No último dia 8 de junho a editora HarperCollins publicou The Collected Works of Jim Morrison: Poetry, Journals, Transcripts and Lyrics, um livro de quase 600 páginas de trabalhos inéditos do vocalista do The Doors.
De poemas a letras de canções, o livro também terá anotações nunca vistas antes pelo público. Para celebrar o lançamento, a Rolling Stone teve acesso ao poema que serve de epílogo para o livro.
As I Look Back é autobiográfico e fala sobre a infância de Jim Morrison com sua família militar e o acompanha até sua vida pós-The Doors, quando ele imaginava que viveria sem música um dia. “A alegria de se apresentar acabou”, ele escreveu.
As obras do livro foram reunidas pelo próprio Jim Morrison em um rascunho que ele chamou de Plan for Book para quando ele decidisse lançar um livro. Ainda não foi anunciada a tradução do livro para o português, mas a obra já ganhou venda internacional da cópia em inglês.
Por ainda não existir uma tradução original, escolhemos não traduzir o poema divulgado pela Rolling Stone para não alterar o significado e a formatação de Jim Morrison. Caso queira ler o poema na íntegra em inglês, confira logo abaixo.
As I Look Back (via Rolling Stone)
As I look back
over my life
I am struck by post cards Ruined snap shots
faded posters Of a time, I can’t recall
Before the beach, & birth,
was the home for travelers juvenile pen
a barracks in limbo of souls sans desire
They instill desire, day by day
& night too
Parachute birth
1st moments as war
1st days of pain
Struggle toward
consciousness
I am a Scot, or so
I’m told.
Really the heir of Mystery
Christians
The child of a
Military family . . . .
1st early memories
— attention-getting baby hide from mother
& elephant walk
back thru time to that child
again, staring rotten
thru the fence at the angels
next door
early memories
Asthma
Albuquerque lawn chairs & lock’d
in garage shelves w/girl
Beautiful Mexican girl – her mother
May dance – lost shoe
“Bad boy” – No, he’s a good boy
Think of Nothing – get what you want
The Mail Box
I initiated dirt-clod
fights in the canyon
& got bombed
in the stomach by rocks
Parachutes from
silk handkerchief
Kites
Snake in the Glen
“But they were picking
on the little kids”
I told stories & led
Treasure hunts for children
I led bicycle packs
chasing girls home from
school & delighted in
spanking them
I rebelled against church
after phases of
fervor
I curried favor in school
& attack’d the teachers
I was given a
desk in the corner
I was a fool
&
The smartest kid
in class
I created a mock treasure
Tried to get blood
To hide in woods near school
a monitor stopt me
Walks in D.C. in
Negro streets. The library
& book stores. Orange
brick in warm sun.
The books & poets magic
Then sex gives greater stimulation
Than you’ve ever known &
all peace & books lose their
charm & you are thrown
back on the eye of vision
chooks – depantsing – fights – Blue Bus etc.
Trying to have a ducktail
asserted myself by wit
I have tried to learn more about
homos but it’s not easy to discuss.
This is true about sex in general,
even more than philosophy or religion
Morés change – but not the mystery
History of Rock
coinciding w/my
adolescence
Came to LA
to Film School
I was never really
much of a doper
Acid popular, taken at least once or twice
by most everyone I knew
“grinding your wheels”
I can attest to its power. Saw many
astonishing things
Venice Summer
Drug Visions
Roof top songs
The early Notebook
Lost Notebooks
Watching Elvis on T.V.
humorous R & R riots
Name came 1st
Doors of Perception
Our lugubrious snaky
sound. Heavy as ice
as glass.
early struggles
&
humiliations
Thanks to the girls
who fed me.
Making Records
Elvis had sex – wise
mature voice at 19.
Mine still retains the
nasal whine of a
repressed adolescent
minor squeaks & furies
An interesting singer
at best – a scream
or a sick croon. Nothing
in-between.
It’s hard, this going back
Tropicana – naked
Acid. Christ, it’s
you, a female human.
Bo Diddley
Them
London Fog
Whisky – the girls cheated Box office
Love
ROAD DAYS
fear of Plane death
And night was what Night
should be
A girl, a bottle, & blessed sleep
Night of the End
— does no one understand
wreck studio
A natural leader, a poet,
a Shaman, w/the
soul of a clown.
My desire for family
What am I doing
in the Bull Ring
Arena
Every public figure
running for Leader
Spectators at the Tomb
-riot watchers
Fear of Eyes
Assassination
Artaud’s effort
to escape the collective
consciousness
I have ploughed
My seed thru the heart
of the nation.
Injected a germ in the psychic blood vein.
Now I embrace the poetry
of business & become – for
a time – a “Prince of Industry”
Had the disgrace
to be successful.
Back Door Man
Never tipped over into
revolutionary hysteria.
1st to bring normal
academic intelligence
to rock. Classical
American
I sit looking out
office window movie
The soft parade
Longhairs
bands over the city
gangs of outlaws
The meeting
Rid of managers & agents
The horror of business
Public self-analysis
The Problem of Money
guilt
do I deserve it?
Being drunk is a good disguise.
I drink so I
can talk to assholes.
This includes me.
Miami blew my confidence
but really I blew it
on purpose
The Decency Rally
“And away we go.”
The Jury – Sniffing the Witnesses
Trying the Devil in Florida
Fear of Jail
“No, you’d adjust.”
Relief of trial (bearable)
& pleasant life here.
each day is a drive thru history
regret for wasted nights
& wasted years
I pissed it all away
American Music
After 4 yrs. I’m left w/a
mind like a fuzzy hammer
Milton’s youth
— will I get a
chance to write my
Paradise Lost
To break w/past (wife
& partners) & define self.
The joy of performing has
ended.
Joy of films is pleasure
of writing.
End w/fond good-bye
& plans for future
–Not an actor
writer – filmmaker
Money from home
good luck
stay out of trouble
Which of my cellves
will be remember’d
Good-bye America
I loved you
