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How Many Roads Must a Man Walk Down, Before He Can Be Called a Man?

Barata Cichetto

Dear Bob, your question, from when you were still young Zimmerman, was how many roads must a man walk down before he is considered one. And today, I don’t know the answer, but my bet is that it’s not the road that makes a man, just the walk.

And about the doves and the bombs, dear Robert, what can we answer now, fifty-some years later? Can the dove now land on the sand? Does the bomb no longer destroy and ignite?

The answer, Mr. Allen who is not Ginsberg, is not blowing in the wind, which brings only blindness in the dust, into which the mountain crumbled by time has been transformed.

Regarding your question about how long it takes for someone to see what they do not see, and to gain permission for freedom, it seems to me to be an obviousness, without any novelty, and it may even be, with no malice, eternity.

For decades I have waited for the wind of answers, the breeze of truth, but what comes to me is only the deafening rumble of stormy thunder. No blowing, no answers, no breezes.

Since you posed these questions, many still await the supposed blowing, but the gale has already swept cities off the map, shattered entire countries, pulverized beliefs, and killed hopefuls with grief. Were these deaths necessary for us to know when to stop?

Finally, I ask, my dear Bob Dylan, and I ask myself, not you, if you still ask these questions, if you still seek the answers, or if the winds never reached you either.

The answer, my dear Robert, which I do not conceal, is not blowing in the wind. I do not invent. The answer, as in the popular saying from the corner bar that no one likes because it seems like shit, is that sure thing, like a stray bullet: blowing on your nape, on your hump, and on the crack of your ass: it’s a pile of shit that never sinks. And maliciously abounds.


Translate From Portuguese by ChatGPT

Blowin’ In The Wind

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes n’how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they’re forever banned?

The answer my friend is blowing in the wind
The answer is blowing in the wind

Yes n’how many years can a mountain exist
Before its washed to the sea?
Yes n’how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes n’how many times can a man turn his head
Pretend that he just doesn’t see?

The answer my friend is blowing in the wind
the answer is blowing in the wind

Yes n’how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes n’how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
Yes n’how many deaths will it take till he know
That too many people have died

The answer my friend is blowing in the wind
The answer is blowing in the wind.

Barata Cichetto, 1958, Araraquara – SP, é poeta, escritor. Criador e editor do, e co-fundador da Editora Poetura. Um Livre Pensador.
Contato: (16) 99248-0091


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Genecy de Souza
Genecy de Souza
10/06/2024 21:26

A bela canção de Mr. Zimmerman de vez em quando é cantada por bocas nojentas, como a daquele velhote apelidado de bobo alegre, transformando-a em um insulto banhado em chorume.
Que suplício!

Barata Cichetto
Responder a  Genecy de Souza
10/06/2024 21:41

Sim, mas não podemos culpar Mr. Zimmerman por isso… rs

10/06/2024 13:51

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