March 1969 Poetry session!

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

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.

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....
So what do you people think of Jim and his spoken word effort of 36 years ago?

December 8th 1970 session thread.
newdoorstalk.proboards43.com/index.cgi?board=poet&action=display&thread=1107718525

American Prayer thread
newdoorstalk.proboards43.com/index.cgi?board=poet&action=display&thread=1107717629

The Lost Paris Tapes Thread on the 'Paris' Jomo & The Smoothie session
newdoorstalk.proboards43.com/index.cgi?board=jim&action=display&thread=1104237963

[thebadcowboy]

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..........!

[ensenada]

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!

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

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:
[e-mail]
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.....
End this farce....We want Jim and we want him NOW!...'shove your Best Ofs up your arce'...
Release Morrison's Spoken Word....

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

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

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

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

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

Apr 2, 2011 11:19:42 GMT TheWallsScreamedPoetry said:

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....

[jym]

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.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

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.

Not everybody can do this but Morrison could which is a testament to his ability as a poet.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

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.

This became known as The Lost Paris Tapes.
Featuring the 1969 poetry session and this final set from Morrison and two people he met.

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 labeled 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.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

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