Hard Year?

As we reflect upon this year that was anything but memorable for us, what say a brief reflection on a time more than 50 years earlier in order to keep things in perspective? Here’s a young Bob Dylan interviewed in 1963 by the great Studs Terkel. Studs asks Bob about his song, A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall; Bob’s take on the 18^th c. Scottish ballad Lord Randal that models the question/answer narrative throughout Dylan’s Hard Rain:

I wrote that when I didn’t figure – I didn’t know how many other songs I could write. That was during October of last year. I remember sitting up all night with a bunch of people someplace and I wanted to get the most down that I knew about into one song as I possibly could, so I wrote that…That was during that blockade…I was a little worried.

While the interview is typical Dylan myth-making (interviewed in spring '63 with Dylan referencing the October 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, he first performed the song at Carnegie Hall in September ’62), it does provide a glimpse into the tension and immediacy of that year, fifty years ago.

A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall:

New York Times Oct. '62 headlines

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 brokenI 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

See: A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall and Carnegie Hall, September 22, 1962

Lord Rendel:

“O where ha you been, Lord Randal, my son?

And where ha you been, my handsome young man?”
“I ha been at the greenwood; mother, mak my bed soon,

"Lord Randal", by Arthur Rackham.
llustration from Some British ballads,
published in about 1919: wikipedia

For I’m wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie down.”

“An wha met ye there, Lord Randal, my son?
An wha met you there, my handsome young man?”
“O I met wi my true-love; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi huntin, an fain wad lie down.”

“And what did she give you, Lord Randal, my son?
And what did she give you, my handsome young man?”
“Eels fried in a pan; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied with huntin, and fain wad lie down.”

“And wha gat your leavins, Lord Randal, my son?
And what gat your leavins, my handsom young man?”
“My hawks and my hounds; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down.”

“And what becam of them, Lord Randall, my son?
And what became of them, my handsome young man?”
“They stretched their legs out an died; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down.”

“O I fear you are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son!
I fear you are poisoned, my handsome young man!”
“O yes, I am poisoned; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.”

“What d’ ye leave to your mother, Lord Randal, my son?
What d’ye leave to your mother, my handsome young man?”
“Four and twenty milk kye; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.”

“What d’ ye leave to your sister, Lord Randal, my son?
What d’ ye leave to your sister, my handsome young man?”
“My gold and my silver; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, an I fain wad lie down.”

“What d’ ye leave to your brother, Lord Randal, my son?

What d’ ye leave to your brother, my handsome young man?”
“My house and my lands; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.”

“What d’ ye leave to your true-love, Lord Randal, my son?
What d’ ye leave to your true-love, my handsome young man?”
“I leave her hell and fire; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.”

(Anonymous Traditional Folk Ballad, published by Sir Walter Scott in 1803)
Lord Rendal

Better late than never...

On November 24, 1863, the forefathers of The Patriot & Union, predecessor to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania’s Patriot News "brought forth to its audience a judgment so flawed, so tainted by hubris, so lacking in the perspective history would bring, that it cannot remain unaddressed."

The offense? The newspaper passed "over the silly remarks" of President Lincoln. The "silly remarks?" Well those were the 270-words Lincoln spoke on November 19, 1863, dedicating the Gettysburg National Cemetery.

Yup, the Gettysburg Address that the Patriot Union magnanimously vowed, "for the credit of the nation we are willing that the veil of oblivion shall be dropped over them, and that they shall be no more repeated or thought of."

"Whatever may be the President's virtues, he does not possess sense…"

Providing a contemporaneous glimpse into the past, the Patriot & Union wrote how:

The dead of Gettysburg will speak from their tombs; they will raise their voices against this great wickedness and implore our rulers to discard from their councils the folly which is destroying us, and return to the wise doctrines of the Fathers, to the pleadings of Christianity, to the compromises of the Constitution, which can alone save us. Let our rulers hearken to the dead, if they will not to the living - for from every tomb which covers a dead soldier, if they listen attentively they will hear a solemn sound invoking them to renounce partisanship for patriotism, and to save the country from the misery and desolation which, under their present policy, is inevitable.

There is so much in that paragraph to chew on...

In any event, some seven score and ten years later and appreciating that their "predecessors, perhaps under the influence of partisanship, or of strong drink," might just have gotten that one wrong, the Editors reconsidered the paper's position:

In the fullness of time, we have come to a different conclusion. No mere utterance, then or now, could do justice to the soaring heights of language Mr. Lincoln reached that day. By today's words alone, we cannot exalt, we cannot hallow, we cannot venerate this sacred text, for a grateful nation long ago came to view those words with reverence, without guidance from this chagrined member of the mainstream media. The world will little note nor long remember our emendation of this institution"s record – but we must do as conscience demands.

November 24, 1863 Patriot & Union