Tomorrow is a Long Time

If today was not an endless highway
If tonight was not a crooked trail
If tomorrow wasn't such a long time,
Then lonesome would mean nothing to you at all
Yes, and only if my own true love was waitin'
Yes, and if I could hear her heart a-softly poundin'
Only if she was lyin' by me
Then I'd lie in my bed once again
I can't see my reflection in the waters
I can't speak the sounds that show no pain
I can't hear the echo of my footsteps
Or can't remember the sound of my own name
Yes, and only if my own true love was waitin'
Yes, and if I could hear her heart a-softly poundin'
Only if she was lyin' by me
Then I'd lie in my bed once again
There's beauty in the silver, singin' river
There's beauty in the sunrise in the sky
But none of these and nothing else can touch the beauty
That I remember in my true love's eyes
Yes, and only if my own true love was waitin'
Yes, and if I could hear her heart a-softly poundin'
Only if she was lyin' by me
Then I'd lie in my bed once again

 

Written by Bob Dylan • Copyright © Bob Dylan Music Co.

"If there's a God, I want to see Him. It's pointless to believe in something without proof, and Krishna consciousness and meditation are methods where you can actually obtain God perception. In that way you can see, hear and play with God. Perhaps this may sound weird, but God is really there next to you."

Photo © Harrison Family

ON CREATIVITY by ISAAC ASIMOV

How do people get new ideas?

"......It seems to me then that the purpose of cerebration sessions is not to think up new ideas but to educate the participants in facts and fact-combinations, in theories and vagrant thoughts.
But how to persuade creative people to do so? First and foremost, there must be ease, relaxation, and a general sense of permissiveness. The world in general disapproves of creativity, and to be creative in public is particularly bad. Even to speculate in public is rather worrisome. The individuals must, therefore, have the feeling that the others won’t object.

If a single individual present is unsympathetic to the foolishness that would be bound to go on at such a session, the others would freeze. The unsympathetic individual may be a gold mine of information, but the harm he does will more than compensate for that. It seems necessary to me, then, that all people at a session be willing to sound foolish and listen to others sound foolish.

If a single individual present has a much greater reputation than the others, or is more articulate, or has a distinctly more commanding personality, he may well take over the conference and reduce the rest to little more than passive obedience. The individual may himself be extremely useful, but he might as well be put to work solo, for he is neutralizing the rest.

The optimum number of the group would probably not be very high. I should guess that no more than five would be wanted. A larger group might have a larger total supply of information, but there would be the tension of waiting to speak, which can be very frustrating. It would probably be better to have a number of sessions at which the people attending would vary, rather than one session including them all. (This would involve a certain repetition, but even repetition is not in itself undesirable. It is not what people say at these conferences, but what they inspire in each other later on.)

For best purposes, there should be a feeling of informality. Joviality, the use of first names, joking, relaxed kidding are, I think, of the essence—not in themselves, but because they encourage a willingness to be involved in the folly of creativeness......."

  Read in full 

The Little Winged Ones

Newport Folk Festival 1963

                  Peter, Paul and Mary, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, the Freedom Singers, Pete Seeger,
               and Theodore Bikel 1963 Newport Folk Festival. Two years later, Dylan would rock the Festival and the genre by "going electric."  Photo by John Byrne Cooke

Bob Dylan, Newport Folk Festival 1963 by Rowland Scherman

I gotta sing "Hollis Brown"
I Can't Sing "John Johannah" cause it's his story an his people's story -
I gotta sing "With God On Our Side" cause it's my story an my people's story -
I can't sing "The Girl I Left Behind" cause I know what it's like to do it -
I gotta sing "Boots of Spanish Leather" cause I know what it's like to live it -
But don get me wrong now -
Don think I go way out a my way not t sing no folk songs -
That ain't it at all -
The folk songs showed me the way
They showed me that songs can say something human -
Without "Barbara Allen" there'd be no "Girl From the North Country" -
Without no "Lone Green Valley" there'd be no "Don't Think Twice"-
Without no Jesse James" there'd be no "Davy Moore" -
Without no "Twenty One Years" there'd be no "Walls a red wing" -
Hell no -
Them ol song're the only kinda picture left t show the new born how it used t be in them times -
Them ol songs tell us what they had t run thru or walk thru or dance thru
The ol songs tell how they loved an how they kissed -
They tell us what they rejected an objected to -
They laid it down an made the path -
They were simple an tol the story straight -
They said who they fought an what they fought for an with what they fought with -
An who they fought against -
Now's a complicated day -
An all I'm sayin is 'at I gotta make my own statements bout this day -
I gotta write my own feelins down the same way they did it before me in that used t be day -
An I got nothing but homage an holy thinkin for the ol songs and stories...


Bob Dylan, For Dave Glover, Newport Folk Festival program, 1963

Barb'ry Allen

Barbara Allen - Traditional
Lyrics from the 2nd Gaslight Tape, 1962 as performed by Bob Dylan

In Charlotte town, not far from here,
There was a fair maid dwellin.'
Had a name was known both far and near,
An' her name was Barb'ry Allen.

'Twas in the merry month of May,
Green buds they were swellin',
Poor William on his death-bed lay,
For the love of Barb'ry Allen.

He sent his man down to town
To the place that she was dwellin'
Sayin', "Master bids your company,
If your name is Barb'ry Allen."

Oh slowly, slowly she got up
To the place where he was lyin',
And when she pulled the curtain back,
Said, "Young man, I b'lieve you're dying!"

"Oh yes, oh yes, I'm very sick
And I shall never get better
Unless I have the love of one,
The love of Bar'bry Allen."

"Don't you remember not long ago,
The day down in the tavern?
You toasted all the ladies there,
But you slighted Barb'ry Allen."

"Oh yes, oh yes, I remember well
That day down in the tavern.
I toasted all the ladies there,
But I gave my heart to Barb'ry Allen."

She looked to the East, she looked to the West,
She saw his pale corpse a-comin',
Cryin', "Put him down and leave him there
So I might gaze upon him."

The more she gazed, the more she mourned,
Until she burst out cryin';
Sayin', "I beg you come and take him away,
For my heart now too is dyin'!"

"Oh, father, father, come dig my grave,
Dig it wide an' narrow.
Poor William died for me today;
I'll die for him tomorrow."

They buried him in the old churchyard,
They buried her beside him,
And from his heart grew a red, red rose,
And from her heart a briar.

They grew, they grew so awful high
Till they could grow no higher,
An' 'twas there they tied a lover's knot,
The red rose and the briar.

In Charlotte town, not far from here,
There was a maid a-dwellin.'
Had a name was known both far and near,
An' her name was Barb'ry Allen.

---

Your Gods Won't Tell You - Ben Holland