I own eight copies of Tarantula, Bob Dylan’s first book. Published by MacMillan in 1971, the collection of bizarre, surreal prose poems does not get much attention by Dylan fanatics today. When it came out, there was a brief media buzz because no rock star, at the time, wrote in such a wild style. Pieces like “Maria in a Floating Barge,” “Advice to Hobo’s Model,” “Guitars Kissing & The Contemporary Fix,” and “Sacred Crack Voice & The Jingle Jangle Morning” resembled the liner notes he wrote for the back covers of his early albums, none of which texts have been gathered in a book. Tarantula was quickly forgotten soon after it appeared. I have stayed with it for decades because I noticed that no poetry like this was being created by writers of the prose poem or surrealism — a style that had difficulty catching on in the U.S. And, it was being done by our greatest rock musician.
In “Guns, the Falcon’s Mouthbook & Gasheat Unpunished,” Dylan writes, “compared to the big day when you discover lord Byron shooting craps in the morgue with his pants off & he’s eating a picture of jean paul belmondo & he offers you a piece of green lightbulb & you realize no one has told you about This & that life is not so simple after all … ”
Over the decades, I bought used copies of Tarantula in used bookstores around the country. I found a first edition hardcover for three dollars somewhere. It has no dust jacket but the pages are clean, haven’t turned yellow, and the binding is in great shape. The copyright page contains a line in italics that reads, “This is a work of fantasy and imagination.” The 2004 paperback edition (Scribners) of the original hardcover replaces that statement with “This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents within are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.” My 1977 British Penguin paperback uses the fantasy and imagination line, as does the 1994 St. Martins paperback.
The Penguin is the only version that contains a Publisher’s Note, which is one of the worst and funniest introductions to Dylan I have ever encountered. One line says, “When Bob Dylan plugged in his guitar at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival, he demonstrated to a generation that intelligent music can take popular form.” All the editions include the original introduction, “Here Lies Tarantula,” a five-page essay from MacMillan without an author credit. Whoever wrote promo copy there in 1971 made sure the reader knew how hard it was to get a complete book from Dylan, who started writing it in 1966 in the midst of his greatest musical period and his heaviest drug use. The introduction uses a common Dylan cliché, “He changed the future of rock and roll.”
I have two hardcovers of the original MacMillan. The second copy is a 1971 second edition in bad shape with yellowing pages and a torn dust jacket that is the famous cover photo of Dylan with his Blonde on Blonde look, hair flying everywhere. This second hardcover has text on the inside flaps. Part of it reads, “This is Tarantula. It is Bob Dylan’s first book, the only book he has ever written. It is a work of power and imagination, a fantastical journey through our life and times. You may wish to read it through more than once, for it is not easy to get it all the first time. It is filled with word play, with peaks of brilliance and fields of humor. It is the plain truth and the complicated truth. (What happened to fantasy and imagination?) It is very sad and sometimes so funny that you may laugh out loud. The New York Times long ago called Bob Dylan the ‘poet laureate of young America.’ Since that time we and he have seen many writers and other culture figures make their brief statements and then leave. Bob is still with us. The strength, the variety, the richness of his words and ideas prevail.” End of lesson.
This worn copy is inscribed on the inside cover by someone named Kath, the person who first bought it. Her note says, “To a person who is just weird enough to appreciate this book. With love from Kath.” I have owned this second hardcover for over 10 years and only recently flipped quickly through its pages. A folded sheet of pink stationary fell out. I opened it carefully. “12-27-71. Kevin — saw this and knew it would be perfect for you. Is it? I hope so. I’ve read part of it and I think you should read it all! It’s kind of neat if you can get into it. I hope the New Year brings you everything you are looking for. Be good and stay happy. Love, Kath.”
The 2004 Scribners paperback duplicates the Blonde on Blonde photo on the front. The worn hardcover back jacket has a negative of the front picture and the mysterious numbers 53445 on the bottom right corner. It does not match the original ISBN number and none of the other editions carry this number. I have not found a reference to 53445 in any Dylan lore. You can assume it is a code from the publisher or printer, but I want to start a fresh Dylan rumor by stating that the numbers 53445 equals 21 and that was Dylan’s age when he recorded his first album. The Sribners replaces the back negative photo with copy that says, “Bob Dylan wrote Tarantula in 1966. It existed for years only in dog-eared bootleg copies, but was eventually published in 1971. The book captures the tone and spirit of the turbulent times in which it was written.”
The British Penguin is the oddest book of my eight copies. Smaller than the others in page size, it uses a later Dylan cover photo from the Seventies, his short hair fitting his peaceful and domestic Woodstock days, a period long after the crazy speed years of Blonde on Blonde, Highway 61, and Tarantula. The Penguin is the only book with a bio note on the first page. The note is fantasy and imagination. Some false items in tit include, “Robert Zimmerman eventually adopted the name Dylan in homage to Dylan Thomas.” False. “Although he ran away from home seven times before he was eighteen, he managed to complete high school and to enter the University of Minnesota on a scholarship.” False! Dylan never ran away from home and he never got a scholarship, barely attending classes at the university, then dropping out after one semester. It also says, “He took to the open road where he cut grass for quarters and sang for dimes.” False. After leaving Minneapolis in 1961, Dylan went directly to New York City, arriving a few days later.
The back quotes on the Penguin read, “137 pages of mind-blowing free association of pure Dylan, the amorphous loam out of which all those lovely green songs grew.” New York Times.
“A marvelous hodgepodge of stream-of-consciousness journal-ism, autobiography, fiction, and funny little poem-letters. A book not just to read but to live with.” Rock Magazine.
I have lived with Tarantula for years and don’t read it that often. When I do, I find something amazing that I missed the last time. The front photo on the St. Martins is also from Dylan’s Woodstock days. He is dressed in a pin-striped sports coat and white shirt. His short hair makes him look like he is 17 years old. He sits at a table with sheets of paper and a coffee cup. The only resemblance to the wild Dylan of the past is the cigarette in his mouth. Perhaps the back cover copy of the St. Martins sounds the most contemporary. It is the only edition to put the word “poems” on the front. Strict instructions to the reader are more subtle so each Dylan fanatic can rewire the description for personal use. “Tarantula is a poetic work that shows Bob Dylan at a point in his artistic revolution when word play and the exploration of spontaneously occurring ideas came as naturally to him as breathing. An essential volume for those seeking further insight into Dylan’s creative process, this book of poetry opens the door to an engaging and thought-provoking free-verse world in which to lose oneself.”
Each line of the text on the back is set in smaller type than the line before and alternates between red, yellow, and white colors. I guess the far-out effect was used to make sure the reader grabs the book before it vanishes. Tarantula has disappeared, off and on, but has now been in print for years. My copies seem to be getting smaller with age, though I never stop looking for tarantulas that might crawl out from somewhere on a bookshelf.
As Dylan writes in the prose poem “Ape on Sunday” — “tho I might be nothing but a butter sculptor, i refuse to go on working with the idea of your praising as my reward — like what are your credentials anyway?”