A BOB DYLAN DREAM
A tossed salad of poetry, art and ideas.
“Life is much too important a thing ever to talk seriously about it.”
— Oscar Wilde
We’ve just passed the midpooint of Duluth Dylan Fest 2019, with poetry, art and oodles of music. Tonight Joan Osborne will be performing an evening of Dylan covers. Last night we shared an evening of readings from Visiting Bob: Poems Inspired by the Life and Work of Bob Dylan, our Nobel Prize-winning Native Son.
Naturally with all this Dylan activity, it’s no surprise that it would seep into the dream I had last night.
In my dream there were a bunch of us playing golf somewhere here in Duluth. We were standing on a small, white knoll, each pulling a club from our bags and preparing to tee up, the knoll being white due to a dusting of snow.
This particular hole was supposedly named after Bob Dylan. It was very special, but unusual. The “fairway” was an expanse of semi-frozen swamp, all weeds and briars, flat as a lake.
The golfers I was with seemed to take it all in stride, treating it like any other fairway. The others teed off from the knoll, their balls flying out over the swamp and disappearing in the debris-filled landscape. I teed up a little closer to the edge and could see that it was iced over but still mucky. It would not be easy to walk on, and none of us were wearing the right kind of shoes.
The next scene took place at an airport. Evidently we were trying to make sure Joan Osborne caught her flight.(She had been with us on the golf outing.) I believe she was next going to Japan, but one in three of the passengers were being asked to step aside to get reconsidered or something. There was a three-letter word that was used, something like Act. A TSA person or some official airport person would tap the ticket holder and say, “You have to go to Act,” which in my dream I interpreted as colloquial for Action.
Joan Osborne got tapped, and I followed her to make sure she wasn’t detained overly long. She was escorted to a remote area with no one around beneath the escalators to be interrogated, and then I woke.
Commentary on Symbols
A local golf course has been in the news recently regarding potential closure or partial closure. Also, during the Tuesday evening of Dylan music at Sir Ben’s, the TV screen behind the bar featured live coverage of a woman’s golf event.
The host for last night’s poetry reading, a member of our Dylan Fest Committee, is himself both a poet and an author. Phil has written a book about golf titled A Beautiful Friendship: The Joy of Chasing Bogey Golf.
Evidently these golf themes were woven into the scene by my subconscious.
Joan Osborne will be performing tonight at Sacred Heart so that it was likewise a self-evident source for a character in my dream. And I am suspecting that the Japan reference also had multiple sources. First, at Sir Ben’s some of the female golf teams were Oriental, possibly Japanese. Second, on my way to the poetry reading a young woman who looked Japanese walked across the road in front of me, wearing a square Japanese-style backpack. And finally, Dylan has frequently performed in Japan, his Budokan album being recently referenced.
Our strange weather here this May, with six-to-eight inches of snow two weeks ago, and an inch last weekend (May 19) is no doubt the source of thebizarre fairway of semi-frozen prairie tundra.
The difficult landscape of weeds and briars that served as our fairway for the Bob Dylan hole may have been a metaphor for the complexity of his lyrics and his persona. Unusual, possibly even prickly at times, as well as memorable and unforgettable. I have never seen a fairway like it in the world.
Remembering dreams can be fun, and sharing them even better. Beyond that, it is what it is.