Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Dec 23, 2004 12:29:24 GMT
I managed to see that in a new light a couple of years ago after thinking it bollocks for 30 years....but what if anything do you guys feel about its worth ...or not!?
The Lords. Events take place beyond our knowledge or control. Our lives are lived for us. We can only try to enslave others. But gradually, special perceptions are being developed. The idea of the "Lords" is beginning to form in some minds. We should enlist them into bands of perceivers to tour the labyrinth during their mysterious nocturnal appearances. The Lords have secret entrances, and they know disguises. But they give themselves away in minor ways. Too much glint of light in the eye. A wrong gesture. Too long and curious a glance.
The Lords appease us with images. They give us books, concerts, galleries, shows, cinemas. Especially the cinemas. Through art they confuse us and blind us to our enslavement. Art adorns our prison walls, keeps us silent and diverted and indifferent.
I Snakeskin jacket Indian eyes Brilliant hair
He moves in disturbed Nile Insect Air
II You parade thru the soft summer We watch your eager rifle decay Your wilderness Your teeming emptiness Pale forest on verge of light decline.
Baths,Bars,the indoor pool. Our injured leader Prone on the sweating tile. Chlorine on his breath and in his long hair. Lithe, although crippled, body of a middle-weight contender. He liked men near him with a large sense of life. But most of the press were vultures descending on the scene for curious America aplomb. Cameras inside the coffin interviewing worms.
To me that sums up the behaviour and attitude of the press in general.
I dug New Creatures right off- I think I was 16 when I first read it and I was immensely impressed/influenced by the visionary aspect and the images therein… those brilliant glimpses beyond this paling now…. IT DOES, to me, definitely have the feel… of notes on vision….
The Lords felt a bit too much like notes to me at first…. which they are, but very cool too in their own regard… McClure said Jim was the poet of his generation, which I’m sure you all know… adding a comment about Jim and the generation gap; and I feel The Lords relies a bit more on intellect- so that you see a bit of why he’d feel that way in there… And if Jim IS, in fact, the poet of his generation, I feel it’s definitely because of this- or that’s what sets him apart….
You’ll always have your fair share of brilliant writers out there at any given time- Hell, Bob Dylan- IMHO- in certain respects blows Jim out of the water as a poet, but Jim had his hand on the pulse of something… rare… to not catch hold of so much… as to sense… a visionary ticking, which perhaps sometimes gives way to a bit of pretension; but if so, the pretension of someone on their way to something- or someone burning justashardastheycould intothenight, as someone that HAD to write… as anyone that is wroth a shit as an artist has to….
I can see that about the attitude of the press and the given quote. They were definitely vultures after the rock star at the time- of course now too but from what I’ve read- not being alive at the time- there was a glow about the rock star then… maybe just the naïve attitude of the 60s in part finding form in that; and Jim was out there doing things that other people were afraid to do… pushing limits- so that then one becomes this sort of clown also that people want to see fall, and eat off of; versus respecting as a poet… I guess Jim started to hit bottom a bit in life, drinking heavily, becoming a bit of someone that was un-cool- of course how could he be in a way also you know; but then you had a lot of vultures out there and I don’t think he could digest the shit…. All of it must have been easy enough for a man of his intellect to play up to and play with at first (tho I feel more of his reactions to that and the toying-wit was a bit more subconscious than the planned way Jim would put on at times- tho didn’t he comment somewhere- I may be incorrect… that Miami was more an unconscious reaction the Morrison persona?)- but sooner or later the emotional reaction is going to be… a recoil. Funny therefore how one becomes as degenerate as the forces that seem to knock them down emotionally…. “to be born of beauty” I guess- Jim definitely wasn’t weak either and I LOVE the New Creatures. At the same time I get more of a Rimbaud feel from The Lords… not that that’s a good thing because I’m sure he didn’t want to sound like anyone… and overall he didn’t…. I.E.-As big of a fan as he was of Kerouac he never fell into that dharma Ebonics thing- a bit of a trap in it’s own right… It’s amazing to look at all the poetry he wrote and the true brilliance of at least the majority of it and see him as having as many self doubts as he did… It seems he wanted to more than just compile what he wrote, but make a statement- like how say Dylan would have all these great songs but only include on an album what fit into his outlook on the world at that time… Alas- I could go on all day but I need to re-read this in order to comment or analyze Specifically. Currently I just found Wilderness after having lost it for years. It’s a special book to me as a friend that passed away stole it for me once upon a time… not too cool of thing to do but hey…. The good thing about that is… as with feeling differently after re-reading it again of late… it can be like a breath of fresh air…. I felt amazed the last time I’d read over Jim’s poetry after consciously trying NOT to in order to distance myself a bit from the influence…<br> You may notice.... I could talk about this all day and never really say anything....
Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Jan 4, 2005 17:49:18 GMT
I The soft parade has now begun on Sunset. Cars come thundering down the canyon. Now is the time & the place. The cars come rumbling. "You got a cool machine." These engine beasts muttering their soft talk. A delight at night to hear their quiet voices again after 2 years.
Now the soft parade has soon begun. Cool pools from a tired land sink now in the peace of the evening.
Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Jan 20, 2005 14:38:38 GMT
April 7th 1970 - The first printing of the hard-bound copies of The Lords and the New Creatures is released in April under the author's full name, James Douglas Morrison. With the support and encouragement of poet Michael McClure, Jim is successful in securing a publisher that will present his work as that of a serious young poet, and not use his rock-star status. This volume combines Morrison's The Lords: Notes on Vision with The New Creatures, which he had privately published the previous year in a limited edition of 100 copies. When Jim receives his advance copies of the book, he is reportedly thrilled that Simon and Schuster have handled it with genuine respect and honored his request that it be presented without reference to his being the lead singer of the Doors. The Doors On The Road by Greg Shaw
"That's the trouble with reality!.... it's taken far too seriously! I do hope God is good to me and Santa Claus to the children! Celebrate...this parties over...I'm going home!"
Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Feb 10, 2005 11:18:05 GMT
Jims handwritten opener for The Lords. Interesting as the crossed out bit at the top is from COTL.
Look where we worship. We all live in the city.
The city forms- often physically, but inevitably psychically- a circle. A Game. A ring of death with sex at its center. Drive towards outskirts of city suburbs. At the edge of discover zones of sophisticated vice and boredom, child prosti- tution. But in the grimy ring immediately surround- ing the daylight business district exists the only real crowd life of our mound, the only street life, night life. Diseased specimens in dollar hotels, low boarding houses, bars, pawn shops, burlesques and brothels, in dying arcades which never die, in streets and streets of all-night cinemas.
Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Jan 7, 2011 12:04:14 GMT
Baths, bars, the indoor pool. Our injured leader prone on the sweating tile. Chlorine on his breath and in his long hair. Lithe, although crippled, body of a middle-weight contender. Near him the trusted journalist, confidant. He liked men near him with a large sense of life. But most of the press were vultures descending on the scene for curious America aplomb. Cameras inside the coffin interviewing worms.
An armed camp. Army army burning itself in feasts.
Fear the Lords who are secret amoung us. The Lords w/ in us. Born of sloth & cowardice
He spoke to me. He frightened me w/ laughter. He took my hand, & led me past silence into cool whispered Bells.
Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Jan 8, 2011 12:10:44 GMT
Bitter grazing in sick pastures Animal sadness & the daybed Whipping. Iron curtains pried open. The elaborate sun implies dust, knives, voices.
Call out of the Wilderness Call out of fever, receiving the wet dreams of an Aztec King.
The theory is that birth is prompted by the child's desire to leave the womb. But in the photograph an unborn horse's neck strains inward w/legs scooped out.
From this everything follows:
Swallow milk at the breast until there's no milk.
Squeeze wealth at the rim until tile pools claim it.
He swallows seed, his pride until w/pale mouth legs she sucks the root, dreading world to devour child.
Doesn't the ground swallow me when I die, or the sea if I die at sea?
Camera, as all-seeing god, satisfies our longing for omniscience. To spy on others from this height and angle: pedestrians pass in and out of our lens like rare aquatic insects.
Yoga powers. To make oneself invisible or small. To become gigantic and reach to the farthest things. To change the course of nature. To place oneself anywhere in space or time. To summon the dead. To exalt senses and perceive inaccessible images, of events on other worlds, in one's deepest inner mind, or in the minds of others.
The sniper's rifle is an extension of his eye. He kills with injurious vision
The assassin(?), in flight, gravitated with unconscious, instinctual insect ease, moth- like, toward a zone of safety, haven from the swarming streets. Quickly, he was devoured in the warm, dark, silent maw of the physical theater.
Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Oct 18, 2011 9:00:33 GMT
Morrison was a film student at UCLA but had an interest in the History of the genre as well as the technical side. This can be seen in Lords and New Creatures in his references to Karl Wilhelm Gropius and the Pleorama in which the audience would sit in a boat and the scenery would move beside them as sound and visual effects would create the illusion of spectacle around them.
In 1832, Gropius was astounding Paris with his Pleorama. The audience was transformed into the crew aboard a ship engaged in battle. Fire, screaming, sailor, drowning.
Robert Barker from Newcastle upon Tyne invented the first 'Panorama' using the term to describe his views of Edinburgh on a cylidrical roller. He became rich when he took the idea to London and in what could be argued to be the first ever cinema in Leicester Square people paid 3 shillings to view his Panorama of London.
Robert Baker, an Edinburgh artist, while in jail for debt, was struck by the effect of light shining through the bars of his cell though a letter he was reading, and out of this perception he in- vented the first Panorama, a concave, transparent picture view of the city.
Morrison got the name wrong as it was Barker not Baker. But it shows the level of interest he had in the subject.
The next level was Louis Jacques Mandé Daguerre's Diorama. Daguerre had painted Panorama's and invented his Diorama as a platform on which the audience would rotate and get the feeling of movement. It was first shown in Paris and then London.
This invention was soon replaced by the Diorama, which added the illusion of movement by shifting the room. Also sounds and novel lighting effects. Daguerre's London Diorama still stands in Regent's Park, a rare survival, since these shows depended always on effects of artificial light, produced by lamps or gas jets, and nearly always ended in fire.
Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Dec 2, 2011 14:25:36 GMT
Wounds, stags, & arrows Hooded flashing legs plunge near the tranquil women. Startling obedience fom the pool people. Astonishing caves to plunder. Loose, nerveless ballets of looting. Boys are running. Girls are screaming, falling. The air is thick w/smoke. Dead crackling wires dance pools of sea blood.
Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Dec 3, 2011 11:29:15 GMT
Lizard woman w/your insect eyes w/your wild surprise. Warm daughter of silence. Venom. Turn your back w/a slither of moaning wisdom. The unblinking blind eyes behind walls new histories rise and wake growling & whining the weird dawn of dreams. Dogs lie sleeping. The wolf howls. A creature lives out the war. A forest. A rustle of cut words, choking river. ~~~
The snake, the lizard, the insect eye the huntsman’s green obedience. Quick, in raw time, serving stealth & slumber, grinding warm forests into restless lumber.
Now for the valley. Now for the syrup hair. Stabbing the eyes, widening skies behind the skull bone. Swift end of hunting. Hug round the swollen torn breast & red-stained throat. The hounds gloat. Take her home. Carry our sister’s body, back to the boat. ~~~
Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Dec 6, 2011 10:07:06 GMT
This June 1968 interview with Morrison inadvertantly provides a fascinating glimpse into the Poet Jim Morrison. We see him working on his poetry and what would become part of The New Creatures. A fragment of a page he tore up and gave to his interviewer Judith Sims read. see more:Teenset June 1968
Fall down. Strange gods Their shirts cloth and hair
All along ornaments bluer than welcome. Soft lizard
This would become one of my favourite poems in L&NC and something I read in 2006 at the poetry tribute in Paris.
Fall down. Strange gods arrive in fast enemy poses. Their shirts are soft marrying cloth and hair together. All along their arms ornaments conceal veins bluer than blood pretending welcome. Soft lizard eyes connect. Their soft drained insect cries erect new fear, where fears reign. The rustling of sex against their skin. The wind withdraws all sound. Stamp your witness on the punished ground.