Visions of Johanna

I tend to interpret Dylan in a somewhat literal or straightforward way, with the theory that just about everything he writes is about him - egocentric.

Stanza 1: Dylan is alone in a shabby room with Louise. She's emotionally fragile and needy - she'll turn on the waterworks at the slightest offense. So he finds himself once again entwined with her, trying to make love but he's distracted. He hears the sounds of the quiet room and soft country music but he's bored. There's nothing to turn off -- except Louis. He would turn her off if he could. His mind is utterly conquered by thoughts of his lost love -- Johanna.

Stanza 2: While making love with Louise his mind is disengaged. Outside his window he hears the sounds and laughter of the ladies of the night. He imagines them playing games to see who will take the key to the room where a guest awaits. He hears them laughing about their conquests. The night watchman breaks it all up and questions his sanity and theirs. Dylan's mind returns to to his room. Louis -- she's OK. At least she's near. But she's delicate. She's insecure and tries too hard to please, trying to become what he wants, what he needs. Like a mirror, she's not real. Not genuine. The harder she tries the more he's reminded that Johanna's not here. But in the electricity of their passion, he sees Johanna light up in the bones of Louise's face. Dylan has been transported to another place. He's making love with Johanna.

Stanza 3:

"Little boy lost" -- he refers to himself -- the character he's created called Bob Dylan. He acts tough, a man of sorrow and reckless wisdom. Every time he's forced to bring up her name he's reminded of her farewell kiss. How dare he (Dylan) act like nothing's wrong, making small talk and ignoring his true feelings. He's two people in one, but Johanna knew his true self. How can he explain the emptiness he feels. He loses sleep pining away for her.

Stanza 4: Dylan visits an art museum and everything seems like a joke. Some things don't deserve to be immortalized. Who decides what should last forever? If salvation means we live forever maybe we shouldn't. We're no more worthy than these ridiculous paintings. Mona Lisa agrees. She's been around and knows the score. She's still not sure why she's hanging around. What's more ridiculous, the absurd women in the paintings or the mule-faced woman adorned with jewelry staring at the artwork with the help of binoculars? Life seems so distorted and cruel without Johanna.

Stanza 5: Another evening with Louise -- the countess who's pretending to care for him. He's the peddler, selling words, songs, ideas. He casts a pearl of wisdom before her --commenting on the parasitic nature of humanity -- but she's not listening. Rather she's frustrated that she can't capture his attention. After all, she's undressing, preparing for another night of passion and he's not looking at her! Indeed his mind is elsewhere. He's still waiting for Madonna to return. His existence corroding like an empty cage, the stage where she once held the limelight is empty and vacant. Without her the fiddler (Dylan) has no one to play for. He is ready to move on, close books, and hitchhiking out of town on the back of a fish truck.

As the rain falls he pulls out his harmonica and begins to play. Perhaps there's hope. His songs are like skeleton keys: they're bound to open up new doors down the road.