POWER – Jim Morrison – LitDiscourse – Verses Inked

 

Jim Morrison born 8th December, 1943 in Melbourne, Florida -USA, found dead under mysterious circumstances, 3rd July 1971 in Paris, France. Our concern on this day of December is the birth anniversary of the man.

Jim Morrison, immortalized as the front man of The Doors, eccentric recording artist, a student of cinema, wished to be remembered as a poet. Your wish, dear sir is our command. The kind of ideas which gets us exited at Verses Inked. Poetry centrist.

Jim Morrison, an ingenious recording artist, eccentric showman, among the forefathers of psychedelia, counterculture protagonist, supernova forever in a state of suspension in the realms of infinity, for generations to behold.

On the occasion of the bard’s 74th birthday, we pick up on an ever popular subject. Man’s eternal muse, the aeonian drive towards evermore, the rate at which the force works, unit work per unit time. Power.

The piece was included in, “The lost writings of Jim Morrison” series, volume I titled, Wilderness. Published 1988 by Vintage Books.

As the back page monologue of the book proclaims, in the words of the author himself.

“Listen, real poetry doesn’t say anything, it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.” –Jim Morrison

So shall our commentary be.

The reader may, if they so please seek for in the texts the Existentialism of Niethsche, Symbolism of Arthur Rimbaud, or the Romanticism of William Blake.

There is no pot of gold sitting at the end of the rainbow, that we could promise of to the reader. Reason enough for them to go onto the very end, except sheer merit of the verse, which we strategically commercialize to our advantage, rather than academically judge for any reason whatsoever. May the power press on.

 

Power by Jim Morrison

I can make the earth stop in
its tracks. I made the
blue cars go away.

I can make myself invisible or small.
I can become gigantic & reach the
farthest things. I can change
the course of nature.
I can place myself anywhere in
space or time.
I can summon the dead.
I can perceive events on other worlds,
in my deepest inner mind,
& in the minds of others.

I can

I am
~~~

People need Connectors
Writers, heroes, stars,
leaders
To give life form.
A child’s sand boat facing
the sun.
Plastic soldiers in the miniature
dirt war.  Forts.
Garage Rocket Ships

Ceremonies, theatre, dances
To reassert Tribal needs & memories
a call to worship, uniting
above all, a reversion,
a longing for family & the
safety magic of childhood.
~~~

The grand highway
is crowded
w/
lovers
&
searchers
&
leavers
so
eager
to
please
&
forget

Wilderness
~~~

Now is blessed
The rest
remembered
~~~

A man rakes leaves into
a heap in his yard, a pile,
& leans on his rake &
burns them utterly.
The fragrance fills the forest
children pause & heed the
smell, which will become
nostalgia in several years
~~~

Sirens
Water
Rain & Thunder
Jet from the base
Hot searing insect cry
The frogs & crickets
Doors open & close
The smash of glass
The Soft Parade
An accident
Rustle of silk, nylon
Watering the dry grass
Fire
Bells
Rattlesnake, whistles, castanets
Lawn mower
Good Humor man
Skates & wagons
Bikes
~~~

Where’d you learn about
Satan- out of a book
Love?- out of a box
~~~

night of sin (The Fall)
-1st sex, a feeling of having
done this same act in time before
O No, not again
~~~

Between childhood, boyhood,
adolescence
& manhood (maturity) there
should be sharp lines drawn w/
Tests, deaths, feats, rites
stories, songs, & judgements
~~~

Men who go out on ships
To escape sin & the mire of cities
watch the placenta of evening stars
from the deck, on their backs
& cross the equator
& perform rituals to exhume the dead
dangerous initiations
To mark passage to new levels

To feel on the verge of an exorcism
a rite of passage
To wait, or seek manhood
enlightenment in a gun

To kill childhood, innocence
in an instant

 

‘ Felix ‘ – Poetry – Verses Inked ©

fine art, painting
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Poetry

Felix

I apologize,
I’m sorry.

Little things bother me
like hot pink walls
in subway cars.
Macy’s big shoes
Bigstore
allover sale wallpaper
plastered head to toe
in Grand Central,
and your fruit stand.
I’m sorry to have to tell you,
but it’s the last time

I’m gonna buy your fruit; I mean,
I want to support you
No walls or floor or store to speak of,
just a shitty umbrella over
a failing pyramid
of milk crates
with the fading logo
of a has-been bank;
I mean
it’s my kind of commerce
but let’s face it
your oranges are rotten
your persimmons never ripe
And then there’s Felix
who has to stand there
handless
stuffed inside a sandwich board
” Please can you help me
with some spare change
I am raising money to buy myself hands “

Stuck on the platform of the one train,

just to beg for the Pity;

I mean generosity of strangers,
to buy himself limbs,
(to work for a living?)
Oh and let me guess
now we’re pretending
to be civilized,

putting a European tone
in the subway.

You have got to be kidding.
I still can’t hear a thing.

(A Poem by Suzanne Goldenberg)

Desk : Trapped – Rearview – On the Road – Verses Inked

Also Read: Patti Smith on Loving Books

melting sculpture

Artwork: Melting Sculpture

Artist: Sharad Bharadwaj ( The Blue Painter )

Declaring by Federico Garcia Lorca

A Cautious Power Dwells, Accidental and Passing

The turn of the 19th century, in the province of Granada, in Andalusia, Spain, washed more by the Mediterranean Sea than the Atlantic Ocean, more west than north of the strait of Gibraltar, is a small town by the name of Fuente Vaquros, which saw the germinating years of the poet and playwright of the future, Federico Garcia Lorca. While around the world the British fought the second Boer war, the Americans commissioned the construction of the Central American Shipping Canal in Nicargua, beside sanctioning the Gold Standard Act, which placed the American dollar under the Gold Standard, securing its position in the times to come. Elsewhere Russia invaded Munchuria while the city of Munich saw the inception of Fußball-Club Bayern München, and the Parisians geared up for the Paris World Exhibition, which also saw the city play host to the second Modern Olympics. While the world was still discovering its first Hamburger sandwich, and perhaps slam dunk, yet as was it then, so is it now, the world could not shed much care to the cause of a Hispanic historian. Like the awkward moment you realise that god might as well made a lot many grub, yet man made hummus. That makes man as much of a maker, as is God. Not exaggerating.

‘bout the Bard:

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Staying true to the script, for each actor got to write their own lines, the authorship moves on ahead about Federcio Garcia Lorca. Federico del Sagrado Corazon de Jesus Garcia Lorca, too much of a quintessential specimen for a student of Spanish nomenclature, a symbol of a cultural association, which in the 1920’s was known as the Generación del 27, a revival of an earlier movement from the 1880’s called Ateneo de Sevilla or the Excursions Ateneo and Society . The brainchild of a certain D. Manuel Sales i Ferre. The spirit of a group of outlandish Spanish bohemians, which a certain Herbert Huncke and friends a few decades later would radicalise as Beat, adding another passage to the labyrinths of endless Americano. Garcia Lorca as a personage is someone whom universal Americano would endorse with wide open arms, holding roses in bloom and blazing guns for a background score. The body of work becomes essentially ephemeral, as it sits pretty on the crust of the gazeless persona, that which Americano could not get enough of.

Gracia Lorca brought enough to the table, to have humble Americano drooling for a lifetime. To begin with his Gypsy image from the early days, his aspirations of been a musician since even before, whence he once looked up to classic sound scrapes of Debussy, Chopin, Beethoven, before the flames of flamenco fed upon the fuel that we know as the mind. A communist, a keeper of liberal opinions, queer, a suitor to Salvador Dali, a traveler to the Americas of opportunities. Among all a writer of sonnets, dedicated to the theater, assassinated. Verses inked ever since. Take over philosophy.

 poetry grows:

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Pastel and Graphite on Paper. by Nikola Jankovic

For the title of the script demands for the Declaring, we must provide the appropriate space. Nothing more radical than what already has the internet abuzz. Nothing meat shearing, or ground breaking in the literal sense. Only poetry, for which there is this Spaniard to be blamed. The poem which goes by the name of, Declaring. One among a handful of poems of Garcia Lorca which a reader in the language, English could come across.

As a piece of construction barely expanses over 10 lines, and uses precise and pragmatic vocabulary. The precision, on fact par excellent.

The poet through this poem, asks the reader to search for, above all a conscience. A piece of mind that is confident and comforting like the autumn sun. The poets asks the reader to rest their feet. The poet like the snail on the sand looks for happiness in absolute casual things, like windows once walked, in the shell of their absolute little lives, next to some stone desk life, the snail cautiously climbed the wall. Self-assured of its strength, to the appearance accidental, and to the timeline, only passing.

The poet describes the world through the absolute windows, in their little lives, talking to overlooking walls, of letters  perched august like a throne on stones. The desk-life unfolds bringing into creation chances and the permeating felling of passage of time. Ain’t it worth the time you invest. Only ten lines.

sunflower

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