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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Apr 18, 2005 10:00:34 GMT
Ignoring the pointless drunken singalong with either two LA/Paris 'street musicians' or just a couple of Jims pals on the piss that form part of Lost Paris Tapes......what do you think of the March 1969 session of Jims spoken word poetry he recorded in either Sunset Sound or the new LA Elektra studio....(no one is quite sure which) with John Haeny who was Elektra's new chief engineer at the time.
## We have learned since it was recorded at the Elektra studio and probably in early February
This is the only available example of Jim reading his poetry we have. The December session has never been released even though the 'Rock Is Dead' bootleg claimed to have 20 minutes from that session....(its actually part of this one). For me Jim's poetry was always best spoken by HIM and not accompanied by The Doors. His written poetry always seemed dull and lifeless to me and it took 30 years for me to actually appreciate that was not the case but I always enjoyed hearing Jim read his poems. The 'Rock Is Dead' boot was my first chance to hear it then came American Prayer then I got hold of 'Lost Paris Tapes' which contained twice as much as was previously available.....be nice to hear more.... ![:)](http://serve.mysmiley.net/cool/cool0012.gif) So what do you people think of Jim and his spoken word effort of 36 years ago?
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Post by thebadcowboy on Apr 18, 2005 10:20:34 GMT
spoken word can animate the poetry and bring to it an emotional content that does not appear so visible when it is just black and white words on paper..... makes it more personal....... i enjoy it with or without the music....... morrison was a great orator...... wonder how he might have captured the imagination of the crowds at Nuremburg..........!
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Post by ensenada on Apr 18, 2005 15:11:16 GMT
the good thing about jim reading his poetry is that you could get a sense of his soul/emotion and feelings with every word. his voice was perfect for it...i am sure i am not gay! ![:o](http://www.getsmileyface.com/sm/drink/trink21.gif)
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on May 12, 2005 11:55:54 GMT
This is the best example of Jim and its about time those assholes at Doors PLC got talking to those other assholes The Courson/Morrison mob and put a CD out of ALL of Jim's poetry that is rotting away in some useless prats cupboards somewhere. A box set of Jim reading his poetry may not sell as many as some pointless Doors Best Of album but it would be a tribute to the man who made all these bastards RICH who have been feeding off his pretty boy image for decades. Make your voice heard and email these tossers at Doors PLC Bunker This is your site. Tell us what you think:head.office@thedoors.com They pompously announce, on the useless Official Website, to the world but we all know damn well its really the site of Ray and his greedy cronies who would rather sell thier vision of Jim Morrison than give us a chance to hear the real one. This is a damn disgrace and if all of us just sit with our fingers up our arces nothing will ever change....tell your friends get off your butts and DEMAND these morons release Jim's poetry.....I just gave them a piece of my mind so maybe its time YOU did too..... Jim Morrison is the reason we are here....maybe its time we showed we deserve HIM because so far with our lamentable acceptance of all the crap these parasites feed us from Doors Central he sure as hell does not deserve US..... ![:-[](http://www.getsmileyface.com/new/angry/17.gif) End this farce....We want Jim and we want him NOW!...'shove your Best Ofs up your arce'... Release Morrison's Spoken Word.... ![:o](http://www.getsmileyface.com/sm/drink/trink21.gif)
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Jan 16, 2011 11:17:00 GMT
RADIO DARK NIGHT [TAKE 1] In that year we had an intense visitation of energy
When radio dark night existed and assumed control And we rolled in it's web Consumed by static and stroked with fear We were drawn down long from a deep sleep And awakened at dayfall by a worried gardener And made to be led through dew wet jungle To the swift summits 'Or looking the sea.
A VAST RADIANT BEACH A vast radiant beach in a cool jeweled moon Couples naked race down by it's quiet side And we laugh like soft, mad children Smug in the wooly cotton brains of infancy The music and voices are all around us. Choose they croon the Ancient Ones The time has come again Choose now, they croon Beneath the moon Beside an ancient lake Enter again the sweet forest, Enter the hot dream, Come with us. Everything is broken up and dances.
MOONSHINE NIGHT (And at this point we hear West Virginian mountain music...violins)
Moonshine night Mt. Village Insane in the woods in the deep trees
Under the moon Beneath the stars They reel & dance The young folk
Led to the Lake by a King & Queen
O, I want to be there I want us to be there Beside the lake Beneath the moon Cool & swollen dripping its hot liquor
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
FROZEN MOMENT BY A LAKE Frozen moment by a lake A Knife has been stolen The death of the snake
I know the impossible sea when the dogs bark I am a death bird Naughty night bird
BIRD OF PREY Bird of prey, Bird of prey flying high, flying high In the summer sky
Bird of prey, Bird of prey flying high, flying high Gently pass on by
Bird of prey, Bird of prey flying high, flying high Am I going to die
Bird of prey, Bird of prey flying high, flying high Take me on your flight
DAWN'S HWY Indians scattered on dawn's Hiway bleeding. Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile egg-shell mind
UNDER WATERFALL Underwaterfall, Underwaterfall The girls return from summer balls Let's steal the eye that sees us all
THE HITCHHIKER Tell them you came & saw & looked into my eyes, & saw the shadow of the guard receding Thoughts in time & out of season The hitchhiker stood by the side of the road & levelled his thumb in the calm calculus of reason
(and then a car passes)
Why does my mind circle around you Why do planets wonder what it would be like to be you
All your soft wild promises were words Birds, endlessly in flight
Your dog is still lost in the frozen woods or he would run to you How can he run to you Lunging w/blooded sickness on the snow He's still sniffing gates & searching Strangers for your smell which he remembers very well
Is there a moon in your window Is madness laughing Can you still run down beach rocks bed below without him?
WINTER PHOTOGRAPHY Winter Photography our love's in jeopardy Winter Photography our love's in jeopardy Sit up all night, talking, smoking Count the dead & wait for morning (Will warm names & faces come again Does the silver forest end?)
WHISKEY, MYSTICS AND MEN Well I'll tell you a story of whiskey & mystics & men And about the believers, & how the whole thing began
First there were women & children obeying the moon Then daylight brought wisdom & fever & sickness too soon
You can try to remind me instead of the other you can be
You can help to insure That we all insecure our command If you don't give a listen I won't try to tell your new hand
This is it can't you see That we all have our end in the band
And if all of the teachers & preachers of wealth were arraigned
We could see quite a future for me in the literal sands
And if all of the people could claim to inspect such regret
Well we'd have no forgiveness forgetfulness faithful remorse
So I tell you I tell you I tell you We must send away
We must try to find a new answer instead of a way
(How we doin' on time)
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 Just the same.
There was rain in our window, The FM set was ragged But she could talk, yeah, We learned to speak
And one year has gone by
Such a long long road to seek it All we did was break and freak it We had all That lovers ever had We just blew it And I'm not sad
Well I'm mad
And I'm bad
And two years have gone by
Now her world was bright orange And the fire glowed And her friend had a baby And she lived with us Yeah, we broke through 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 rememebers Chicago The musicians & guitars & grass by the lake & people who laugh'd & made her poor heart ache
Now we live down in the valley We work out on the farm We climb up to the mountains & everything's fine
& I'm still here & you're still there & we're still around
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Jan 16, 2011 11:21:13 GMT
ALL HAIL THE AMERICAN NIGHT All hail the American Night
FAR ARDEN POEM And so I say to you The silk handkerchief was embroidered in China or Japan behind the steel curtain And no one can cross the borderline w/out proper credentials. This is to say that we are all sensate & occasionally sad & if every partner in crime were to incorporate promises in his program the dance might end & all our fiends would follow.
Who are our friends?
Are they sullen & slow? Do they have great desire? Or are they one of the multitude who walk doubting their impossible regret. Certainly things happen & reoccur in continuous promise; All of us have found a safe niche where we can store up riches & talk to our fellows on the same premise of disaster.
But this will not do. No, this will never do. There are continents & shores which beseech our understanding. Seldom have we been so slow. Seldom have we been so far.
My only wish is to see Far Arden again.
(This next part will be done in a woman's voice)
TEXAS RADIO AND THE BIG BEAT #1 The truth is on his chest The cellular excitement has Totally inspired our magic Veteran. And now for an old trip. I'm tired of thinking. I want the old forms to reassert their sexual cool. My mind is just-you know. And this morning before I sign off I would like to tell you about Texas Radio & the Big Beat. It moves into the perimeter of your sacred sincere & dedicated Smile like a calm survivor of the psychic war. He was no general for he was not old. He was no private for he could not be sold.
He was only a man & his dedication extended to the last degree. Poor pretentious soldier, come home. The dark Los Angeles evening is steaming the Church that we attended & I miss my boy. Stupid in green- What the color green? When I watch the T.V. & I see helicopters swirling their brutal & bountiful sensation over the fields & the comic walls I can only smile & fix a meal & think about the child who will one day own you.
In conclusion, darling, let me repeat: your home is still here, inviolate & certain and I open the wide smile of my remembrance of your lunging thighs. This to you on the anniversary of our first night. I know you love me to talk this way. I hope no one sees this message written in the calm lonely far out languid afternoon W/my total love, Shirley
(How we doin' on time?)
THE AMERICAN NIGHT The American Night.
What was that? I don't know Sounds like guns...thunder.
THE HOLY SHAH My name is the holy shah I come to town this day To tell my story to the judge Judge, judge, judge, judge The man is not wanted here Come to our house say the Mandarino And tell us why it is you stray so near Why you run away so fast and come back slow In the middle of the sun In the middle of the day When even an idiot goes indoors
HITLER Adolf Hitler is still alive Ooh, I slept with her last night Yeah come out from behind that false moustache Adolf, I know you're in there You favour life, he sides with death I straddled the fence, and my balls hurt
LATINO CHROME Hey man, you want girls, pills, grass? C'mon... I show you good time. This place has everything. C'mon... I show you.
TO COME OF AGE/BLACK POLISHED CHROME Can we resolve the past Lurking jaws, joints of time? The Base To come of age in a dry place Holes and caves.
The music was new black polished chrome And came over the summer like liquid night. The DJ's took pills to stay awake and play for seven days The general's son had a sister They went down to see him They went to the studio And someone knew him Someone knew the TV showman He came to our homeroom party and played records And when he left in the hot noon sun and walked to his car We saw the chooks had written F.U.C.K. on his windshield He wiped it off with a white rag and smiling cooly drove away He's rich. Got a big car.
My friend drove and hour each day from the mountains The bus gives you a hardon with books in your lap We shot the bird with the black MP
My gang will get you Scenes of rape in the arroyo Seductions in cars, abandoned buildings Fights at the food stand The dust The shoes Open shirts and raised collars Bright sculptured hair.
Spades dance best from the hip
Someone shot the bird in the afternoon dance show They gave out free records to the best couple
Always a playground instructor, never a killer Always a bridesmaid on the verge of fame or over He manuevered two girls into his hotel room One a friend, the other, the young one, a newer stranger Vaguely Mexican or Puerto Rican Poor boys thighs and buttock scarred by a father's belt She's trying to rise Story of her boyfriend, of teenage stoned death games Handsome lad, dead in a car Confusion No connections Come 'ere I love you Peace on earth Will you die for me? Eat me This way The end
I'm surprised you could get it up He whips her lightly, sardonically, with belt Haven't I been through enough? she asks Now dressed and leaving The Spanish girl begins to bleed She says her period It's Catholic heaven I have an ancient Indian crucifix around my neck My chest is hard and brown Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin We could plan a murder Or start a religion.
SEARCH ON, MAN There's a belief by the children of man Which states all will be well Search on, man Calm saviour Veteran of wars and calculable greed Search on, man Calm saviour God speed and forgive you Morning star Fragrant meadow Person Girl
INDIAN, INDIAN Indian, Indian what did you die for? Indian says, nothing at all.
WOMAN IN THE WINDOW I am the woman in the window See the children playing Soldier, sailor, young man on your way to the summer swimming pool Can you see me standing in my window Can you hear me laughing Come up stairs sir to your room And I will play for you On dreamland, golden sceneland Try to sleepland take us to dreamland I am unhappy far from my woman Take me to dreamland, land of the bannion Land of plentiful pleasures of pine Potatoes on tables laden with good things Eat at my table, she cried to the vineyards Calling the workers home from the meadows Man you are evil, get out of my garden Ours is a good place, home of the reindeer Sell me your pony, your fast golden pony I need his strength and his terrible footsteps Riding the prairie, just me and my angel Just try and stop us we're going to love Open your window, women of Palastine Throw down your rayment and cover us over
A VISION OF AMERICA She selling news in the market, time in the hall The girls of the factory, rolling cigars They haven't invented music yet so I read to them from the Book of Days; A horror story from the gothic age A gruesome romance from the L.A. plague I have a vision of America seen from the air 28,000 feet and going fast A one armed man and a Texas parking library A burnt tree like a giant primeval bird In an empty lot in Fresno And elevators filled with citizens And miles and miles of hotel corridors
MOTEL, MONEY, MURDER, MADNESS Motel, money, murder, madness Change the mood from glad to sadness Play the ghostsong baby (Then we hear the ghostsong)
EARTH, AIR, FIRE, WATER Earth, air, fire, water Mother, father, sons and daughters Airplane in the starry night First fright, forest follow free I love thee, watch how I love thee
DISCOVERY Discovery Angels and sailors, rich girls, backyard fences, tents, Dreams watching each other narrowly, soft luxuriant cars. Girls in garages, stripped out to get liquor and clothes half gallons of wine and six-packs of beer. Tender coral Jumped, humped, born to suffer, made to undress in the wilderness.
NOW LISTEN TO THIS Now listen to this... I'll tell you about Texas radio and the big beat Soft driven, slow and mad Like some new language Reaching your head with the cold, sudden fury of a divine messenger Let me tell you about heartache and the loss of god Wandering, wandering in hopeless night
STONED IMMACULATE The negros in the forest, brightly feathered Let me show you the maiden with wrath iron soul Out here in the perimeter there are no stars, Out here we is stoned immaculate
(And the carnival immediately begins Gradually mixing rain, thunder, bullfight football, playground, war, penny arcade Babylon fading)
(One more thing)
WHITE BLIND LIGHT Thank you O Lord for the white blind light A city rises from the sea I had a splitting headache From which the future's made
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Apr 2, 2011 13:17:29 GMT
Morrison who reportedly had an IQ of 146 preferred to be thought of as a poet rather than a rock singer and he had recorded 20 hours of his poetry, some of which was later adapted by the remaining Doors for an album ‘An American Prayer.’ Gainesville Sun September 5th 1987.This is interesting. Wonder where they got thier information from? We know the December 8th session was a few hours and have no idea how long the March 1969 session was. This bears out the story of David Anderle the Elektra producer who said he recorded blues stuff with Jim unbeknown to Elektra or The Doors. Jim's lost sessions....
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Post by jym on Apr 8, 2011 21:35:06 GMT
I've listened to a fair amount of spoken word when I was a kid. Leaves of Grass, Dylan Thomas, and a few others. Even the best poets or actors reading poetry aren't compelling in their delivery, but Morrison's was. I guess all those years singing you learn how to hold an audiences attention just with your voice.
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Apr 9, 2011 9:21:39 GMT
I read a bit of poetry at school but was never into it much. I got to see my other fave band Lindisfarne in 1972 at the Festival Hall London as part of a 'Festival of Poetry With Music' program on the South bank. Stephen Spender and Adrian Patten (with an 'e' no relation) read their stuff and I have to admit it was interesting. Spoken word poetry does have that element of being alive more than the written word. My first exposure to Morrison the Poet was COTL on Absolutely Live and I can still remember today how transfixed I was by the vocal and music merging to become one. Blew me away. When I got the Rock Is Dead boot which had 20 minutes of Morrison from 1969 I realised I enjoyed the poetry more without the music. As you say Morrison was able to hold you in place with the power of his voice. Some actors were able to do that on stage. I saw a lot of theatre in Stockton as a kid as we were not complete Philistines here in the North East. ![:o](http://www.getsmileyface.com/sm/drink/trink21.gif) Not everybody can do this but Morrison could which is a testament to his ability as a poet.
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Post by TheWallsScreamedPoetry on Jun 4, 2024 10:50:28 GMT
Today, June 17th, is the 40th anniversary of the Paris studio session Jim Morrison was 'supposed' to have taken part in with two musicians he met in Paris.
![](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v653/TheWallsScreamedPoetry/LPTapes1.jpg) This became known as The Lost Paris Tapes. Featuring the 1969 poetry session and this final set from Morrison and two people he met.
I. JIM MORRISON POETRY SESSION (Los Angeles, March, 1969)
FAR ARDEN: Radio Dark Night (Take 1)/ Radio Dark Night (Take Two)/ A Vast Radiant Beach (Awake)/ Moonshine Night/ Frozen Moment By A Lake/ Bird Of Prey/ Dawn's HWY/ Under Waterfall/ The Hitchhiker/ Winter Photography/ Whiskey, Mystics And Men/ Orange County Suite/ All Hail The American Night/ Far Arden Poem/ Texas Radio & The Big Beat #1 (Letter From Shirley)
TALES FROM THE AMERICAN NIGHT: The American Night/ The Holy Shah/ Hitler/ Latino Chrome/ To Come Of Age - Black Polished Chrome/ Search On, Man/ Indian, Indian (Sirens And Horns Honking)/ Woman In The Window/ A Vision Of America: From The Book Of Days - A Vision Of America - Motel, Money, Murder, Madness/ Earth, Air, Fire, Water/ Discovery (Angels & Sailors)/ Now Listen To This (Texas Radio & The Big Beat #2)/ Stoned Immaculate/ White Blind Light (Thank You, O Lord)
II. LAST RECORDING SESSION (? ? 19??) Guitar Tuning & Chats/ Orange County Suite
An apparently drunken Morrison playing around in a studio with two equally inebriated American street musicians. Morrison had befriended the street musicians only a short time earlier, when he found them performing Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young tunes on a Paris sidewalk.
Ray Manzarek described this recording as "drunken gibberish," observing, "If you haven't heard them, you're missing nothing." Morrison gave up trying to perform with the two street musicians, and broke into a solo performance of "Orange County Suite."
A writer for Rolling Stone magazine later called this piece "an astounding version of . . . [an] unfinished, unrealized paean to his old lady (Pamela Courson) that had been rejected from at least two Doors albums. . . . It was a drunken, and mostly ad-libbed, recording. Yet, listening carefully . . . , one hears the authentic last of Jim Morrison, two weeks before he died, as he roars spontaneous verses and imagery about his hard-hearted woman, his anguish and his obsessions, easily deploying a poetic champion's compositional facility for the natural cadence and spontaneous rhyme."[4]
Morrison offhandedly labelled the resulting reel-to-reel tape of the session "Jomo and the Smoothies" (Jomo being a pseudonym for Morrison).
Well that's the story but the studio engineer seems to be heard speaking in an American accent as well as the others so this is more likely something Jim recorded in LA sometime that was brought along with the rest of his stuff from America. It makes for a nice tale but is probably nothing of the sort really. We will never know unless those at the session break cover and give some more detail of when, where, who with etc. Personally I be live this to be a drunken session recorded in LA with Jim and some of his mates. An oldman stirs the dancers w/his old dance darkening swift shadows lean on the meat of forests to allow breathing Gently they stir Gently rise The dead are new-born awakening w/ravaged limbs & wet souls Gently they sigh in rapt funeral amazement Who called these dead to dance? Was it the young woman learning to play the “Ghost Song” on her baby grand Was it the wilderness children? Was it the Ghost-God himself, stuttering, cheering, chatting blindly? -I called you up to anoint the earth. I called you to announce sadness falling like burned skin I called you to wish you well, to glory in self like a new monster & now I call on you to pray:
listen to: Jim Morrison-Woman In The Window from this session
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