Sunday, 4 September 2016

"Free now of Space & time free to dissolve in the streaming summer- Laughter & young voices in the mts"...-Jim Morrison

"A pair of Wings
High winds of Karma


Laughter & young voices  
in the mts."


"You parade thru the sof summer
We watch your eager rifle decay
Your wilderness
Your teeming emptiness
Pale forests on verge of light decline

More of miracles
More of your magic arms"

I got the opportunity to Visit the Ancient spiritual sights of great wisdom-the mountains, not mentioning where they were I will like to say that it is within us that the truth resides. Jim's poetry I believe is the truest example of the face of divinity, as it is a highly spiritual exercise, discrete attention and observance that can attune oneself to such poetic imagination. Arriving in fragments and imageries it explains the fragmented compounded nature of existence, it is an art of self introspection occurring silently within the poet as he tries to see himself and all objects around him in a variety of perspectives when perception turns into apperceiving, true cognizance dawns- the vision is merged the delusion dissolved. Brilliance in its wholeness, grandeur of the mountains and the expanse of sea all appear in his woven patterns of words, lattices of syllables creating a spectacle, a myriad form of dreams as reality more real than what you can see or feel. As it is eternally there to be there and will always be.

Urge to come to terms with the Outside, by absorbing, interiorizing it. I won't come out, you must come into me. Into my womb-garden where i peer out. Where i can construct a universe within the skull, to rival the real.

(Windows work two ways,
 mirrors one way.)

You never walk through mirrors
or swim through windows.

Cherry palms
Terrible shores
& many more

This we know 
that all are free
in the school-made
text of the unforgiven

deceit smiles
incredible hardships are suffered 
by those barely able
to endure

but all will pass
lie down in green grass
& smile & muse, & gaze

now, isn't that fragrant
Sir, isn't that knowing
w/a wayward careless
backward glance

                                       -Jim Morrison

Saturday, 6 February 2016

After a long wait.....Understanding Fashion, Arts, Aesthitics and the Higher Beauty in things. Recreating the PsychedelicEra and Most Importantly Jim"s Poetry

The banks are high & overgrown
rich w/warm green danger
unlock the canals

Do you want us that way w/the rest?
do you adore us?
When you return will you
still want to play w/us?

Its been a long wait since i last posted my article almost a year and few months i guess ....But today i got the inspiration to let my readers undertake a visual tour of the psychedelic era in terms of its colours, fashion, artworks and music and most importantly Jim's poetry ...Thank you for waiting!

Sleep is an under-ocean dipped into each night.
at morning,awake dripping,gasping,eyes
Free now of space and time . 
Free to dissolve in the streaming summer

You may enjoy life from afar . You may look at things but not taste them . You may caress the mother only with the eyes.

imagery is born of loss . Loss of the "friendly expanses"

French deck. Solitary stroker of cards. He dealt himself a hand. Turn stills of the past in unendning permutations, shuffle and begin. Sort the images again. This game reveals germs of truth , and death.

The world becomes an apparently infinite, yet possibly finite, card game. Image combinations, permutations, comprise the world game.

Metamorphose. An object is cut off from its name, habits, associations. Detached, it becomes only the thing, in and of itself. When this disintegration
into pure existence is at last achieved, the object is free to become endlessly anything.

The subject says "i see first lots of things which dance"....then everything becomes gradually connected.

Objects as they exist in time the clean eye and the camera give us. 

Not falsified by" seeing".

When there are as yet no objects

                                                    -Jim Morrison 

Monday, 8 December 2014

On Dec 8th Jim's birthday I Love To Share These Specially Beautiful Moments, An Epiphany Of Lost Memories Of Love , Hope You'll Like The Update So Then Read On.......

Wild child
Full of grace
Savior of the human race
Your cool face

Natural child, terrible child
Not your mother's or your father's child
Your our child, screamin' wild

An ancient lunatic reigns
In the trees of the night
ha ha ha ha

With hunger at her heels
Freedom in her eyes
She dances on her knees
Pirate prince at her side
Stirrin' into a hollow idol's eyes

Wild child
Full of grace
Savior of the human race
Your cool face
Your cool face

Your cool face

It was an eventful week ahead of me, with your birthday coming round the corner we generally tend to get a bit busy planning what to do and most importantly how to spend this special day in a different day so that it turns out quite unique each year rather any boring mundane day at work!
so this is one of my ways to make it really special.....There are few of my birthday snaps hope the readers will like it...this is my most personal and intimate post ever

Unhappy girl
Left all alone
Playing solitaire
Playing warden to your soul
You are locked in a prison
Of your own device
And you can't believe
What it does to me
To see you

Unhappy girl
Tear your web away
Saw thru all your bars
Melt your cell today
You are caught in a prison
Of your own device

Unhappy girl
Fly fast away
Don't miss your chance
To swim in mystery
You are dying in a prison
Of your own device......

These are the songs which most define me i guess my innermost psyche . All the lines you read i guess you know they are written by Jim Morrison, but i guess that you would be quiet shocked to know that all these specific songs, its every single line and every single word bears an uncanny resemblance to my personal life experiences and makes me really feel as if they were written for me!. Quiet bizarre i know... but that's the  truth i shared and also that's the reason why i juxtaposed these songs with my write up cause of relevance and significance in my personal life.

You're lost little girl
You're lost little girl
You're lost
Tell me
Who are you?

I think that you know what to do
Impossible? Yes, but its true
I think that you know what to do Yeah
I'm sure that you know what to do

You're lost little girl
You're lost little girl
Tell me
Who are you?

I think that you know what to do
Impossible? Yes, but its true
I think that you know what to do Yeah
I'm sure that you know what to do

You're lost little girl
You're lost little girl
You're lost

Now, lets take the ZEN way with the song Take It As It Comes. This song actually encapsulates wu wei the action of non action . In other words. to flow with the stream of Tao the river and take it as it comes as life offers you.......

Time to live
Time to lie
Time to laugh
Time to die

Take it easy. baby
Take it as it comes
Don't move too fast
And you want your love to last
Oh, you've been movin' much too fast

Time to walk
Time to run
Time to aim your arrows
At the sun

Take it easy. baby
Take it as it comes
Don't move too fast
And you want your love to last
Oh, you've been movin' much too fast

Go real slow
You will like it more & more
Take it as it comes
Specialize at havin' fun

Take it easy. baby
Take it as it comes
Don't move too fast
And you want your love to last
Oh, you've been movin' much too fast
Movin' much too fast
Movin' much too fast 

Saturday, 8 November 2014

After A Long Time....Posting My Thoughts on Jim's Echoing Songs, This Week's Pick My Birthday Favourite LA Woman Along With Sharing The Release Of Pink Floyd's Last Album "The Endless River"


Taking a cue from Division Bell's High Hopes comes forth Floyd's last ever studio album called "The Endless River". It is the fifteenth studio album of the alternate progressive rock band and third after losing ties with the band's ex member Roger Waters. The Endless River comes as a homage to the legendary Rick Wright by his friends the surviving two members of the Pink Floyd. The album comes out nearly two decades since their last in 1994, completed with the past recording sessions during the days of " the division bell " in 1993 at the Gilmour Studios the Astoria with its only featured song being the closing track "louder than words".Instrumentally musical and ambient it appears to be Rick Wright's beautifully blooming last " Swan Song" as the Ancient Greeks believed that an artist produces his greatest creation just before his departure from this earthly realm just as a swan sings its best ever song before death & co incedentaly the title  the endless river surely seems to highlight this mythological theme along with references to - the concept of eternity -the ever flowing river- & the stoppage of time. It releases on the eve of Nov 10th in the united kingdom & Nov 7th worlwide as the much anticipated rock classic.

This Week -LA Woman The Echoing Call Of Jim Morrison

It echoes and invokes the magic word, a Shaman in utmost power chants an incantation an awakening of the spirits in time with utmost strength and vitality. this is what you feel when you hear LA Woman. the intensity with which it picks up its fast and whirlwind beat and traverses you through the frentic roads and suburbs of Los Angeles, a true blues ride through the highway picturesque of the city night it journeys inwards and outwards back and forth into space and time riding inside and outside people's minds.
Its a surreal dream, lots of imageries and the use of metaphorical emotions run through the lines. The song seems a ritual yet a Satori. Its a state of immediate self realisation and its projection through the use of worldly imageries. Its what we see outside and how we interpret it

well i got into town about an hour ago
took a look around which way the wind blow....

The first two lines encapsulate a perfect zen haiku . its a song that celebrates the moment of wakeful liveliness full of enthusiastic energy that it sojourns into an adventure.

Its the song of mutability changing its tone to unlikely moods a song of experimentation

....motel money murder madness let's change the mood from glad to sadness....

LA Woman
sunday afternoon
drive thru your suburbs
into your blues

i see your hair is burning
hills are filled with fire
if they say that i never loved you
you know that they're a liar

driving thru your freeway
midnight alley's Rome

This song with its adventurous soundtrack, unconventional lyrics and Jim's incomparable rendition stays as my personal favourite which can enlighten your mood in a zest of adventure.

Sunday, 24 August 2014

My Eyes Have Seen You : Understanding Jim Morrison Poetry & Aesthetics A Vision Thru Jim's Mind

There was preserved
           In her
The fresh miracle
              -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
Swift dream
Frozen heart
Soldiers doom
Clouds& struggles
Doomed from the start
"That's how i met her,
Lonely &frozen
Right from the start."
Then Stop.
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
Christmas dream

 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
            Thru you
Turning night into day
Mixing sun w/the sea


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
Vegetable morass
My wild love!

Ode New York Maidens

Everyone has there own magic
There is no death
So nothing matters
High style
Flash & forgive me
High button shoes
Clean arrangement
Messy breeding
Love's truimph
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

                                             -Jim Morrison

Thursday, 17 July 2014

Alive ! She Cried......... Jim Morrison The Call Of A Distressed Prayer "...& Two Years Have Gone By...."Reminiscing lines from Orange County Suite "...& The People Who Laughed & Made Her Poor Heart Ache" From The Sisyphean Damnation To The Aquarian Dream

A feast of friends
Alive ! She cried
Wating for me outside...

She looked so sad in sleep
Like a friendly hand
Just out of reach
A candle stranded on a beach
When the sun sinks low

An H-bomb in reverse


Well, this is an essay i am attempting to contemplate upon the past events which resurface through the sands of time. "One must imagine Sisyphus happy..." as the French Absurdist Albert Camus says..."the struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart..." while looking through the Kafkaesque view or simply as the ordeals of a higher aspiration...i feel the road for Sisyphus never ends... i mean its beyond the weariness of relentless labour which apparently seems pointless and unfruitful, but i guess its the persevered attempts and his perpective journey is what matters, the story of Sisyphus, his rise as the founder King of Corinth, his hubris and fall to the damnation of Gods transfigures him as an embodiment of the evolutionary nature of man. His back and forth strife may evolute the seed of wisdom involuted in him. The boulder rock may seem the gift of strength, tenacity and endurance- a karmic purgation, a purgatorio.In a Shamanistic way the ordeal may be a boon...who knows as Sisyphus learns? Evolves? Evolutes? A higher dream in the eyes of the Gods? The myth of Sisyphus-the road way to the Aquarian dream. Aquarius-the symbol of transition. A representation of the New Age, and a proposition of love transcending towards an open order of poetry, emotions, expressions beyond mere words, a phase of traquility an embodiment of eternal peace. The need for change and an ascension to higher planes & realms beyond human imagination to end this suffering once and for all....its the road to the valley,the open fields,& the pastoral, where we live happily ever after....where you are happy to be together....really happy to be together...
Below are references from the lines of Jim's ballad Orange County Suite-a perfect embodiment of an aquarian dream, along with his piano compositions the song and its lyrical version of the poem depicts a dream like journey reminiscing various moods, intuitively mystical with a happy note of togetherness

Orange County Suite

Well i used to know someone fair
She had orange ribbons in her hair
She was such a trip
she was hardly there
But i loved her
still the same

There was rain in our wibdow
The FM set was ragged
But she could talk, yeah,
We learned to speak
& one year has
Gone by
Such long long road to seek it
& all we did was break it & freak it
We had all
That lovers ever had
We just blew it
& i'm not sad
Well i'm mad
& i'm bad
& two years
have gone by

Now her world was bright orange
& the fire glowed......

Yeah, we broke thru the window
Yeah, we knocked on the door
Her phone would not answer
Yeah, but she's still home

Now her father has passed over
& her sister is a star
& her mother smokes diamonds
& she sleeps out in the car
Yeah, but she remembers Chicago
The musicians and guitars
& the grass by the lake
& the people who laughed
& made her poor her ache

Now we live down in the valley
We work in the farm
We climb up to the mountains
& everything's fine
& i'm still here
& you're still there
We'er still around

Friday, 20 June 2014

The Bohemianism Of Fin De Siecle -"Things are beautiful to behold but to be them is quite different" From The One Single True Word: Of Rimbaud To Jim Morrison's Wilderness Symbolism

"I shed more tears than God could have required..
Idle youth enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive i have wasted my life.....
Ah, let the time come when hearts are enamoured
I said to myself: Let be, And let no one see you: Do without the promise of higher joys. Let nothing delay you, majestic retirement......
I'm now making myself as scummy as i can. Why? I want to be a poet. And I'm working at turning myself into a seer. You wont understand any of this, and I'm almost incapable of explaining it to you. The idea is to reach the unknown by the derangement of all the senses. It involves enormous suffering but one must be strong and be born a poet, its really not my fault.
I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet makes himself a seer by a long, prodigious,and rational disordering of all the senses. Every form of love, of suffering, of madness; he reaches himself, he consumes all the poisons in him and keeps only their quintessences. This is an unspeakable torture during which he needs all his faith and superhuman strength, and during which he becomes the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed- the great learned one!-among men.- For he arrives at the unknown! Because he has cultivated his own soul-which was rich to begin with-more than any other man! He reaches the unknown; and even if, crazed, he ends up losing the understanding of his visions, at least he has seen them! Let him die charging those unutterable, unnameable things; other horrible workers will come: they will begin from the horizons from where he has succumbed!

One Single True Word is : Come Back, I want to be with you, I love you . If you listen to this you will prove your courage and sincerity. Otherwise,  I am sorry for you but I love you I kiss you and we'll see each other again....-Rimbaud    
                  A SEASON IN HELL
    Delirium II Alchemy Of The Word

                       It is recovered.
                      What?- Eternity
                   In the whirling light 
                   Of the sun in the sea.

                    O my eternal soul,
                   Hold fast on desire
                   In spite of the night 
                   And the day on fire.

             You must set yourself free
             From the striving of Man 
         And the applause of the World
              You must fly as you can...

                                           -No hope forever
                                                No oriteur
                                         Science and patience
 The torment is sure.

The fire within you
Soft silken embers
Is our whole duty
But no one remembers.

It is recovered.
What? -Eternity
In the whirling light 
Of the sun in the sea.


"I am a slave of my baptism, parents you have caused my misfortune, and you have caused your own"-Rimbaud

The Fin de siecle, saw a revolutionary transformation in the genre of poetics, art and music with the onset of the Symbolic movement. French writers and stalwarts were floored with the use of symbolisms in their poetic artforms. By the likes of Paul Verlain, Stéphanie Mallarme, Arthur Rimbaud, Jules Laforgue, Paul Velary, etc...symbolism became the dawn of the New Age...

Although synonymous yet distinctly different rose the decadent movement and its laurels. Identifying with hermeticism alingned with the tint of Byronic Romanticism, it used precieux (precious), ornamental and morbid subjects. Thematically, the decadents underlined the common yet unconscious historical background of the decadence of the Roman Empire, being expressed through individual motifs and personal expressions. One such example can be traced in Paul Verlain's Langueur from Jadis et Naguere
"I am the Empire, at the end of decadence, who watches the large, white barbarians passing, while composing lazy acrostic poems in a gilded style, in which the languor of the sun dances."


As Jean Moreas puts it, symbolism meant "to clothe the Ideal in a perceptible form". In other words, symbolism is an indirect expression of the inner condition of the Poet's soul and his subjective impression and experiences, penned down in symbols through words. A self-motivated artform, the concept arises from the Poet's epiphany or a moment of immense self realisation, a spiritual hallucination, or through excesses of emotive sensations (synesthesia). The idea emerged in 1857 with the publication of Charles Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du Mal along with the subtle literary legacy of Edgar Allan Poe who in turn had influenced Baudelaire.

As published on 18th September 1886 in his essay Le Manifeste du Symbolisme in Le Figaro, Moreas writes
"In this art, scenes from nature, human activities, and all other real world phenomena will not be described for their own sake; here they are perceptible surfaces created to represent their esoteric affinities with the primordial ideals."

Hence by reference to symbols, allegories and metaphors, the aim was to evoke rather than describe or express. Where the depiction of reality and transcendence projected a spiritual hallucination, unnamed thoughts, unwordly feelings, strange sensations and a weird combination of words whose meaning lied at depth beyond the logical decipher of mere words. Where the Poet became a Schopenhauerian Genius swirling his magic wand among his readers transporting them to a hypnotic, silent esoteric realm used as a microcosmic camouflage of the macrocosmic truth. As Rimbaud himself puts it in The Alchemy Of Words....
"I dreamt of crusades, voyages of discovery that nobody had heard of, republics without histories, religious wars stamped out, revolutions in morals, movements of races and continents.  I used to believe in every kind of magic.
I invented colours for vowels A black, E white, I red, O green, U blue- I made the rules for the form and movement of every consonant, i boasted of inventing rhythms from within me a kind of poetry that all the senses, sooner or later, would recognize. And i alone would be its translator. It began as an investigation, i turned silences and nights into words, what was unutterable, i wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still."


Josephine Peladan, the founder of the Mystic Order Of The Rose+Croix influenced by the medieval secret society of Rosicrusians, an active occultist himself, was highly regarded among the finest admirers of the symbolist movement. He promoted the Symbolists by establishing a state of the art Salon De La +Croix with the six galleries of exihibition space featuring avant garde experimentalism in poetry, arts and music. The elites and stalwarts of Symbolist poetry were associated with the Salon's much known public acclaim.


"Genius is the recollection of childhood at will..."  -Rimbaud.

The essence of symbolism reached its peak in 1884 with the publication of Paul Verlain's essay on Poetes Maudits or The Accursed Poets including Arthur Rimbaud, Stephane Mallarme, Tristan Corbiere, Marceline Desbordes Valmore, Gerad de Nerval and Verlain himself as Pauvre Lelian or Poor Lelain. Based on the victimization of these poets by their talents as an affect of their sensibility -a gift of their art, he claimed them as cursed with their own Geniuses. The idea was based on the aesthetics of Schopenhauer and Charles Baudelaire's poem Bénédiction in Les Fleurs Du Mal

"When by the decree of the supreme powers
The Poet appears in this world bored..."

...Be Blessed, my God, who us suffering
As a divine remedy of our impurities
And as the best and purest essence,
Who prepares the strong for holy pleasures! I know you keep a place in Poet, in the blessed ranks of the holy legions, and you invite him to the eternal feast of Thrones, Virtues, Dominions...."

Where Baudelaire describes the unaffected demeanor of the Poet retaining his inner peace and serenity, irrespective of the nuances of the outer world.

As stated by Schopenhauer "...Only through the pure contemplation....which becomes entirely absorbed in the object....are the Ideas comprehended; and the nature of Genius consists precisely in the preeminent ability for such contemplation.... This demands a complete forgetting of our own person."



"Things are certainly beautiful to behold but to be them is quite different...."

As Schopenhauer states The World As Will And Representation, in accordance to his doctrine of the Primacy of Will, he segregates the dual entities of representation and human will. The belief in the world as artistic representation negates the suffering of the world as the malignant human will. Thereby, art as an representation temporarily escapes the desires, depravation, grim and desolate realities of human will. Hence, emerging as the Plationic Ideal, Art performs the highest ritual of mental purgation escaping the mind to a silent state of self reality beyond the world of striving will. As he states, "On the occurence of an aesthetic appreciation, the will thereby vanishes entirely from the consciousness...." in Schopenhaeur's Parerga and Parilipomena. The Symbolists befitted idea, and adopted it as one of the priciple grounds of Symbolist poetry.

"Perhaps the reason why common objects in still life seem so transfigured and generally everything painted appears in a supernatural light is that we then no longer look at things in the flux of time and in the relation of cause and effect.....On the contrary we are snatched out of that eternal flux of all things and removed into a dead and silent eternity. In its individuality the thing itself was determined by time and by the (causal) conditions of understanding; here we see this connection abolished and only the Platonic Idea is left." - Schopenhauer.


A prized possesion for the Symbolists, it meant a unique amalgation of the sensory organs. The symbols co related with certain distinct visual imagery like colours (Chromesthesia), auditory (sounds) gustatory (tastes) and olfactory (scents) senses etc which can be well noted in this example of Baudelaire's Correspondences

"There perfumes that are fresh like children's flesh,
Sweet like oboes, grean like meadow
And others corrupt, rich and triumphant
Having the exanspiveness of the infinite things
Like amber, musc, benzoin, incenses
Which sing of the raptures of the soul and the senses."

And Rimbaud's Voyelles

A, black, E white, I red, O green , U blue: vowels
I shall tell, one day, of your mystic origins
A, black velvety jacket of brilliant flies
which buzz around cruel smells.
Gulf of shadows; E, whiteness of vapours and of tents
Lances of proud glaciers, white kings, shiverings of cow parsley
I, purples, spat blood, smile of beautiful lips
In anger or in the raptures of penitence

U, waves, divine, shuddering of viridian seas
The peace of pastures dotted with animals, the peace of the furrows
Which alchemy prints on broad studious foreheads
O, sublime Trumpet full of strange piercing sounds
Silences crossed by worlds and by angels
O, the omega, the violet rays of her eyes


The symbolists heralded Theophile Gautier's motto - L'art Pour L'art (Art for Art's Sake) The slogan depicting the radicalism of the French revolution the Bohemianism of Fin De Siecle and its libertine social setting. Where the concept of art was seen as an autotelic - self sufficient work of human talent and consciousness, complete in itself without the need of any moral conjecture or societal norms. The idea suggested in defiance of didatic utilitarianism, insisting that the artist possesed absolute freedom in expression of beyond any moral judgement or function as the value of art stood for art itself . The best explanation of this idea could be found in the work of Edgar Allan Poe, the most influential figure in the birth of symbolism, much admired by Charles Baudelaire.

According to Poe in his 1850 essay The Poetic Principle

"We have taken it into our heads that to write a poem simply for the poem's sake......and to acknowledge such to have been our design, would be to confess ourselves radically wanting in the true poetic dignity and force:-but the simple fact is that we permit ourselves to look into our own souls we should immediately there discover that under the sun there neither exists nor can exist any other work more thoroughly dignified, supremely noble, than this very poem, this poem per se, this poem which is a poem and nothing more, this poem written solely for the poem's sake."


I have streched ropes from steeple to steeple;
Garlands from window to window;
Golden chains from stars to stars,
And i dance.

  Rimbaud's drawing
Laitou (Roches) (Canton d' Attigny) May 73
Dear friend, you see my existence
O Nature, My mother!
O nature, my sister!
O nature my aunt.
Letter to Ernest Delahaye in May 1873.

A protégé, a poet with the most rebellious and restless soul searching for the unknown. Earning the reputation of an archetypal enfant terrible yet subtle sensitive at heart. He truly invented his world as expressed in his Letters of a Seer Letters du voyant. He became what he proclaimed leaving a legacy to future Surrealists, Dadaists and future Poets whose masterpieces and inventive thoughts yet remain indebted to Rimbaud, as his contemporary Paul Velary states -" all known literature is written in the language of common sense-except Rimbaud's ". Following are few of his creations......

My mind turned sour. I bid farewell to the world in poems ssomething like ballads

The Song From The Highest Tower

Let it come let it come
The season we can love

I have waited so long
That at length i forget;
And leave unto heaven
My fear and regret
A sick thirst darkens my viens

Let it come let it come
The season we can love

So the green fields
To oblivion falls,
Overgrown, flowering
With incense and weeds
And the cruel noise
Of dirty flies

Let it come let it come
The season we can love

The Sleeper In The Valley

IItis a green hollow where a river sings
Hanging madly her herbal rags
Silver where the sun
The proud mountain shines

A young soldier open mouthed bare headed
With the nape of his neck bathed in cool blue cresses
Sleeps; she is streched out on the grass, under the sky,
Pale on his green bed where light falls like rain

His feet in the yellow flags, he lies sleeping. Smiling like
A sick child smile, he is having a nap
Cradle him warmly, Nature:he is cold

No odour makes his nostrils quiver,
He sleeps in the sun with, his hand on his chest
Tranquil, At peace. There are two red holes in his right side.


Highly inspired by Rimbaud, the young poet. Jim's lines frame themselves to tell a story....

 I am Rimbaud in a leather jacket.

France is 1st, Nogales round up
Cross over the border
Land of eternal adolescence
Quality of despair
Unmatched anywhere on the perimeter
Message from the outskirts
Calling us home
This the private space of
a new order. We need saviours
To help us survive the journey.
Now who will come.
Now hear this:
We have started the crossing
Who knows? it may end badly.

The actors are assembled
Immediately they become enchanted
I, for one, am in esctasy enthralled
Can convince you to smile?

To speak to the heart
& give the great gift

Could any hell be horrible
More than now and real.

Princess osorrow
Dancing wings of envy
Call me tommorrow

In that year we had a great visitation of energy

Back in those days everything
Was simpler & more confused

I can only smile & fix a meal
& think about the child
Who will one day own you
                                                  -Jim Morrison

Aspiring Jim's poems, I wish to write a series of Symbolist poetry dedicated to Him. In future i might publish them in this blog or launch a kindle edition. Those who delighted can surely read..