Ballad Of a Thin Man

Fui ver I'm Not There. A história de Bob Dylan, desenvolvida por vezes em torno de incompreensíveis metáforas (para quem não está a par do desdobramento em múltiplas personagens de Dylan, como eu), não deixa, ainda assim, de cativar qualquer um.
A libertinagem que surge alienada a uma necessidade de protesto e crítica política e social manteve-me com os olhos colados no ecrã e muitas vezes proporcionou aqueles pequenos sorrisos em que nos identificamos com o herói da história.
Depois, como é óbvio, não pude evitar ficar estarrecido com a banda sonora fabulosa do filme; permitiu-me, aliás, conhecer uma música que até então (ou até há pouco tempo, pois tinha-la ouvido nos Discos Voadores com o Nuno Galopim, numa rubrica dedicada a Dylan) me era totalmente desconhecida.
O seu nome é Ballad Of a Thin Man e tem origem numa entrevista para um fulano da BBC, creio eu, a que Bob Dylan viria a chamar Mr. Jones. É fabuloso quando vemos e ouvimos algo com que nos identificamos tanto, aquilo que muitas vezes quisemos dizer a alguém e não conseguimos. Quem tem razão? Qual a verdade? Onde é que ela está?

Bom, o senhor Bob Dylan é de facto um senhor muito perspicaz, e este post é dedicado a ele, com a memória fresca de um prémio Pulitzer arrecadado pela enorme importância e influência da sua mensagem musical.

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, "Who is that man ?"
You try so hard
But you don't understand
Just what you'll say
When you get home.

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You raise up your head
And you ask, "Is this where it is ?"
And somebody points to you and says
"It's his"
And you says, "What's mine ?"
And somebody else says, "Where what is ?"
And you say, "Oh my God
Am I here all alone ?"

But something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel
To be such a freak ?"
And you say, "Impossible"
As he hands you a bone.

And something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To all give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations.
You've been with the professors
And they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well read
It's well known.

But something is happening here
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan".

And you know something is happening
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Now you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting the word "NOW"
And you say, "For what reason ?"
And he says, "How ?"
And you say, "What does this mean ?"
And he screams back, "You're a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home".

Because something is happening
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin' around
You should be made
To wear earphones.

Does something is happening
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Cumprimentos, Simão Martins