I planned on doing something else to share on the 3rd July, but sadly I run short on time. Luckily this was nearly done and well I suppose this fits too, considering both died on this day... 

(No need to be sad though, celebrate my birthday instead. It was actually yesterday, but I was away, so I'm celebrating it today with friends. So remember your lovely author and today will be great.✌)

Well as I mentioned already a few times in this book Jim Morrison wrote a song and a poem for Brian. So let's look at this in more detail. 

I already posted the song in the chapter Book, Movies & More. Part 2. So I won't talk about it again:

 'Tightrope ride'

Anyway let's talk about the poem. It's a bit long, so I'll post the whole thing at the end of the chapter. First, I wanted to show you these two extracts to give everyone a bit more context. They talk about the poem in some more detail as well as Jim's relationship with Brian.

The first one is from a book by Chris Salewicz:

"Jim was deeply saddened by the passing of Brian Jones on 3 July 1969. 'Ode to LA while Thinking of Brian Jones, Deceased' was a 73-line poem he quickly wrote, publishing it at his own expense and giving it away to members of the audience at Doors concerts on 21 and 22 July at the Aquarius Theater on Sunset in Hollywood."

In another book, by Stephen Davis, the whole thing gets described a bit differently... I don't agree with it completely though... You'll probably see what I mean in a minute:

"Then on July 3, in England, Brian Jones died (mysteriously, at 27) in his swimming pool, and it really shook Jim up. The founder of the Rolling Stones had been an idol to Jim, but stardom had meant more to Brian Jones than music did, and he had suffered a long public decline for two years. He'd been repeatedly arrested for drug possession by crooked cops in London. He'd lost his treasured girlfriend, who left him for his best friend, Keith Richards. Rumors that Brian had been murdered began in London, and reached L.A. almost immediately.Brian Jones' death began a series of weird rock star extinctions that would only end in a Paris bathtub two years later, to the day, after Jones' still unexplained death.

Brian Jones trajectory from heroic rock star to pathetic ghost must have given Jim Morrison pause, because in the day after Brian's death was announced, Jim asked Elektra exec. Steve Harris what would happen to the Doors if he, Jim, suddenly died. In a burst of energy, Jim feverishly composed what some think was his best poem, "Ode to L.A. While Thinking of Brian Jones, Deceased." It's also his saddest poem. The title is redolent of the elegiac odes of Shelley Keats, and Lord Bryon, but the style owes more to the Beat strophes of Kenneth Patch. They capture Brian's "porky's satyr's leer", and evoke the rock star's early, cathode-ray aura: "You were the bleached/ Sun /for TV afternoon." Brian Jones had gone off to "meat heaven" with the cannibals and jews: "I hope you went out/ Smiling /Like a child/ into the cool remnant /of a dream." Micheal McClure saw it clearly, transparently, Brian Jones, in his tragic death, had become Jim Morrison's metaphor for himself."

I can't tell how accurate that book is on Jim, because I haven't read it, but I hope for the author's sake he didn't portray Jim as he did Brian in it.  

Anyway now that we heard so much about the poem, let's have a look at it:

Ode to LA While Thinking of Brian Jones, Deceased. 

I'm a resident of a city.
They've just picked me to play
the Prince of Denmark

Poor Ophelia

All those ghosts he never saw
Floating to doom
On an iron candle

Come back, brave warrior
Do the dive
On another channel

Hot buttered pool
Where's Marrakesh
Under the falls
the wild storm
where savages fell out
in late afternoon
monsters of rhythm

You've left your
Nothing
to compete w/
Silence

I hope you went out
Smiling
Like a child
Into the cool remnant
of a dream

The angel man
w/Serpents competing
for his palms
& fingers
Finally claimed
This benevolent
Soul

Ophelia

Leaves, sodden
in silk

Chlorine
dream
mad stifled
Witness

The diving board, the plunge
The pool

You were a fighter
a damask musky muse

You were the bleached
Sun
for TV afternoon

horned-toads
maverick of a yellow spot

Look now to where it's got
You

in meat heaven
w/the cannibals
& jews

The gardener
Found
The body, rampant, Floating
Lucky Stiff

What is this green pale stuff
You're made of

Poke holes in the goddess
Skin

Will he Stink
Carried heavenward
Thru the halls
of music

No chance.

Requiem for a heavy
That smile
That porky satyr's
leer
has leaped upward

into the loam

Thanks for reading, voting and commenting. ♡♡♡

#03071969