finally
a king you’ll become
and I shall shift faces too

and then one day after endless endings
we will sit by one another
and I shall stretch forth a hand
to say

“dear soul
this part within
that once was a part of a child
whose soul too once a part of a whore
whose soul once a part of a cypress tree
whose soul once a part of an angel
whose soul once a part of a robin
whose soul eventually a part of the souls of a million other things

whose souls also parts of even more

and now multiplied a thousand times and a thousand times more
I have come and found you. but I always remembered
and always knew”

whatever you say back I shall hear:

“kid”

and nothing else.

happy birthday, bob.