On June 8th, HarperCollins published The Collected Works of Jim Morrison: Poetry, Journals, Transcripts and Lyrics , a book of nearly 600 pages of previously unpublished works by the lead singer of The Doors.
From poems to song lyrics, the book will also include annotations never before seen by the public. To celebrate the launch, Rolling Stone gained access to the poem that serves as the book's epilogue.
As I Look Back is autobiographical and tells the story of Jim Morrison with his military family, following him through his life after The Doors, when he imagined he would one day live without music. "The joy of performing is gone," he wrote.
The works in the book were compiled by Jim Morrison himself in a draft he called " Plan for Book," for when he decided to publish it as a book. A Portuguese translation has not yet been announced, but the English version has already sold internationally .
Since an original translation does not yet exist, we have chosen not to translate the poem published by Rolling Stone in order to avoid altering Jim Morrison's meaning and formatting. If you would like to read the poem in its entirety in English, please see below.
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 started 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
& attacked 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 stopped me
Walks in DC in
Negro streets. The library
& book stores. Orange
brick in warm sun.
The books & poems 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
I 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 testify to its power. Saw many
astonishing things
Venice Summer
Drug Visions
Rooftop songs
The early notebook
Lost Notebooks
Watching Elvis on TV
humorous R&R riots
Name cam 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
Whiskey – 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
No one understands
wretched 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 plowed
My seed thru the heart
of the nation.
Injected a germ into 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. Classic
American
I sit looking out
office window movie
The soft parade
Longhairs
bands over the city
gangs of outlaws
The meeting
Ride 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 cells
will be remembered'd
Goodbye America,
I loved you.