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In a message dated 9/2/01 10:43:43 PM !!!First Boot!!!, [log in to unmask] 
writes:


> If people don't read Isaac Rosenberg or Celan, even today, because they're 
> stereotyped as "Jewish poets," and this sets off an avoidance reaction for 
> many non-Jews, then--and I think this is actually true--artists live in 
> another world and possibly a better and less uptight world. It didn't seem 
> to 
> bother Eliot to have a Jewish publisher (Rodker) or to read Rosenberg, a 
> Jewish poet. 
> 
> 

This whole thing is becoming silly and methinks, Sir, that you are a little 
upset with Eliot, not at the accusation that he was Anti-Semitic but at the 
fact that he wasn't Jewish.  And Rosenberg deoesn't quite make up for that.  
Athough the best moderniest poets (Eliot and Stevens) weren't Jewish, be 
comforted by the fact that the best post modernist poet/musician was Jewish.

Well my heart's in The Highlands,
gentle and fair Honeysuckle blooming in the wildwood air
Bluebells blazing
where the Aberdeen waters flow
Well my heart's in The Highlands
I'm gonna go there
when I feel good enough to go

Windows were shaking
all night in my dreams
Everything was exactly
 the way that it seems
Woke up this mornin' 
and I looked at the same old page
Same old rat race,
life in the same old cage

I don't want nothin' from anyone,
 ain't that much to take
Wouldn't know the difference
 between a real blonde and a fake
Feel like a prisoner
 in a world of mystery
I wish someone'd come
and push back the clock for me

Well my heart's in The Highlands 
wherever I roam
That's where I'll be when 
I get called home
The wind it whispers
 to the buckeye trees of rhyme
Well my heart's in The Highlands
I can only get there one step at a time

I'm listening to Neil Young,
 I gotta turn up the sound
Someone's always yellin'
 "Turn it down"
Feel like I'm driftin',
 driftin' from scene to scene
I'm wonderin' what
 in the devil could it all
 possibly mean

Insanity is smashin' 
up against my soul
You could say I was on anything 
but a roll
If I had a conscience, 
well I just might blow my top
What would I do with it anyway,
 maybe take it to the pawn shop

My heart's in The Highlands
 at the break of dawn
By the beautiful lake of
 the Black Swan
Big white clouds
 like chariots that swing down low
Well my heart's in The Highlands
 only place left to go

I'm in Boston town
 in some restaurantI
 got no idea what I want
Or maybe I do
 but I'm just really not sure
Waitress comes over,
 nobody in the place but me and her
Well it must be a holiday,
 there's nobody around
She studies me closely as I sit down
She got a pretty face
 and long white shiny legs
I said "Tell me what I want"
She say "You probably want hard boiled eggs"

I said "That's right, 
bring me some"
She says "We ain't got any,
 you picked the wrong time to come"
Then she says "I know you're an artist,
 draw a picture of me"
I said "I would if I could
 but I don't do sketches from memory
"Well she's?? near she says
 "I'm right here in front of you 
or haven't you looked"
I say "All right I know
 but I don't have my drawin' book"
She gives me a napkin,
 she say "You can do it on that"
I say "Yes I could but 
I don't know where my pencil is at
"She pulls one out 
from behind her ear
She says "Alright now go ahead 
draw me I'm stayin' right here"
I make a few lines 
and I show it for her to see
Well she takes the napkin
 and throws it back and says
"That don't look a thing like me"
I said "Oh kind miss,
 it most certainly does"
She say "You must be joking",
 I said "I wish I was"
She says "You don't read women authors do ya?"
At least that's what I think I hear her say
Well I say "How would you know,
 and what would it matter anyway
"Well she says "Ya just don't seem like ya do",
 I said "You're way wrong"
She says "Which ones have you read then?", 
I say "Read Erica Jong"
She goes away for a minute, 
and I slide out, out of my chair
I step outside back to the busy street,
 but nobody's goin' anywhere

       -Dylan

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<HTML><FONT FACE=arial,helvetica><FONT  SIZE=2 FAMILY="SANSSERIF" FACE="Arial" LANG="0">In a message dated 9/2/01 10:43:43 PM !!!First Boot!!!, [log in to unmask] 
<BR>writes:
<BR>
<BR>
<BR></FONT><FONT  COLOR="#000000" SIZE=3 FAMILY="SANSSERIF" FACE="Arial Narrow" LANG="0"><BLOCKQUOTE TYPE=CITE style="BORDER-LEFT: #0000ff 2px solid; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 5px"><B>If people don't read Isaac Rosenberg or Celan, even today, because they're 
<BR>stereotyped as "Jewish poets," and this sets off an avoidance reaction for 
<BR>many non-Jews, then--and I think this is actually true--artists live in 
<BR>another world and possibly a better and less uptight world. It didn't seem 
<BR>to 
<BR>bother Eliot to have a Jewish publisher (Rodker) or to read Rosenberg, a 
<BR>Jewish poet. 
<BR>
<BR></BLOCKQUOTE></B>
<BR></FONT><FONT  COLOR="#000000" SIZE=2 FAMILY="SANSSERIF" FACE="Arial" LANG="0">
<BR>This whole thing is becoming silly and methinks, Sir, that you are a little 
<BR>upset with Eliot, not at the accusation that he was Anti-Semitic but at the 
<BR>fact that he wasn't Jewish. &nbsp;And Rosenberg deoesn't quite make up for that. &nbsp;
<BR>Athough the best moderniest poets (Eliot and Stevens) weren't Jewish, be 
<BR>comforted by the fact that the best post modernist poet/musician was Jewish.
<BR>
<BR>Well my heart's in The Highlands,
<BR>gentle and fair Honeysuckle blooming in the wildwood air
<BR>Bluebells blazing
<BR>where the Aberdeen waters flow
<BR>Well my heart's in The Highlands
<BR>I'm gonna go there
<BR>when I feel good enough to go
<BR>
<BR>Windows were shaking
<BR>all night in my dreams
<BR>Everything was exactly
<BR> the way that it seems
<BR>Woke up this mornin' 
<BR>and I looked at the same old page
<BR>Same old rat race,
<BR>life in the same old cage
<BR>
<BR>I don't want nothin' from anyone,
<BR> ain't that much to take
<BR>Wouldn't know the difference
<BR> between a real blonde and a fake
<BR>Feel like a prisoner
<BR> in a world of mystery
<BR>I wish someone'd come
<BR>and push back the clock for me
<BR>
<BR>Well my heart's in The Highlands 
<BR>wherever I roam
<BR>That's where I'll be when 
<BR>I get called home
<BR>The wind it whispers
<BR> to the buckeye trees of rhyme
<BR>Well my heart's in The Highlands
<BR>I can only get there one step at a time
<BR>
<BR>I'm listening to Neil Young,
<BR> I gotta turn up the sound
<BR>Someone's always yellin'
<BR> "Turn it down"
<BR>Feel like I'm driftin',
<BR> driftin' from scene to scene
<BR>I'm wonderin' what
<BR> in the devil could it all
<BR> possibly mean
<BR>
<BR>Insanity is smashin' 
<BR>up against my soul
<BR>You could say I was on anything 
<BR>but a roll
<BR>If I had a conscience, 
<BR>well I just might blow my top
<BR>What would I do with it anyway,
<BR> maybe take it to the pawn shop
<BR>
<BR>My heart's in The Highlands
<BR> at the break of dawn
<BR>By the beautiful lake of
<BR> the Black Swan
<BR>Big white clouds
<BR> like chariots that swing down low
<BR>Well my heart's in The Highlands
<BR> only place left to go
<BR>
<BR>I'm in Boston town
<BR> in some restaurantI
<BR> got no idea what I want
<BR>Or maybe I do
<BR> but I'm just really not sure
<BR>Waitress comes over,
<BR> nobody in the place but me and her
<BR>Well it must be a holiday,
<BR> there's nobody around
<BR>She studies me closely as I sit down
<BR>She got a pretty face
<BR> and long white shiny legs
<BR>I said "Tell me what I want"
<BR>She say "You probably want hard boiled eggs"
<BR>
<BR>I said "That's right, 
<BR>bring me some"
<BR>She says "We ain't got any,
<BR> you picked the wrong time to come"
<BR>Then she says "I know you're an artist,
<BR> draw a picture of me"
<BR>I said "I would if I could
<BR> but I don't do sketches from memory
<BR>"Well she's?? near she says
<BR> "I'm right here in front of you 
<BR>or haven't you looked"
<BR>I say "All right I know
<BR> but I don't have my drawin' book"
<BR>She gives me a napkin,
<BR> she say "You can do it on that"
<BR>I say "Yes I could but 
<BR>I don't know where my pencil is at
<BR>"She pulls one out 
<BR>from behind her ear
<BR>She says "Alright now go ahead 
<BR>draw me I'm stayin' right here"
<BR>I make a few lines 
<BR>and I show it for her to see
<BR>Well she takes the napkin
<BR> and throws it back and says
<BR>"That don't look a thing like me"
<BR>I said "Oh kind miss,
<BR> it most certainly does"
<BR>She say "You must be joking",
<BR> I said "I wish I was"
<BR>She says "You don't read women authors do ya?"
<BR>At least that's what I think I hear her say
<BR>Well I say "How would you know,
<BR> and what would it matter anyway
<BR>"Well she says "Ya just don't seem like ya do",
<BR> I said "You're way wrong"
<BR>She says "Which ones have you read then?", 
<BR>I say "Read Erica Jong"
<BR>She goes away for a minute, 
<BR>and I slide out, out of my chair
<BR>I step outside back to the busy street,
<BR> but nobody's goin' anywhere
<BR>
<BR> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;-Dylan</FONT></HTML>

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