Patti se equivoca... seguramente olvidó la letra... pero con humildad pide perdón y pide comenzar de nuevo....
La canción: un poema de Dylan en el acto de la academia por el premio Nobel de literatura, que merecido o no, es un reconocimiento a un compositor extraordinario....
En el siguiente vídeo se transcribe el discurso que envió a la academia...
https://youtu.be/XPx7PFSv7fo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPx7PFSv7fo&feature=youtu.be
A HARD RAIN IS GONNA FALL
Bob Dylan
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
Traducción
Oh, ¿dónde has estado, mi hijo de ojos azules?
Oh, ¿dónde has estado, mi querido joven?
He tropezado en la ladera de doce montañas brumosas
He caminado y he gateado en seis carreteras torcidas
He caminado en medio de siete bosques tristes
He estado delante de una docena de océanos muertos
He estado diez mil millas en la boca de un cementerio
Y es una dura, y es una dura, es una dura, y es una dura
Y es una lluvia dura que va a caer
Oh, ¿qué viste, mi hijo de ojos azules?
Oh, ¿qué viste, mi querido joven?
Vi a un bebé recién nacido con lobos salvajes a su alrededor
Vi una carretera de diamantes sin nadie en ella
Vi una rama negra con sangre que seguía goteando
Vi una habitación llena de hombres con sus martillos sangrando
Vi una escalera blanca toda cubierta de agua
Vi a diez mil habladores cuyas lenguas estaban rotas
Vi armas y espadas afiladas en manos de niños pequeños
Y es una dura, y es una dura, es una dura, y es una dura
Y es una lluvia dura que va a caer
¿Y qué oíste, mi hijo de ojos azules?
¿Y qué oíste, mi querida joven?
Oí el sonido de un trueno, rugió una advertencia
Escuché el rugido de una ola que podría ahogar todo el mundo
oí a una persona hambrienta, oí a mucha gente riendo
Oí el canto de un poeta que murió en la cuneta
Oí el sonido de un payaso que lloraba en el callejón
Y es una dura, y es una dura, es una dura, y es una dura
Y es una lluvia dura que va a caer
Oh, ¿a quién conociste, mi hijo de ojos azules?
¿Con quién te encontraste, mi querido joven?
Conocí a un niño al lado de un pony muerto
Conocí a un hombre blanco que caminaba con un perro negro
Conocí a una joven cuyo cuerpo ardía
Conocí a una niña, ella me dio un arco iris
Conocí a un hombre herido de amor
Conocí a otro hombre herido de odio
Y es duro, es duro, es duro, es duro
Es una lluvia dura que va a caer
Oh, ¿qué vas a hacer ahora, mi hijo de ojos azules?
Oh, ¿qué vas a hacer ahora, mi querido joven?
Estoy volviendo hacia atrás antes de que la lluvia empiece a caer,
Caminaré hasta las profundidades del bosque negro más profundo
Donde la gente es mucha y sus manos están vacías
Donde las pellas de veneno están inundando sus aguas
Donde la casa en el valle se encuentra con la prisión húmeda y sucia
Donde la cara del verdugo está siempre bien escondida
Donde el hambre es fea, donde las almas se olvidan
Donde negro es el color, donde ninguno es el número
Y lo voy a decir y pensarlo y hablarlo y respirarlo
Y reflejarlo desde la montaña para que todas las almas puedan verlo
Entonces me pondré en el océano hasta que empiece a hundirme,
Pero voy a conocer mi canción bien antes de empezar a cantar '
Y es una dura, y es una dura, es una dura, y es una dura
Y es una lluvia dura que va a caer
El discurso que envió a la academia en la ocasión fue leído por la embajadora de los EEUU en Suecia, el "banquet speech":
"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
