Andrés Hoyos: Dylan
La literatura, que en mi parcializada opinión es la más poderosa de las artes, puede mirarse desde muchas ópticas —la nacionalidad del autor, su época, el movimiento estético al que pertenece—, pero enfoquémonos en dos: la restrictiva, según la cual hacen parte de ella los narradores, los ensayistas y los poetas de texto desnudo, a los que se agrega el teatro quizá para no cometer la enormidad de excluir a Shakespeare, y la expansiva, que dice que el centro de gravedad de la literatura son las palabras, se refieran a lo que se refieran y vivan donde vivan.
La Academia Sueca se ha inclinado últimamente por la óptica expansiva, como lo demuestran los galardones otorgados en 2015 y 2016. El primero fue para Svetlana Alexiévich, quien es en esencia una periodista, y el segundo fue para Bob Dylan, cantautor de cantautores. Este premio no solo lo recibe él, sino que es un Nobel de rebote para Cole Porter, Leonard Cohen, Jacques Brel, Georges Brassens, Lucio Dalla, Carole King, Tom Waits, Joni Mitchell, Paul Simon, James Taylor y Chico Buarque de Hollanda, para no hablar del notable destacamento de quienes escriben y cantan en español, digamos Serrat, Sabina o Calamaro.
Es difícil sobreestimar la influencia que Dylan ejerció sobre quienes fuimos llegando a la vida consciente después de que estos jóvenes hoy viejos dinamitaron las certidumbres del decoro a partir de 1960. La música rock, con sus múltiples ramificaciones y afinidades, entrañaba una revolución estética de grandes proporciones e implicaba un vuelco radical en las costumbres, pero sin palabras aquello podría haber quedado atrapado en el limbo. Dylan no fue el único músico poeta de su tiempo, claro que no. Vienen a la mente John Lennon, Paul Simon y Mick Jagger, entre muchos, si bien es imposible disputarle al chico de Duluth, Minnesota, el título de oráculo mayor, pues su voz fue clave a la hora de desbaratar la primorosa entelequia bienpensante que se armó en Estados Unidos tras el triunfo de los aliados en la Segunda Guerra Mundial.
Tanto es así que la ideología conservadora se ha ensañado contra estos años 60 y sus protagonistas, sobre todo desde que Ronald Reagan fue elegido presidente de Estados Unidos en 1980. Los blancos cristianos de diferentes denominaciones han querido recuperar el terreno para la intransigencia religiosa, para el capitalismo salvaje en el que solo cuentan los ganadores y para el racismo vergonzante. Trump en últimas está en campaña contra estos años 60 de los que Dylan es el principal símbolo. Así, el Nobel puede leerse otra vez en clave política.
Es necesario aclarar, sin embargo, que la finalidad de esta poesía fue política solo accidentalmente. Su fuerza mayor consiste en iluminar la condición humana por un camino alejado de los rebaños, singular, individualista, en ocasiones solitario y con frecuencia trágico. La gran poesía permite, como nada más en la literatura, que establezcamos con ella una relación personal, única. Si alguien pensaba que las canciones de Dylan le hablaban solo a él, que no se preocupe, yo pensaba lo mismo.
Cualquiera que tenga dudas sobre la potencia poética y narrativa de Dylan hará bien en escuchar “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts”, de preferencia en la versión de Joan Báez, su primera y una de sus mejores intérpretes. Las dudas volarán como sopladas por el viento. Dylan quizá no sea hoy el que fue hasta 1975, pero nadie le quita lo cantado.
andreshoyos@elmalpensante.com, @andrewholes
A continuación, Joan Baez interpreta “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts”. Primero, el texto, luego el video.
The cabaret was quiet except for the drillin’ in the wall
The curfew had been lifted and the gamblin’ wheel shut down
Anyone with any sense had already left town
He was standin’ in the doorway lookin’ like the Jack of Hearts He moved across the mirrored room, “Set it up for everyone,” he said
Then everyone commenced to do what they were doin’ before he turned their heads
Then he walked up to a stranger and he asked him with a grin
“Could you kindly tell me, friend, what time the show begins?”
Then he moved into the corner, face down like the Jack of Hearts
Backstage the girls were playin’ five-card stud by the stairs
Lily had two queens, she was hopin’ for a third to match her pair
Outside the streets were fillin’ up, the window was open wide
A gentle breeze was blowin’, you could feel it from inside
Lily called another bet and drew up the Jack of Hearts
Big Jim was no one’s fool, he owned the town’s only diamond mine
He made his usual entrance lookin’ so dandy and so fine
With his bodyguards and silver cane and every hair in place
He took whatever he wanted to and he laid it all to waste
But his bodyguards and silver cane were no match for the Jack of Hearts
Rosemary combed her hair and took a carriage into town
She slipped in through the side door lookin’ like a queen without a crown
She fluttered her false eyelashes and whispered in his ear
“Sorry, darlin’, that I’m late,” but he didn’t seem to hear
He was starin’ into space over at the Jack of Hearts
“I know I’ve seen that face before,” Big Jim was thinkin’ to himself
“Maybe down in Mexico or a picture up on somebody’s shelf”
But then the crowd began to stamp their feet and the houselights did dim
And in the darkness of the room there was only Jim and him
Starin’ at the butterfly who just drew the Jack of Hearts
Lily was a princess, she was fair-skinned and precious as a child
She did whatever she had to do, she had that certain flash every time she smiled
She’d come away from a broken home, had lots of strange affairs
With men in every walk of life which took her everywhere
But she’d never met anyone quite like the Jack of Hearts
The hangin’ judge came in unnoticed and was being wined and dined
The drillin’ in the wall kept up but no one seemed to pay it any mind
It was known all around that Lily had Jim’s ring
And nothing would ever come between Lily and the king
No, nothin’ ever would except maybe the Jack of Hearts
Rosemary started drinkin’ hard and seein’ her reflection in the knife
She was tired of the attention, tired of playin’ the role of Big Jim’s wife
She had done a lot of bad things, even once tried suicide
Was lookin’ to do just one good deed before she died
She was gazin’ to the future, riding on the Jack of Hearts
Lily washed her face, took her dress off and buried it away
“Has your luck run out?” she laughed at him, “Well, I guess you must
have known it would someday
Be careful not to touch the wall, there’s a brand-new coat of paint
I’m glad to see you’re still alive, you’re lookin’ like a saint”
Down the hallway footsteps were comin’ for the Jack of Hearts
The backstage manager was pacing all around by his chair
“There’s something funny going on,” he said, “I can just feel it in the air”
He went to get the hangin’ judge, but the hangin’ judge was drunk
As the leading actor hurried by in the costume of a monk
There was no actor anywhere better than the Jack of Hearts
Lily’s arms were locked around the man that she dearly loved to touch
She forgot all about the man she couldn’t stand who hounded her so much
“I’ve missed you so,” she said to him, and he felt she was sincere
But just beyond the door he felt jealousy and fear
Just another night in the life of the Jack of Hearts
No one knew the circumstance but they say that it happened pretty quick
The door to the dressing room burst open and a cold revolver clicked
And Big Jim was standin’ there, ya couldn’t say surprised
Rosemary right beside him, steady in her eyes
She was with Big Jim but she was leanin’ to the Jack of Hearts
Two doors down the boys finally made it through the wall
And cleaned out the bank safe, it’s said that they got off with quite a haul
In the darkness by the riverbed they waited on the ground
For one more member who had business back in town
But they couldn’t go no further without the Jack of Hearts
The next day was hangin’ day, the sky was overcast and black
Big Jim lay covered up, killed by a penknife in the back
And Rosemary on the gallows, she didn’t even blink
The hangin’ judge was sober, he hadn’t had a drink
The only person on the scene missin’ was the Jack of Hearts
The cabaret was empty now, a sign said, “Closed for repair”
Lily had already taken all of the dye out of her hair
She was thinkin’ ’bout her father, who she very rarely saw
Thinkin’ ’bout Rosemary and thinkin’ about the law
But most of all she was thinkin’ ’bout the Jack of Hearts
Copyright © 1974 by Ram’s Horn Music; renewed 202 by Ram’s Horn Music
