Man in the Long Black Coat response…


In a previous post, I mentioned a Poetry class I took last semester and a paper we had to write about a poet and his/her poem.  Well, we also had to write our own poem in response to the poem we chose.  This is my response to Bob Dylan’s “Man in the Long Black Coat.”

 

Cricket are chirpin’, the water is high

I could leave now and not say goodbye

You say it’s warm, you say it’s hot

I can assure you it’s not

 

Bad enough to leave without

leaving a note just because he’s in a coat

I wouldn’t leave a note

I wouldn’t go with a man in a long black coat

 

I’ve been down and I’ve been out

I assure you, he doesn’t have the clout

To take me away from what I know

God is what makes my heart glow

 

God has a plan

and I proudly hold his hand

Bad things happen daily, this I know

I won’t be caught dead with the man in the long black coat

 

Those who choose not to live

will, in the end, have nothing to give

I’ve danced with the Devil

I’ve condoned evil

 

However, he didn’t win my heart

God is the only one who plays that part

Man in the Long Black Coat


Last semester, I took an Intro. to Poetry class, and we had to write a paper about the author of a poem.  The professor had a list of poems, and we were to choose one poem from the list.  I chose Bob Dylan’s “Man in the Long Black Coat,” because I wanted to learn more about Bob Dylan as a person.  This is what I wrote…

 

“Man in the Long Black Coat” by Bob Dylan

I chose the poem “Man in the Long Black Coat” by Bob Dylan because I have always been a fan of the music from the days when he was more popular, and I wanted to learn more about him as an artist. Although I never listened to more than one of his albums, I have always found him interesting and seen a sort of mysticism in his artistry. When you read this poem aloud to the class, I knew that I had to dig into it. I like his use of symbolism, and the way the story is told. When you initially read the poem, without giving it much thought, you read a short story about a girl who gives in to temptation. However, when you begin to look at it on a deeper level, you see that its about the incessant battle between good and evil, or God versus the Devil and humans are constantly battling themselves to decide which side to choose. This is intriguing, because so many people are afraid of reading or hearing about things that have any kind of religious or spiritual motif these days, yet Dylan presents this story in a way that doesn’t exude religion in an obvious way. This is what makes this poem more likable by those who may not believe, or might be at a crossroads in their lives.

Robert Zimmerman was born in Duluth, Minnesota, and began his musical career during his high school years at Hibbing High, in Hibbing, Minnesota. He formed several bands while in High School and performed for the first time publicly when he entered a school talent show with some classmates. Their performance was so loud, that the principle had to cut off the microphone. Perhaps that was the beginning of Dylan’s musical career, and a tell-tale sign that he was made for performing. Throughout the remaining years of the 50’s, Zimmerman performed with other artists doing various back-ups under the pseudonym, Elston Gunn. Zimmerman moved to Minneapolis to attend the University of Minneapolis in September of 1959. It was here that, while studying rock ’n’ roll, he discovered an affinity for folk music. While in college, Zimmerman performed at a coffee house just a few blocks away from the school. It was during that time that he began to introduce himself as we know him, Bob Dylan, after his poetic influence, Dylan Thomas. Thus inspiring his name change, and perhaps giving him the first step into the artist he is today. Although, he didn’t legally change his name until 1962, after he moved to New York City and performed folk music in Greenwich Village at various clubs.

His interest in folk music and continuous performances was a gateway to further spiritual exploration. Dylan was born Jewish, but converted to Christianity in the late 1970’s. This religious affirmation caused some conflict during performances when he’d preach or “evangelize” to the crowd or whoever he was on tour with. He produced two gospel albums just after his conversion to Christianity, neither of them being as successful as those produced previously. After his conversion and the two gospel albums, most of his music reflected some sort of religious motif or tone, and for a period of about twenty years, he seemed to go through a drought of success. Meaning, any albums that were produced weren’t doing as well as they had before he became “born again.” In 1989, Dylan produced the album “Oh Mercy,” which contains the song “Man in the Long Black Coat.” In his book “Chronicles: Volume 1,” he briefly mentions the album and the song, reaffirming it’s religious tones.

The first time I read the poem “Man in the Long Black Coat,” I got the immediate impression that this had something to do with good versus evil, or man versus temptation. The repetition of the of the phrase “man in the long black coat,” and its use in the title tells me that this image is significant in the meaning of this work. The overall context of the poem reminded me of Star Wars, when the inner conflict began with Anakin Skywalker trying to decipher if he should follow Chancellor Palpetine to the dark side. Anakin would be the girl in the poem, and Chancellor Palpetine would be the man in the long black coat.

There is a sequence of events, a definite beginning, middle, and end. The beginning alludes to a slight possibility that she will stay home, in a place that is familiar with those who know and care for her. The turn around is in the line “It ain’t easy to swallow, it sticks in the throat/ She gave her heart to the man in the long black coat.” This is where her decision is solidified, and it is made known to everyone around her that her mind is made up, and she is leaving her life as she knows it.

The setting and voice is an onlooker or acquaintance who sees a woman who, over time, gives in to temptation due to unfortunate circumstances. This, again, made me think of Anakin’s decision to become a Sith lord, or a kid with a troubled childhood who turns to drugs, or someone who turns their back on God. There are always loved ones surrounding the troubled person who can see the mistake that is about to be made, and no matter what they do, they can’t change the decision that has been made.

The only thing I felt needed clarification was the line “[t]here’s smoke on the water, it’s been there since June.” I immediately got the impression that Dylan was referring to the song by Deep Purple “Smoke on the Water,” so I did some digging. He did, in fact, reference the song, but it brings deeper meaning to this poem. The song is about a fire that destroyed a casino complex and the fire spread over Lake Geneva as the members of Deep Purple watched from their hotel room on the other side of the lake. The fire took place at a Frank Zappa & The Mothers of Invention concert the night before Deep Purple was set to record in a mobile recording studio rented from the Rolling Stones. The speaker of the poem is seeing someone’s life be destroyed right before his eyes, much like the members of Deep Purple watched the casino be destroyed by the fire. The fire was caused by a concertgoer who decided it would be a good idea to light a flare inside the casino. That was a bad decision that ended in disaster, like the girl in the poem who went with the man in the long black coat. The speaker of the poem sees disaster coming from her decision, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

There is a low and deep intonation, with a sort of good versus evil/right versus wrong/ God versus Devil nuance. Dylan used very easy language with a touch of “old school” lingo (“preacher was a’talkin’). There is the imagery of darkness in “the man in the long black coat,” eerie contentment in the environment “crickets are chirpin’,” and “soft cotton dress on the line hangin’ dry.” The line, “[s]omebody said from the Bible he’d quote,” gives a sense of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

When I read the poem aloud, the darkness became more clear through the repetition of “the man in the long black coat.” This wouldn’t have had the same effect if Dylan had used different words. For instance, if he said, “the tall man in a long coat,” that would have given off a different view from the reader. It would have seemed more like the man was pressuring the girl into doing something, and that would have sent a completely different message throughout the story. The use of a stale type of environment also helps to create the imagery of danger or an eeriness to the poem. If there had been green grass and birds chirping, then that would have created the illusion of pleasantness, and brightness. The crickets show that it’s night time, which gives the vision of darkness which symbolizes the evil that happens under the cover of darkness.

Reading this poem again, gives me a different impression. If you’ve ever read “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” by William Shakespeare or “Miss Julie” by August Strindberg, then you’ll understand what I mean. The very first stanza gives the setting, it’s very hot, it’s night time, and it’s sort of a lazy night because the dress is still hanging on the line. The plays referenced take place on midsummer’s night, a time when strange things happened because the people were somewhat temporarily crazy due to the intense heat. Sometimes they did things they normally wouldn’t do, especially at night when they had the cover of darkness. This first stanza, perhaps, alludes to a similar situation between the girl and the man in the long black coat. He comes to her like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, talks nicely to her using quotes from the Bible, and the girl uncharacteristically goes along with what he’s saying, because she’s not in her right mind, perhaps due to the intense African heat. This is definitely not what I saw the first time I read this, but this new perspective definitely shows that a poem can have multiple meanings each time you read it.

From the reader response lens, the first stanza paints the scene like the beginning of a story. The crickets chirping gives the illusion of darkness and the single dress on the line in the breeze makes me feel like this is an eery and ominous scene. Couple the first stanza with the second one and it made me think the girl slipped out of town under the cover of darkness because she knew that she was doing something wrong. The first thing that came to my mind in the third stanza was the “Phantom of the Opera” and how the cast members would catch glimpses of the Phantom as he moved about the opera house. Christine called to the phantom, and asked what the phantom had planned for her, similar to the girl in the poem asking the man in the long black coat to dance. The man having a face like a mask further drew me to that illusion. The fourth stanza, “[s]omebody said, from the Bible he’d quote/[t]here was dust on the man in the long black coat” reminded me of the book of Romans when Jesus and Satan argue using quotes from the Bible. It’s like saying that if she tried to resist him, he’d use the Bible or other positive/ encouraging words to manipulate the woman. “There was dust on the man in the long black coat” insinuates that the man comes from the ground or our perception that Hell in beneath us and the man in the long black coat is from Hell—or is Satan.

The fifth stanza tells me that we are all sinners and even though we may have bad/evil thoughts, it is up to us to know what thoughts we should act on. We need to always be aware of what is a temptation of the devil and what is going to lead you down God’s path. It was, also, apparent to me that Dylan was a Christian due to the bible references and symbolism.

Coming from an observer or acquaintance of the girl, it’s hard to see this woman make this bad decision, knowing that there are better options for her. The line, “[I]t ain’t easy to swallow, it sticks in the throat,” makes it clear that this is from the perspective of someone who knows the girl, either because he is a friend or family member, or because he’s someone who has lived in the same town/neighborhood for a long time and has, perhaps, seen her grow up.

I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason, and the line “[t]here are no mistakes in life, some people say,” says just that. However, we never know what that reason is until all is said and done. At that point, retrospectively, we see why our life went the way it did. Like the saying, “hindsight is always 20/20,” we always see the error of our ways down the road, but not usually in the moment. “But people don’t live or die, people just float,” says that no matter how hard you try to make the right decision, there is a higher power that dictates how your life goes. Or, perhaps, that we are all just mindlessly wandering this earth without really thinking about how we live our lives.

“There’s smoke on the water, it’s been there since June,” gave me the feeling of something heavy lingering and the visual of a heavy fog over a wooded lake. The trees surrounding the lake have fallen down at the roots and not only do the words paint a dark scene, but the suggestion of the moon helps paint the picture of darkness with a glimpse of light. This also suggests that someone told the woman repeatedly not to go with the man, but she never listened. “She never said nothin’, there was nothin’ she wrote,” tells me that she’s rebellious, and the seemingly incessant nagging from a significant person in her life is exactly what caused her to give in to the temptation impulsively and go along with the man in the long black coat.

Reading this poem, and researching Bob Dylan has definitely taught me numerous things. I learned that not only was Dylan a singer/songwriter, but he was also an artist and writer. He was born Jewish and later converted to Christianity, resenting those who referred to him as “born again.” He has deep ancestry from the Russian Empire on his father’s side, and his mother’s parents were Lithuanian Jews who emigrated to the US in 1902. He is a free spirit, is deeply connected to spirituality, and he shows it freely in his lyrics. Dylan’s beliefs and connection to the universe heavily influence his lyrics, and his creativity allow him to tell stories that leave the reader looking deeper into him/herself.

I honestly can say that I don’t think I’ve learned anything specific about poetry that I didn’t already know. I’ve been writing poetry for about twenty years now, so I’m familiar with what goes into writing a poem. However, I see art differently than some people. I don’t like to pick apart other’s work, because I feel like I’m tearing apart their soul. I understand that comes with the path I’ve chosen academically, so I do what is asked of me, and I give it my all when doing so. However, when I read a poem, I always feel as though it is meant to be taken however the reader perceives it. Poetry is art, and all art is open to its own interpretation. 

Life has happened…


Wow, the past nine months have been so busy, but these last four have just about killed me!  Between school, homework, papers, my son, his therapy, and life, I’ve just about got enough left over to be a regular person.  This Spring semester was the hardest.  I almost literally never really had time to just breathe and get organized.  It was always one thing after another, and I was constantly trying to write papers in between EVERYTHING else.  My weeks were constantly on-the-go, and could hardly get enough time to completely finish a thought…let alone write it down.  However, the semester has ended and I find myself with some “spare” time.  I have begun making para cord bracelets (see my Etsy page:  www.etsy.com/shop/brennasbeans and facebook page:  https://www.facebook.com/brennasbeans).  I’ve also started a Facebook page for parents who have children with Autism (https://www.facebook.com/thorandherhammer), so parents have a place to vent, praise, and learn about their Au-some kiddos.

My hope for this summer:  to do well in school, build my bracelet business, shed some light on Autism and what it’s like to be Autistic, work on my novel, read A LOT, and write more poetry.  I did manage to write about six poems this semester (I’ll post them separately later), and they’re actually pretty good.  Each poem has a bit of a description since they were written for my Intro. to Poetry class, but I’m happy with them.  I’ve never had to write a poem where I was told that it had to reflect something/someone else or someone else’s work, so it helped me to exercise my poetry brain.

I took a class called Readings in the Short Story, and that one really helped me figure something out.  I’m just not cut out for writing a novel.  For our final paper, we had to either write a short story or do a research paper which had something to do with one of the stories we read for the class.  I decided to use a section of my novel for this purpose, because I figured the story was already there and I could just edit it for content and structure.  I seriously thought it would be a piece of cake.  I was so totally wrong!  It took me over a week to edit it enough to be somewhat satisfied with it, and I still wasn’t done.  Granted, my professor said it didn’t have to be perfect, but it had to be perfect for me.  I was my novel after all.  I have no idea what kind of grade I got on it, but I did get an A for the class…like I’d get anything less ;).  Anyway, after working on that section of my novel, I decided that maybe it would be better if I turned it into a short story.  I could divide the entire novel into shorter sections that could stand alone, and would also tie into the other sections.  It would help to alleviate the stress of getting the first draft done, and it would also make the editing less time consuming.

You see, short stories don’t necessarily need excessive detail and it’s a bit easier to leave out back story.  You can just essentially write a scene and be done.  There’s no need for great details, because it’s all left to the reader.  However, by linking the short stories together, questions will be answered, but the reader can still use his/her imagination to put the pieces together…or they can choose to just see each part as individual stories.  I so love this idea much better…plus I can throw some poetry in there and books can fly off the shelves!

On that note, I think I’ll get back to my motherly duties…you know…laundry, cleaning, and paperwork for the Little Dude’s therapy stuff.

Have a great day, and I’ll see you all soon 🙂

What I Saw


Being the mother of an Autistic child, and possibly on the spectrum myself, I completely understood every single thing this girl was saying.  I read this from four different perspectives at the same time.  I read this from the child’s perspective, the adult’s perspective, the onlooker’s perspective, and the poet’s perspective.  This is one of those poems that grabbed my heart strings and yanked on them until I bled.  She doesn’t hold back, and she doesn’t sugarcoat it either.  This is definitely one of the most profound, and real poems I’ve read in a long time.  I do not know the girl’s name, but the link to her blog is included at the end of the poem.  Read, enjoy, and pass on.  Thank you.

“What I saw”

I left the gym, I had to, because the music made me uncomfortable. I stood by the door.

I left the gym, I had to, because the music made me uncomfortable. I stood by the door. 
I waited. I turned toward the door to the gym, and I saw a classmate burst through the door, an aide inches behind him. The aide grabbed a strap on his vest and stopped him cold. The student struggled. Aides thronged at the little windows.
I know what they saw.
They didn’t see someone asking to be taken for a walk. They didn’t see him begging to have some space.
They saw an escape attempt. A noncompliant escape attempt. A student trying to outsmart the teachers, to get his way.
They saw someone who didn’t understand the point of P.E.
They saw a runner.
He pulled away, and the aide pushed him back  through the gym door, shouting “In we go! In we go! In we go,” his hands pulling and pushing as the student dug his heels in. Everyone else “encouraged” from the sidelines. I saw too much happening.
I saw an apraxic struggle. I saw a nonverbal student being pushed through a door in a frenzy of movement, everyone shouting at the same time, bent over with hands thrusting at his back, pushing against the doorframe and struggling to stay upright. I saw too much, too much.
I saw a blur of movement and sounds coming at me from every direction, I saw the ceiling the doorframe the floor somebody’s hands everyone shouting. I saw the final thrust through the door, met with bright lights and cheering, everyone applauding the nice save!
I saw dizzy and disoriented.
I saw what he saw.
I saw a classmate who couldn’t respond to prompts because they were coming too fast, and who couldn’t comply because everything was being thrown at him at once.
He slumped against the gym wall and slammed his head back. The act was met with a sharp reprimand from a by standing aide. And I know what they saw.
They saw defiance. Headbanging behavior. A tantrum.
I saw a student trying to block out external input. I saw. Everyone else gawked and chattered as the other kids did the warm-ups. I stood by helplessly.
I saw a humiliated man sitting against a wall in a corner, helpless and outnumbered, with no way to communicate.

 I saw what he saw, the flash of students flying all around me and I saw people surrounding me, cheering, cheering for the aide as though it was some big victory to drag a student back into a classroom. I saw the world whirling around my head and it hitting the wall just to drown out the noise.I saw that nobody was asking themselves how he might feel. I didn’t just see the defeat, though, the lack of dignity or respect; I saw humiliation. Oh, yes, I saw. Pain.

I watched in horror. I felt for him. I felt with him. An aide, concerned that I had left, asked me if I was ok. Then she smiled at me knowingly. Chuckled, “He’s having a little fit.”
No. That’s not what I saw.
I saw an overwhelmed student trying to escape a hostile environment. An attempt to find a safe place, or a bathroom, or some water.
I saw a hasty and disjointed “rescue” that fried his emotions and ability to think. I saw visual, auditory, vestibular and tactile input slam him like a truck. I saw vestibular upheaval, and I saw desperation and fear and frustration because nobody understood, not one of them. 
They saw a fit.
They didn’t see what I saw.
*****
I know, I mouthed across the aisle. It’s ok. I know. He smiled back at me.
I know.
The bus engine rumbled, and we began to pull out of the lot. They were still talking about him, imputing motives based on their own experience. I knew that he could hear them. That they didn’t really care. That it wasn’t my place to correct them. To try and educate them. Not the student’s place.
 I saw the look on his face, and I knew that nobody understood.
He sat alone, leaning against the vinyl of his seat, his expression fraught with distress, his eyebrows knit. I knew that they were fine, and they could sit there and casually theorize about it, but that he was still coming down. I saw the look in his eyes. I didn’t know what to say.
I saw his hand, resting on the seat. Hesitating, I leaned into the aisle and placed mine next to it. I didn’t know how else to say I support you.
His thumb wrapped itself around two of my fingers, and for a moment it was like that. Then he lifted his hand and took mine in it.
I squeezed. I know.
We stayed that way for about a minute. The bus rumbled down the street, curving around the corners, my hand in his.
They said I helped calm him down. Sometimes people underestimate what it means to acknowledge someone’s humanity. To see it. I don’t know what they thought my gesture was, but we knew what it was. A show of solidarity. A quiet one, not a trumpeting fanfare, but a whisper. I know.
This is what I saw. Very different from what the teachers saw.
I don’t know exactly what he saw. I believe that it was terrifying.
But I hope . . . I hope . . . that after the terror . . . I hope that he saw a friend.
 Kitt

Towels


I absolutely love how this author compares something as simple as a towel to life and its simplicities.  Life should be simple, and the smallest or seemingly insignificant things have a purpose.  Sometimes, those small things have a bigger purpose than we can readily see.    I honestly wish I had a bit more to say about this poem, but I just don’t.  I love the simplicity of it, the use of a common household item as symbolism for something much bigger.  Yet, it’s also open to the reader’s interpretation.  Bravo, Mr. Hazo, bravo.

 

 

Towels

by Samuel Hazo

What purpose have they but to rub
    skin dry by being drawn behind
    the back two-handed down
    the showered spine or fluffed
    between the thighs and elsewhere?
Yardgoods lack what towels
    proffer in sheer, plump tuft.
Wadded after use and flung
    in hampers to be washed, they clump
    like the tired laundry of men
    who sweat for a living.
                                                    Spun dry
    or spreadeagled to the sun,
    they teach us what renewal means.
Touch them when they’re stacked or racked,
    and what you’re touching is abundance
    in waiting.
                          Imprinted with the names
    of Hilton or the Ritz, they daub
    with equal deft the brows
    of bandits or the breasts of queens.
What else did Pilate reach for
    when he washed his hands of Christ
    before the multitudes?
                                                    Even
    when retired to the afterlife of rags,
    they still can buff the grills
    of Chryslers, Fallingwater’s windows
    or important shoes.
                                                    However
    small, it seems they have
    their part to play.
                                                    But then,
    en route from use to uselessness,
    it’s no small asset ever
    to be always good at something.

“Towels” by Samuel Hazo from The Song of the Horse. © Autumn House Press, 2008. Reprinted with permission.

Gifted and Talented by Krista Lukas


This was posted on the “Writer’s Almanac” daily poems. I’m not sure how I feel about it as a poem, but the words within are beautiful. As a mother of an Autistic child, who will one day become an Autistic adult, reading this comforts me. It helps me feel better about my child growing up, and one day going to college. It helps me believe that there are at least SOME teachers out there who are willing to try to understand their students, and to help them.

Gifted and Talented
by Krista Lukas

For my teaching license, I am required
to take a class called “Mainstreaming,”
in which we learn about every kind
of kid who could walk or be wheeled
through our future classroom doors.

Not the blind, the deaf, and the handicapped,
but students with
blindness, deafness, developmental delays,
autism, moderate to severe
learning disabilities, hyperactivity,
attention deficit, oppositional defiance
disorder, and so on.

The instructor, an elementary
principal by day, who outlines
each chapter and reads to us
these outlines each Wednesday
from six to nine, devotes
one hour one night to the subject
of students with
gifts and talents, who might also
come through our future.

Regarding special programs
for such students, one teacher-candidate asks,
“Do you have to be gifted to teach them?”
“No.” The principal-instructor
shakes her head, as if
such a thing would be impossible.
“Not many gifted people
go into education.”