| “Of Bob Dylan“ | |
| There are those who do not imitate, | |
| Who cannot imitate | |
| But then there are those who emulate | |
| At times, to expand further the light | |
| Of an original glow. | |
| Knowing that to imitate the living | |
| Is mockery | |
| And to imitate the dead | |
| Is robbery | |
| There are those | |
| Who are beings complete unto themselves | |
| Whole, undaunted, a source | |
| As leaves of grass, as stars | |
| As mountains, alike, alike, alike, | |
| Yet unalike | |
| Each is complete and contained | |
| And as each unalike star shines | |
| Each ray of light is forever gone | |
| To leave way for a new ray | |
| And a new ray, as from a fountain | |
| Complete unto itself, full, flowing | |
| So are some souls like stars | |
| And their words, works and songs | |
| Like strong, quick flashes of light | |
| From a brilliant, erupting cone. | |
| So where are your mountains | |
| To match some men? | |
| This man can rhyme the tick of time | |
| The edge of pain, the what of sane | |
| And comprehend the good in men, the bad in men | |
| Can feel the hate of fight, the love of right | |
| And the creep of blight at the speed of light | |
| The pain of dawn, the gone of gone | |
| The end of friend, the end of end | |
| By math of trend | |
| What grip to hold what he is told | |
| How long to hold, how strong to hold | |
| How much to hold of what is told. | |
| And Know | |
| The yield of rend; the break of bend | |
| The scar of mend | |
| I’m proud to say that I know it, | |
| Here-in is a hell of a poet. | |
| And lots of other things | |
| And lots of other things. | |
| — Johnny Cash | |
| From the liner notes for Dylan’s Nashville Skyline album | |
| [Johnny was not a bad poet, himself… — KMAB] | |
| . | |
