I find it hard to memorize things.  Too bad.  I want to memorize things.

Bruce 1:  “Okay, go ahead and memorize short songs, Bruce.  You want to sing … so short ones will do nicely.”

Bruce 2:  “But you don’t understand, Bruce.  I also want to memorize long songs.”

Bruce 1:  “Look, Bruce – at your age, with your declining brain, that’s pretty risky.  What if you get three minutes into a seven-minute song and forget what’s next?”

Bruce 2:  “Declining brain!  Who do you think you are?”

Bruce 1:  “I’m you!”

Bruce 2:  “Well, so am I!”

(And then … We/me declared a truce)

Which brings me to Patti Smith.  In 2016, Bob Dylan won the Nobel Prize for Literature.  Patti was asked to sing one of Bob’s songs at the award ceremony in Stockholm, Sweden.  She chose “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall”.

Partway through, Patti stopped.  The words wouldn’t come …

“I’m sorry.  I’m so nervous”

Humanity was fully on display for the audience and the TV.  Many wrapped their hearts around her.  It was magic.

Patti began again, hesitating a bit more but giving her soul to the song, and to the audience, and to Bob.

The music video is my favourite of all time.

Here are the words:

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 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



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

And here’s Patti afterwards …

The opening chords of the song were introduced, and I heard myself singing.  The first verse was passable, a bit shaky, but I was certain I would settle.  But instead I was struck with a plethora of emotions, avalanching with such intensity that I was unable to negotiate them.  From the corner of my eye, I could see the huge boom stand of the television camera, and all the dignitaries upon the stage and the people beyond.  Unaccustomed to such an overwhelming case of nerves, I was unable to continue.  I hadn’t forgotten the words that were now a part of me.  I was simply unable to draw them out.

This strange phenomenon did not diminish or pass but stayed cruelly with me.  I was obliged to stop and ask pardon and then attempt again while in this state and sang with all my being, yet still stumbling.  It was not lost on me that the narrative of the song begins with the words “I stumbled alongside of twelve misty mountains,” and ends with the line “And I’ll know my song well before I start singing.”  As I took my seat, I felt the humiliating sting of failure, but also the strange realization that I had somehow entered and truly lived the world of the lyrics.

I will sing this song