I had a conversation with my excellent friend Patricia Morrison last night, about the newest of her very smart mystery books, set in the '60s.
One of the underlying themes of the books (and the '60s) is the destruction of old aristocracy (wealth, industry) and the rise of a new (youth, charisma). This morning I wondered whether this was a topic also addressed in a collection of poems by her late husband, the lyricist, singer and poet Jim Morrison.
Not so much, as it turns out, since I was misremembering the title as The Lords and the New People, not the New Creatures. But it got me turning over in my head my favorite Morrison lyric, the first words sung by Morrison on track one of the Doors' first record:
You know
the day destroys the night
night divides the day
I enjoy a hearty portion of mute nostril agony as much as the next inheritor of the '60s, but nothing slays me like concision, concentration and the elevation of the vernacular.
It's a trope, trivial, a cliche you might dismiss - night yields to day as day to night. But there's more here to hear.
the day destroys the night
Right there! Destroys! Destroys? Overcomes, supersedes, reigns o'er, sure, heard that before, but destroys? The day obliterates, crushes, kills the night forever? The day destroys the night, as if its victory were vicious and permanent. Also kinda cool that it's the day, associated with life, action, positivity, committing this act of violence against the sinister, mysterious and frightening night. It's not a sunrise, the sky is on fire.
night divides the day
This is the kind of transition I love because it operates against rationality, sequence, and is better for that. And I would never think of it. The day destroys the night? I'd be likely to think that the night must in turn declare war on, rebel against, overthrow the day. That's would be my direct, sensible, logical extension.
Instead Morrison next puts the day and night in different relation (even the definite article differs), a continuity of days broken by nights. If that first line I see as an explosion, this second is a band of white broken by blacks - and the blacks, being mere separators, interruptions, would be smaller bands, stripes between the lengths of days.
But night divides the day. It's not a pause, a rest, a sleep. Whatever the continuity of days, the night breaks them. Repeatedly, inexorably, snipping them off like a Fate. The day forever, and forever broken by the night.
Between them, for me, if not for you, is the invisible lyric, the Zen stretch where dualism vanishes. You think it's one and another, you think this acts against that and that against this, but they do exist together. They are a continuum. The superiority of one over the other is illusory (there is no aristocracy to overthrow). They are only more time seeming to pass, seeming to change. And the one that's destroyed in the morning still exists to divide the day come night.
It's very close to a koan. Does the match eat the fire or does the fire eat the match?
It's not as if I think Jim (and I call him Jim because that's what I call him when I'm talking with Patricia, not because I think I have some special or vicarious relation to him) had this all intended when he wrote these lines in his notebook, most likely wacked out of his gourd on a summery California beach. But he kept these words, when I'm sure there were many opportunities to lose them. He kept them stoned and he kept them sober. He kept them together and had the sense that they would be lesser, alone or apart. This is called writing poetry. And because I don't like his rococo verse (and such big portions) I've generally only tentatively given him the title of poet in my own mind. But while writing this I've convinced myself or he's convinced me (is that the afterlife?), yes, he was a poet.
Yeah, there are actually three lines. That "y'know" is the difference between a lyricist/singer and a poet on paper. And dropping the definite article before "night" in the last line is the work of a lyricist, singer and poet acting as one.
> Patricia Morrison's four rock 'n' roll mysteries are available as books and ebooks from Lizard Queen Press. They and her previous books are also available from Amazon. Jim Morrison's books and songs can be found through many purveyors of fine media.
One of the underlying themes of the books (and the '60s) is the destruction of old aristocracy (wealth, industry) and the rise of a new (youth, charisma). This morning I wondered whether this was a topic also addressed in a collection of poems by her late husband, the lyricist, singer and poet Jim Morrison.
Not so much, as it turns out, since I was misremembering the title as The Lords and the New People, not the New Creatures. But it got me turning over in my head my favorite Morrison lyric, the first words sung by Morrison on track one of the Doors' first record:
You know
the day destroys the night
night divides the day
I enjoy a hearty portion of mute nostril agony as much as the next inheritor of the '60s, but nothing slays me like concision, concentration and the elevation of the vernacular.
It's a trope, trivial, a cliche you might dismiss - night yields to day as day to night. But there's more here to hear.
the day destroys the night
Right there! Destroys! Destroys? Overcomes, supersedes, reigns o'er, sure, heard that before, but destroys? The day obliterates, crushes, kills the night forever? The day destroys the night, as if its victory were vicious and permanent. Also kinda cool that it's the day, associated with life, action, positivity, committing this act of violence against the sinister, mysterious and frightening night. It's not a sunrise, the sky is on fire.
night divides the day
This is the kind of transition I love because it operates against rationality, sequence, and is better for that. And I would never think of it. The day destroys the night? I'd be likely to think that the night must in turn declare war on, rebel against, overthrow the day. That's would be my direct, sensible, logical extension.
Instead Morrison next puts the day and night in different relation (even the definite article differs), a continuity of days broken by nights. If that first line I see as an explosion, this second is a band of white broken by blacks - and the blacks, being mere separators, interruptions, would be smaller bands, stripes between the lengths of days.
But night divides the day. It's not a pause, a rest, a sleep. Whatever the continuity of days, the night breaks them. Repeatedly, inexorably, snipping them off like a Fate. The day forever, and forever broken by the night.
Between them, for me, if not for you, is the invisible lyric, the Zen stretch where dualism vanishes. You think it's one and another, you think this acts against that and that against this, but they do exist together. They are a continuum. The superiority of one over the other is illusory (there is no aristocracy to overthrow). They are only more time seeming to pass, seeming to change. And the one that's destroyed in the morning still exists to divide the day come night.
It's very close to a koan. Does the match eat the fire or does the fire eat the match?
It's not as if I think Jim (and I call him Jim because that's what I call him when I'm talking with Patricia, not because I think I have some special or vicarious relation to him) had this all intended when he wrote these lines in his notebook, most likely wacked out of his gourd on a summery California beach. But he kept these words, when I'm sure there were many opportunities to lose them. He kept them stoned and he kept them sober. He kept them together and had the sense that they would be lesser, alone or apart. This is called writing poetry. And because I don't like his rococo verse (and such big portions) I've generally only tentatively given him the title of poet in my own mind. But while writing this I've convinced myself or he's convinced me (is that the afterlife?), yes, he was a poet.
Yeah, there are actually three lines. That "y'know" is the difference between a lyricist/singer and a poet on paper. And dropping the definite article before "night" in the last line is the work of a lyricist, singer and poet acting as one.
> Patricia Morrison's four rock 'n' roll mysteries are available as books and ebooks from Lizard Queen Press. They and her previous books are also available from Amazon. Jim Morrison's books and songs can be found through many purveyors of fine media.
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