Nobel Poet

I have no problem with Bob Dylan receiving the Nobel Prize for Poetry. He may not be able to sing for toffee, but few poets can. It’s the poetry that earns the recognition, and someone with a body of work as extensive and influential as Dylan’s deserves all the credit he can get.

Same goes for Leonard Cohen, by the way. It may be my maple leaf showing, but I’d sign a petition to have him awarded the same prize (regrettably posthumously) since I find his poetry/lyrics/sentiments more moving than Dylan’s.

I sort of digress.

I own no Dylan albums. I only know what songs I’ve heard on the radio. I love the impression of him done by Don Ferguson of the Royal Canadian Air Farce, mostly because it highlights the mumbled nasal twang that enables most folks to pick out no more than an occasional word. But Bob Dylan is responsible for one of the few bright sparks in my 2011 “Holiday From Hell”.

Up until 2015, when they stopped producing it, the annual Starbucks Christmas CD was anticipated with all the energy and excitement of a kid for, well, Christmas. I have all but one disc in the collection, my favourite being Let it Snow, released in 2011. Even the cover art is fabulous. It’s still among the first discs to hit rotation at the start of the festive season. Every song on it is a winner—including Dylan’s. In fact, his is one of my favourite tracks.

Not because he wrote it (he didn’t). Not because he recorded it (for a charitable cause). Not for any other reason than the cornball foot stompin’ headbangin’ country-fried tempo had my Ter dancing around the kitchen in a truly rare fit of present-moment glee. To this day, whenever I hear it, I am reminded of a sparkle in the snowstorm that became a whopping dump and nearly destroyed us.

The poet goofed, though. Another Dylan track was featured on the Bucky’s disc the following Christmas, and alas, it’s the one track I consistently skip.

Proof that even a Nobel Prize winner can make mistakes.