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¿No es típico de la noche hacer
jugarretas cuando tratas de estar re-callado? Sentados aquí, varados, hacemos
nuestro mejor esfuerzo por re-negarlo. Louise sostiene un puñado de lluvia,
tentándote a desafiarle. Luces parpadeando desde enfrente. En este cuarto la
calefacción tose. La radio toca música ranchera suave. No queda nada, nada que
apagar, verdaderamente. Solo Louise y su amante tan, tan entrelazadamente. Y
estas visiones de Johanna que
conquistan mi mente.2
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“Visions of Johanna”, en Blonde
on blonde (1966)
Traducción de Tomás Doggo
Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet? / We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it / And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it / Lights flicker from the opposite loft / In this room the heat pipes just cough / The country music station plays soft / But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off / Just Louise and her lover so entwined / And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind // In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key Chain / And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the "D" train / We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight / Ask himself if it's him or them that's insane/ Louise, she's all right, she's just near / She's delicate and seems like the mirror / But she just makes it all too concise and too clear / That Johanna's not here / The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face / Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place // Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously / He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously / And when bringing her name up / He speaks of a farewell kiss to me / He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all / Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall / How can I explain? / It's so hard to get on / And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn // Inside the museums, infinity goes up on trial / Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while / But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues / You can tell by the way she smiles / See the primitive wallflower freeze / When the jelly-faced women all sneeze / Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeez, I can't find my knees" / Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule / But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel // The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him / Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him" / But like Louise always says / "Ya can't look at much, can ya man?" / As she, herself, prepares for him / And Madonna, she still has not showed / We see this empty cage now corrode / Where her cape of the stage once had flowed / The fiddler, he now steps to the road / He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed / On the back of the fish truck that loads / While my conscience explodes / The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain / And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain
