As Bob Dylan sang, on his 1975 song Clothes Line Saga, “Have you heard the news?”
The news earlier this week was that ol’ Robert Zimmerman – the greatest lyricist of the 20th century – was the favourite to win this year’s Nobel Prize for Literature, ahead of Haruki Murakami, Thomas Pynchon and Philip “I’ve stopped reading fiction” Roth. In fact, today it was announced that it went to the poet Tomas Tranströmer.
Now, I love Bob Dylan as much as the next guy – I’ve got the albums, I’ve seen the documentaries, I’ve read the books, listened to the radio show and had the inappropriate fantasies about going back to 1964 and being his chief groupie – but as LL Cool J might put it: “Say what?”
The times they are a-changing, indeed; to the extent that several members of Nobel panel – the ones who nominated Dylan – decided that “literature” doesn’t just have to be words on a page, but can also include the lyrics of a song. Whatever next? Will Tinie Tempah win the Booker? Will a cat win Crufts, because it looks a bit like a dog?
This is the crux of the matter: Bob Dylan is a musician who looks a bit like a writer.
Image courtesy of ky_olsen.
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