Concert Review: Dylan At Bridgeport, Ct, November 2007 Poem by Frank Bana

The wide and unexpected space
The sixteenth song he had to sing
Not one word spoken until then
He'd only introduce the band
And leave the rest interpreting.
.
A crazy kid, darting in waves
Was close up front, the first ten rows
Were all stood up, beer-bellies left
For cups and piss, post-boomers watched
The long-haired raven ladies
With their warehouse eyes transfixed.

I stood beside the mixing-desk
Two guys in headphones and soft chairs
I gripped on the protecting rail
Within the void of smoke and howls
The figures in the distance, small
Were issuing E-minor chords.

One wish, one single prayer, intent
Belied by the prediction that
This man's last number never will
Complete the promise that he sees:
'I'll be released', and all our hopes
Were shuffling out to mist and breeze

Leaving just a hardened core
Waiting still, upon their knees
As if would fall a last insight
From tangled vines of ceiling light

But to the other ones outside
The keys were visible and clear
In each new-born mixed-race embrace
Their kisses lingering like chimes
Of freedom in the midnight air.