His muse was born in Brooklyn, a daughter of the red way. A political activist when she emerged in the Greenwich Village folk scene. Fate revealed Suze Rotolo to Bob at a folk concert in July 1961. “Cupid’s arrow… hit me in the heart”, he said.
Suze became his mindful muse. Yesteryear’s yarns now paled for Dylan, focusing instead on current social inequities. They moved in together in early 1962. As Bob’s social consciousness grew, so did his fame, and outside pressure on the relationship. It failed to survive an abortion, and Dylan’s affair with Joan Baez. Suze and Dylan ultimately separated in 1964.
Dylan credits Suze with his social consciousness, and his interest in French poet Arthur Rimbaud, and German playwright Bertolt Brecht, both nihilists — who impacted the darkness of his future songwriting. “To her, death is quite romantic. I understand her fascination.”
This is a “stream of recall” edition of a core poem, I have written in many iterations, many perspectives, since first I wrote the seeds of it as lyrics to a song in 1969.
~ at Columbus & Broadway, SF – the beat cathedral ~
W hen night fell on bohemia
the streets were set ablaze
an acid-infused haze
city lights
turned to black lights
and strobe lights
tie-dyed in psychedelia
when night fell on bohemia
jack and neal were on the road
ridin’ with the fire-whores
of angst and indignation
mental fornication
emotional elation
combustin’ carnal fireballs
goin’ flowin’ with it all
when night fell on bohemia
allen was howl’n
pal’n with corso
still long’n for peter
groin deep
in the brain-drug carnival
fantasy flesh festival
hunter was fearful
loathing the big strip
ridin’ the snow trip
bemused by it all
best he could recall
when night fell on bohemia
bill stood stark naked
lunchin’ with the devil
stinkin’ and disheveled
jelly-rollin’ in a demon’s fire
vein poppin’ on a live wire
when night fell on bohemia
gary headed for cold mountain
to watch it all
to the 11th hour
from his lofty perch
on sourdough tower
rip rappin’ and zen tappin’
hot jazz was hap’nin
while electric bob
went subterranean
when night fell on bohemia
ken gathered up the faithful
made merry on the magic bus
party trippin’ for all of us
day-glow’n infamy
rocket fueled by owsley
and ran off to the future
like mad-capped pranksters
This below is the original song I wrote in ‘69, loosely about Ken Kesey and the Merry Panksters. I used them as a milepost to represent the transition from the beat poets of the 50’s to the rock poets of the 60’s. My lyrics for this song became the seed inspiration for a number of iterations of related poems I wrote, including the one above.
BOHEMIAN MIDNIGHT lyrics: Rob Kistner
music: Jay Wormus
night’s fallen on bohemia
the white rabbit’s on the loose
our minds are fine’ly set ablaze
at last our voice is raised
acid’s opened up new ways
it’s a san-fran song of love
larry’s big beat city lights
now day-glow’n new black lights
and mind blow’n strobe’n lights
dreams tie-dyed in psychedelia
night has fallen on bohemia
the white rabbit’s on the loose
make’n merry on the magic bus
mind trippin’ party plus
we’re rock’n further into infamy
rocket fueled by oz-el-ly
it’s midnight in bohemia
the white rabbit’s on the loose
man it’s midnight in bohemia
the white rabbit’s on the loose
GUITAR SOLO
make’n merry on the magic bus
expandin’ minds — truth’s stimulus
to look beyond just what we see
feeling love and being free
clock’s struck midnight in bohemia
the white rabbit’s on the loose
(repeat to end over guitar improv) it’s midnight in bohemia
the white rabbit’s on the loose
Very deep in the ancient wood
secreted among the old-growth
nestles a serene forest clearing /// \\\ soft filtered sunlight falls in rays
gently through the green canopy
enwraps golden the sacred space /// \\\ a breeze stirs quietly overhead
rustling brightly in the treetops
whispering of nature’s memories /// \\\ a downed Douglas Fir slumbers
snug centuries in its moss blanket
wrapped in earth’s final embrace /// \\\ beyond to the left a hidden path
breaks subtly through the trees
offers a glimpse of rushing blue /// \\\ the voice of falling water calls to me through the opening
I approach drawn hypnotically by unquenchable curiosity
there before me a powerful river urgently bounds and rolls
then it disappears over the horizon as though into forever /// \\\ as I come closer I see the current of this tenacious stream
has with patience cut deep into this great rock of the earth
freeing itself to spill over – folding in misty layered curtains
into a roiling azure pool then over again to course further /// \\\ I marvel so at the power at the beauty at the determination
of this relentless river ever sculpting this majestic artwork
tumbling timelessly in crystal clarity over boulder and falls
ever onward — spurred by a need to join all earth waters /// \\\ time is suspended
the world’s in splendid balance
a perfect moment \\\ ///
“Nature has no principles — makes no distinction between good and evil.
The fool thinks he is wise, but the wise man knows he can also be a fool.” Anatole France
Yes — I said please don’t touch
go away and just leave me be
while inside I was crying out
please draw near — stay with me
you are light — you are pure
you are joy — you are free
I am not — I am the darkness
I am enraged — I am a beast
but in my fury and manic chaos
you reached out calmly — touched me
quieted my anger — quelled my fear
in your brightness you helped me see
like the good needs the bad
like happiness needs the sad
there’s only up if there is down
who’d know a smile without a frown
like day needs the night
like shore defines the sea
like light needs the darkness
there’s only cold if there is heat
it requires two different notes
to blend pure for harmony
we can never be only one
that is a fool’s fallacy
like the yin and the yang
like any wise philosophy
we exist only together
I’m in you — you’re in me
this is the depth
this is the weight
this is the meaning
this is the sacred mystery
how can one thing
yet both things be
this is the beautiful paradox
this is the way of balance — verily
S eptember, the gateway to autumn here in the Pacific Northwest, is a warm and pleasant time of anticipation. It finds nature awaiting its period of recovery and renewal. The flowering plants have dropped, or are dropping their petals. The grasses and brush, gone late-summer golden, anticipate the approaching nurturing rains. Mighty evergreens pause, and deciduous trees, catching afire in their September splendor, soon will shed their leaves — all then going dormant to rest. The vast Northwest forests will be entering a period of rejuvenation. September sees this realm in its full glory.
September embraces the lush vineyards, and berry thickets, that roam the fertile rolling hills, heavy with grape and berry, making ready for the harvest, when this wine country comes alive with industry. The apple, peach and pear orchards are laden with the final fruits of the season, so September picking is busy gathering this sweet bounty.
September sees wild nature exhale deeply, at peace in its final moments of calm and relaxation, preparing for the bustle and flux of autumn. Streams, whose water levels have dropped considerably, will come to new life when autumn rains begin to replenish their flow. Sockeye and Chinook salmon start their run upstream to begin their spawn. Rainbow, Brook, German Brown, and Cutthroat Trout,
as well as numerous other species become active as waters rise and cool. Bear, deer, cougar, elk, coyote, big horn sheep, pronghorn antelope, hawk, osprey, eagle; the varied and plentiful wildlife of our region are near to begin preparation for their unique winter rituals.
Warm September relaxes, preparing to step through autumn’s portal. Soon this realm will begin to cool, slowly nudged into winter, a peaceful time of full rest and restoration here in this breathtakingly beautiful region. A regenerative calm lies upon the lush land, as the season of sky-water soon will arrive to quench nature’s thirst, and revivify her energies. In the meantime, September stretches, gathering its strength.
summer takes its leave
autumn steps boldly forward
september watches
“Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies in the final sense a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and not clothed, those who are homeless snd are not sheltered” — Dwight D. Eisenhower
Photo by Gregory Colbert
Born in dead of winter
under a darkling moon
at the waning of hearts
a bewildered child
conceived in chaos
lacking heritage
in freefall of fear
searching for foothold
to climb from this fate
abandoned
nomad of the streets
longing for clarity
for a sense of identity
hungry for love
to fill an empty soul
hungry for food
to fill an empty
aching belly
sorrow wells deep
yet
hope endures
in an innocent heart
though enwrapped in sadness
the light of dreams
always holds flame
even if but a flicker
see this child
weighted with the burden
of cruel abandonment
heavy of heart
felled by hungers
“Faith calls, to question who I am, when neither myth, nor man. Say not what you were, but what you are. A scarcity of miracles we’ve found.” — King Crimson
“See the Light” by Giulio Bernardi
There is a quiet golden
in this evening as it settles
unequaled in its beauty
by even that of precious metals
it embraces vesper’s hour
with a subtle gentle heat
beams through the gilded window
falls ever gently at my feet
it ignites beatific magic
as if prayers are being heard
paints the world in amber splendor
one feels miracles being stirred
blessed by the radiance of the sun
this holy moment catches fire
my frail heart’s a kindled tinder
aflame in sacred love’s desire
wrapped in an inner mounting flame
I’m filled with passion’s yearning
my captive soul now full ablaze
for the truth my heart is burning
before I am but all consumed
please let it not be the abyss
for if I am to be consumed
I pray it be by hallowed bliss
“Beauty is power — a smile is its sword.” – John Wray
Golden’d ginger
that falls in flows
as waves of luster
breaking full over
satin soft shoulders
sensuously scented
in a sweet vanilla
to cascade beyond
eyes a pale shade
of saffron petals
that sparkle amethyst
in gentle moonlight
shadowed softly
a subtle cinnamon
quiet seduction
with no escape
lips a pouted sheen
of rich paprika
full and inviting
a temptress smile
that begs a kiss
yet warns of danger
pure cognac sipped
as hard to resist
pardon me please
but if I stare
it’s just so rare
to encounter beauty
of such perfection
your classic face
divinely sculpted
Venus’s reflection
you so mesmerize
captivate and tantalize
spellbind and hypnotize
such a scintillating
blend of visual spices
true temptation’s recipe
it’s then I realize
Although here in my Seattle home, I am only 200 miles away from my Oregon, the fact that health has prevented me from returning for a number of years, and makes it impossible for me to ever again trek the breathtaking wilderness of that region, that lives so vividly in my memories — it feels that it might as well be on the other side of the country, in a beautiful, unreachable dreamscape. This envisioning I’ve written here of my return is presented from that perspective. It is likely also sparked, in no small way, by a subconscious wish that I could return to the robust health I enjoyed most of the 25 years I lived and explored in Oregon, discovering and falling in love with its precious beauty.
”It is not down in any map; true places never are.” — Herman Melville
Across the chasm of time
and great distance
memories unfold
vividly rich
like elaborate origami sculptures
as the paper of this odd map
unfolds bewilderingly before me
even ‘cross this flat
boring land spread
I see in my mind’s eye
soaring ramparts
of sky-piercing mountains
forested tier upon tier
with enormous sitka spruce
scattered brewers
known as the weeping spruce
the most beautiful of the conifer
whose branches in summer
display sunlight
as a jeweler’s velvet
showcases gems
the whispers
of wind-stirred
lawson cypress
towering ponderosa pine
and douglas fir
waft down emerald climbs
tangerine-scented white fir
a fragrance rivaled only
by the rough-tufted red cedar
the dogwood’s brilliant leaves
big-leaf maples
pendulous western maples
tight ranks of dark-green sadler oak
the golden shimmer
and crisp crackle
of white-barked aspen
these live and breath
boldly in my heart
calling me forward
this morning’s sun comes crisp and bright
enfolding my waking in warmth
and vivid presence
the world fresh and fascinating
I embark toward noonday
the joy of homecoming palpable
senses saturated and alive
blissfully consumed
by a deep satisfaction
that permeates this afternoon
my soul is full
my mind is clear
my heart — overflowing
as dusk descends upon this place
painting its heady grace and expectation
my pace is smooth and steady
the downing sun — a gentle gold embrace
early shadows fall soft across my face
as vesper’s velvet blanket
drapes its comfort ’round my shoulders
splendid calm envelops me
yet there are other shadows
strange distractions
that disrupt my moments
they come unannounced
almost imperceptible
but I follow close
without fear
the way blazened in my mind
and there is still far to go
I am eager to journey
drawn by the beauty
that is the rising moon in sunset
facing into the evening breeze
I venture onward
rolling amber and coral
spreads across the horizon
again the shadows shift
dull confusion finds me
I lose my pace and focus
but I do not heed
this temporary distraction
nor the suggestions of this creased parchment
unfurled before me
for it is not what will lead me home
I do not let it sway or stray me
for my heart knows the way
yet
nagging concern
disquiets me
a stab of panic
pierces my solace
have I been gone too long
will it feel the same
unwelcome bewilderment
grips me
holds me
uncomfortable in my skin
a cloud of frustration
sweeps over me
obscuring briefly
my purpose and destination
then the fog wafts
and again I envision
across the veiled valley
of time
my hearth and home
twilight is coming
much too quickly
and my concern
at first a nuisance — mounts
a gathering feeling
gnaws inside
fear I will not make it home
before this sunset
I am afraid
to lose this evening light
that leads my way
but my way
is not on this map
not on any map
it lives in my heart
and in my soul
this calms the disturbance
of my reverie
quiets my mind
brings my fear to settle
as the ease of remembered beauty
and warmth of home
swell my soul
ahead are the mountains
and forests of my Oregon home
where I finally return
to reclaim my heart
this day
now I have
such sweet recall
pulling me forward
urgently
even in the faded light
of many distant memories
these visions have held me breathless
soon I will gaze upon them again
