The fresh miracle
UNDERSTANDING JIM MORRISON
Cold treatment of our empress
The transient universe
Instant communion & communication
Emeralds in glass
Searchlights at twilights
Stoned streets in the pale dawn
Robed in exile
swift beat beat of a proud heart
Eyes like twenty
Doomed from the start
"That's how i met her,
Right from the start."
The wilderness between
Go round the march
Its not a prelude to a great personality neither a tribute nor a memoir, its my own subjective vision, my own personal understanding, my own emotinal attachment and an unspeakable feeling of love towards Jim which compels me to pen down this article. So as an eye opener to people, i intend this piece of writing helps them in understanding the Real Jim Morrison behind the cloak of fame or if even catch a glipmse of his real genius and poetic love hidden and encrypted in his literary testaments. As i know, Jim is a difficult person to fathom as he speaks very less or ever hardly speaks even when he's among his friends, he just sits silently. But he is a good listener, a very good listener indeed, a virtue which feeds his poetic flair. A good poet is always a good listener, as he captures every word heard transmuting them as an imagery through a random dynamic thought channeling and weaves them through a string of distinct creative imagination transcending its own essence like an catalyst reaction, an extraction, a distillation process, a chemical composition, an alchemy of words interplaying within themselves copulate to give birth anew. He takes up his magic wand much like the frenzied magician of Coleridge's Kubla Khan inciting a ritual to cast a spell among his readers.
Fence my sacred fire
I want. To be simple, black & clean
A dim nothingness
The sea is green
Like a child's version of a
He embraces his words as microcosmic visions, his premonitions, his intuitive senses as a Shaman of the Coming Age, challenging the macroscosmic hierarchy of the Gods, alike Longfellow's Psalm he breathes unto them, much like God Almighty who breathes unto life among men of clay. Its in the Wilderness that you find peace, its the Night that gives you rest & solace. His words generate no meanings, no intentions, no contextual ground play, no propositions, no presumption but liberally opens the doors to all possibilities and probabilities to let you walk in the one that suits your intellect. His palette of thoughts add color to his words, much alike a rainbow it infuses the spectrum of light creating a image, an enigma in both the physical and the virtual plane of existence. Where you can see upon them but fail to touch them. His words carry that aura of super effulgence where only love leads you back into his garden. The garden of Far Arden again.
The Politics of ecstasy are real
Cant you feel them working
Turning night into day
Mixing sun w/the sea
THE OBSERVER EFFECT
A poet is a good observer, he observes and perceives images, colors, textures, behaviours, moods and transitions. Keenly he sits upon to gaze and ponder, introspecting in retrospection. Jim is an excellent observer, he can read through your eyes while talking with you. He seeks inspiration in every conversation, the unfolding of a story, sharing of thoughts, ideas, innovation and revolution. He wants to perceive things in a different way, in his own way, one which has been perceived like never before. He seeks to create a new order, a new methodology, a new science of perception much like Blake or a Neitzschean revelry. He seeeks out to create a new dawn.
I get my best ideas when the telephone rings & rings
Its no fun to feel like a fool
A new ax to my head
Possesion . I create my own sword
Of Damascus. I've done nothing w/time.
When out there the world awaits & abounds w/gangs of murderers and real madmen. Hanging
From the window as if to say - i'm bold
Do you love me?
Here i have listed few of my favorite poems, my own subjective perception of Jim's writing styles....
The Night is young & full of rest
I can't describe the way she's dressed
She'll pander to Some strange requests
Anything you suggest
Anything to please her guest
Are you her
Do you look like that
How could you be when
no one ever could
Everything human is leaving her face
Soon she'll disappear into the calm
My wild love!
Ode New York Maidens
Everyone has there own magic
There is no death
So nothing matters
Flash & forgive me
High button shoes
Everlasting hope & fulfillment
....a dog howls & whines at the glass door (why can't i be in there?) A cat yowls. A car engine revs & races against the grain -a dry rasping carbon protest.
I put the book down & begin my own book