ATHOL DICKSON

Literature

Right of Way

By

Right of Way, a Poem
Made of plastic, surely.
Probably not skin.
Probably not bone.

I hated writing this. When you read it, you’ll see why.

But if you’re a writer and you’re serious about it, sometimes ideas come that must be written, whether you like it or not. They will rattle around inside your skull like tinnitus, driving you crazy until you get them out. Where they come from, I don’t know. Why they’re so insistent on their birthright, I don’t know. Still, a serious writer has no choice; you must write some things, even though you hate it.

And I did hate that these words must be written. But in one form or another this idea has been inside my head for years. Clearly, it had to get out. Thank God now it has, at last.

 

Right of Way

Someone warned me not to take the shortcut.
Go the longer way, they said.
That’s a bad luck road.
But I was late,
And it would cost nine months of labor
If I didn’t make it there on time.
So I took the shortcut anyway.
A one lane mountain road.
A thrilling drive,
High and narrow.
Then something lying in the rut ahead,
Where my wheels would have to roll.
A doll?
A baby?
Could I be that unlucky?
I can’t drive around it;
Can’t get out to inspect it,
Hemmed in as I am,
Solid rock on one side
Thin air on the other.
So I watch.
And it moves a little.
I could back up;
A long reverse,
Then go the other way.
But I’d be late,
And that would cost me months of labor.
And they make dolls that move a little,
Don’t they?
And besides,
It isn’t fair.
I have a right to drive this road
Without things lying in my way,
With tiny fingers and a little button nose,
Made of plastic, surely.
Probably not skin.
Probably not bone.
Because I can’t be late.
And besides,
It isn’t fair.
I have a right to drive this road.
So I roll on.
There’s just the smallest bump,
And then it’s in the past.
I don’t look back.
I’ll be on time,
No labor lost.
That’s what matters, surely.
And besides,
It was probably a doll.

Somebody Please Tell Bob He Won

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Buy your own Nobel Prize
Buy this Nobel Prize Garden Gnome at Amazon for only $22.95!

I was pretty excited when The Nobel Prize committee awarded Bob Dylan the Nobel Prize for Literature, but apparently Bob isn’t.  As you may know, he’s acting like the whole thing never happened. In case you wonder why, I have a few theories.

It could be Bob forgot. He is 75 after all, which is even older than Mick Jagger, and Mick has started to forget his own songs.

Or maybe Bob is feeling unworthy of the honor. If so, he’s certainly got a lot of Nancy Naysayers agreeing with him. But after all of Bob’s hard work, I think he deserves to win some awards, and the Nobel Prize isn’t a bad start. When it was first announced I even posted a few quotes from his better known songs to prove the great brilliantness of his brilliance. That was necessary, because even Bob’s greatest fans may not actually know how brilliant his lyrics are, due to Bob’s longstanding policy of translating them into an unknown language whenever he pronounces them out loud.

As Bob himself explained in this recent interview…

Another possibility: even though Bob stands up in front of thousands of adoring fans and “sings” a lot, he’s kind of shy. The interview above was very rare. He only gives two or three like that per decade.  So maybe he doesn’t like winning prizes because he’s uncomfortable meeting new people.

Bob Dylan's awkward situation
Bob seems uncomfortable with this woman.
Bob Dylan's awkward moment
Bob also seems uncomfortable with this man.

Or it could be Bob simply doesn’t care about the prize, but he doesn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings by saying so. We all know how awkward winning stuff can be. When I won a garden gnome at a Save The Rodents! raffle I had to act all gushy about what a wonderful garden gnome it was, even though I really don’t care for garden gnomes. That was awkward. But when you stop and think about it, the Nobel Prize is not a garden gnome. It’s a medal made of 18 carat gold. Bob could melt it down and make it into something useful, like a universal translator.

Of course, it could also be that Bob simply doesn’t know he won the prize. People have been trying to tell him, but Bob hasn’t been answering the phone. So if you see Bob, please tell him the news, okay?

Fact Follows Fiction

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They Shall See God
Be Careful at the Zoo

It’s always fun when a novelist imagines something wild and crazy, only to have that very thing pop up in the real world later on. Of course, we’ve come to expect it in science fiction. About 100 years ahead of time, Jules Verne wrote about things like electric submarines, newscasts, solar sails, lunar modules, skywriting, video conferencing, tasers, and spaceship splashdowns. He probably gets the prize for the most imaginary fictitious scenarios to come true.

But I am in the running.

Consider The Cure. In that novel, a scientist is relentlessly pursued by an evil corporation which wants to profit from her invention, a cure for alcoholism. Crazy idea, right? Science could never cure addictions. And yet, it seems there really might be a drug that does just that. Check out this video or read this article to learn about naltrexone, and the exciting role it’s playing in healing people from alcoholism.

sometimes even in the strangest of stories it’s hard to find the line between fiction and the truth.

Next up is Lost Mission, in which construction workers digging a building foundation disturb a mass grave, exposing themselves to small pox which has lain dormant underground for hundreds of years. Awfully unlikely, no? But wait. Just last summer more than 40 people were hospitalized after being exposed to anthrax that had lain dormant in reindeer carcasses for nearly 50 years. In another article, the Siberian Times offered this: “The fear is out there. Recently French scientist Professor Jean-Michel Claverie issued a warning that energy exploration in permafrost regions could unlock ancient viruses…. ‘If we are not careful, and we industrialise [sic] these areas without putting safeguards in place, we run the risk of one day waking up viruses such as smallpox that we thought were eradicated.'” Hmm…

Then there’s They Shall See God, with a character who is stalked and killed by a tiger which escapes from the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans. It seemed like a far fetched scenario when I wrote it, and then it actually happened in San Francisco.

“Truth is stranger than fiction,” as they say. But sometimes even in the strangest of stories it’s hard to find the line between fiction and the truth. That’s one of the reasons I love to read good novels, and why I love to write them.

Bob Dylan awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature

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Bob Dylan wins the Nobel Prize for Literature
The Nobel Prize medal

The Nobel Prize committee has been making strange decisions for a while now, such as giving out the Peace Prize for things that haven’t been done. And giving the Prize for literature to a songwriter is certainly unusual. But if any modern songwriter deserves it, Bob Dylan does.

For younger readers who may not be familiar with his lyrics, here are some examples of his awesome way with words:

‘There must be some way out of here’
said the joker to the thief
‘There’s too much confusion,
I can’t get no relief’
Businessmen, they drink my wine,
plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line
know what any of it is worth.”
(All Along the Watchtower)

Then take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time,
Far past the frozen leaves
The haunted, frightened trees,
Out to the windy beach
Far from the twisted reach
Of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea,
Circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate
Driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.
(Mr. Tambourine Man)

Come writers and critics who prophesy with your pen
And keep your eyes wide the chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon for the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s namin’.
For the loser now will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’.
(The Times They Are a-Changin’)