-- Patti Smith, Just Kids
His subjects rise en masse, wave wildly, dance and cheer as he steps onto the raised platform. His voice is punctuated by thunderous applause; feet pound the metal bleachers in rumbling salute to the master of word and sound. Four gray-coat minions accompany his majesty with gleaming axes and clanging cymbals. The peons on the ground who dare shoot pictures of their lord are sternly warned by muscled guards who sweep the crowd with furrowed brows.
Ten bucks a pop for the foaming brew of the realm is extracted from giddy peasants who’ve paid dearly to stream through the gates, to glimpse the benevolent one, to bear him witness. He is a tireless ruler, criss crossing the land on fleets of diesel stallions to give the people fond and earnest hope they will pass on to children and children’s children.
This is not the has-no-clothes nobility of folktale legend. Our poet monarch is resplendent in fertile wings; each word spilled through electric air undergirds the faithful in glories of their past, stories of their future.
He can do no wrong because they have crowned him with their merciful devotion. Each a lover, each a ruler, each exalted in this rarified dominion of art.
Photo of Bob Dylan Bologna Nov 05 concert by Gabriele
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