We love it—who doesn’t?—when a few words express a great deal. Who has time for novels? Let’s extract wisdom from words in a minute, and live.
In Scarriet March Madness Round One in the Song bracket, we have this great piece of work from the Doors:
Send my credentials to the house of detention.
Jim Morrison, the lead singer of the band, who passed away at 27 in Paris, is no doubt their author, though the group often gave “The Doors” songwriting credits.
But how perfect is this!
“Send…” I’m too lazy to do it myself.
“Credentials.” The key to societal advancement.
“House of detention.” Send my credentials there.
No wonder Morrison died early. The work the Doors produced in their brief life made Jim Morrison immortal. He is still as popular fifty years later. He knew it. There was nothing left to do. Credentials were no longer needed. There was no longer any need to be detained.
The Doors lived in an age of increasing license, where being loose and dirty was not yet completely acceptable—the truly thrilling vector they were on was the breaking open of everything. Morrison couldn’t turn back and simply delight in the joys of Alabama, for instance. The Alabama Song by Brecht/Weil, yes. The Doors covered that song. (“O show me the way to the next whiskey bar/pretty girl”)
But not this one.
We kissed in a field of white. And stars fell on Alabama. Last night.
In 2002, “Stars fell on Alabama” was put on Alabama license plates. There was an actual meteor shower in 1833 which inspired the lyrics.
“Last night” is a concept beyond Morrison. For him, and the Baudelaire 60s, everything was now.
Last night someone sent my credentials to the house of detention.
That doesn’t work. This does:
Send my credentials to the house of detention.
The Doors advance.
A smattering of stoned applause.
Scarriet 
Desdi said,
March 9, 2017 at 4:40 pm
Should vomitous overdose be esteemed
with visions that actual prophets dreamed?
These anointed cherubs of sad excess
can never illuminate, much less bless
a nation of youth who have lost their way
and can’t even choose which download to play.
Morrison, maaaan – that dude was so profound
he broke on through to that state where I’m bound…
[fragment of a work in progress
entitled “Lost Prophets Regained” to be published for Ntl. Poetry Month]
Ghost of Blake said,
March 9, 2017 at 5:40 pm
Jim Morrison died at age 27. John Keats died at age 25.
Your point?
thomasbrady said,
March 9, 2017 at 10:12 pm
I believe Keats was 26.
Keats looked 17. Morrison looked 57.
I don’t know what the point is, really.
There is no point.
There is never a point.
Or, as soon as there is a point, it moves.
Ghost of Blake said,
March 10, 2017 at 1:37 am
Keats was 25 when he died.
Reread the poem. It appears to reference Morrison in a pejorative way. I was wondering. . . what’s the point? Is it the drugs? Because he died young?
It is alleged that Keats used opium. What’s the difference? What’s the point?
Ghost of Blake said,
March 10, 2017 at 3:37 am
My point is: why piss on the dead and speak ill of those who accomplished more than you ever will?
Desdi said,
March 11, 2017 at 4:25 pm
If you are directing the comments to me RE the poetry I posted, consider it my “stoned applause” for the false prophet Jim Morrison.
I think the overdosed rockstars of the 60’s (and 70’s,80’s ad nauseum) are horrible role models for youth. They are satanic pied pipers at best and lost addicted souls at worst.
Just my poetic opinion, Gary ☺
Ghost of Blake said,
March 11, 2017 at 5:45 pm
Of course one could say the same about those ‘overdosed’ stars of old like the opium addicts Edgar Allen Poe and John Keats, et al.
Ghost of Blake said,
March 11, 2017 at 5:54 pm
Make that ‘Allan’. Sorry. But don’t forget Ginsberg, Kerouac and Kesey.
Sounds like you could use some drugs to chill, dude!
Desdi said,
March 11, 2017 at 8:25 pm
Well yes, you make a good point – but the Romantics and Poe did not celebrate rebellion and chemical dissipation as explicitly as the dead idols of Rock did.
Ghost of Blake said,
March 11, 2017 at 9:09 pm
Of course today we have an opiod epidemic with record overdoses and deaths. Give me the psychedelic 60’s any day.
Ghost of Blake said,
March 11, 2017 at 9:26 pm
I think that should be ‘opioid’. This stupid Kindle can’t even spell!
Desdi said,
March 12, 2017 at 2:30 am
Don’t get me wrong– I love hippie psychedelia. I just think it can lead down some dangerously false paths.
Ghost of Blake said,
March 12, 2017 at 2:53 am
Doesn’t alcohol? And greed? And hatred? And violence?
Those would appear to be much more serious problems than getting a little high and making music or writing poetry.
Ghost of Blake said,
March 12, 2017 at 3:58 am
In fact, I think getting a little high and making music is certainly more honorable than making war, murder, rape and theft. I’m afraid that you may be just another poor misguided reactionary conservative.
It is said that 100% of those opposed to legalizing marijuana have never actually smoked marijuana. Go figure.
Apparently ignorance is not always bliss.
Ghost of Blake said,
March 12, 2017 at 5:03 am
Desdi, I say this because I think that you are confusing the symptoms with the disease. The disease is human nature. Not every married man beats his wife. Not every poor and desperate man robs a bank and not every angry man kills someone. Likewise, not everyone who imbibes will overdose or drink to excess.
Do not make the exception the model. This is what American conservatives do. They stereotype. “That black man was violent. They ALL must be violent!”
No single human is exactly like another. That is both the mystery and beauty of Being.
Gary