Wilderness, Lost Poems by Jim Morrison
By | Arts & Culture Editor
This past summer, I remember getting out of my reading slump and finally making progress in my reading goal of ten books by the end of 2024 (I got through six). This may not seem like a lot to some of you but it definitely was a more
ambitious goal of mine. As a child, I was a pretty avid reader, and I’ve built quite the library for myself since then. I do that thing where I go out and buy a book, promising myself I’ll read it soon, but then it sits on my shelf for years until I… go out and buy a new book, and the cycle happens again and again. I swear there’s a magnet that leads me to the book section whenever I step into Goodwill. Well, let me tell you, I’m a changed person this 2025, and I somewhat… mostly… maybe… have concepts of a resolution where I WILL get through ten books and maybe even more this year, thank you very much. Have I gotten through any so far? No. But I am currently reading five books in moderate rotation. One I started three years ago, believe it or not. Shout out to Orlando by Virginia Woolf, I will get to you…
Life gets in the way of my reading sometimes, and if I’m being honest with you right now, TikTok is the thing that REALLY gets in the way of it the majority of the time. But hey, there was the TikTok ban, and I stupidly deleted the app entirely from my phone, NOT anticipating that it would be back within 24 hours, and now I can’t download it from the App Store. Who else is in the same boat, am I right? Anyway because of this, I have more time on my hands outside of doomscrolling. Where else am I going to find enrichment time? Oh yeah, within the ancient technological vessel known as the book, and boy, do I have tons of those.
So I’m sitting at home during Christmas break wondering what I should do with myself as the TikTok ban looms over my rotten little head. Then a lightbulb dimly flickered, and I thought about my reading goal… Where I had to read five more books in the few short weeks that I had. A few weeks prior I had gone into one of my favorite secondhand bookstores in Portland (shout out to Yes Books) and bought something different than what I usually read. I’ve never really been one to read poetry, but I decided that day that I would try it. Fast forward, and I’m sitting on my couch at 2 am reading Wilderness: The Lost Writings of Jim Morrison
Jim Morrison was (rest in peace) the frontman of the late 1960s band The Doors and regarded himself as a poet. You know, I listen to some of those Doors songs, so I thought, what the hell, let’s get into the guy’s writing. I wanted to see what he would’ve written during his drug-induced days. I did a little reading on him and quickly came to realize that we had much in common in terms of what kind of work we enjoyed. Morrison read various works by Albert Camus and Jack Kerouac (Lonesome Traveler is in my current rotation), and he was fond of Beatnik literature. I always knew that The Doors were a huge influence when it came to a lot of the Gothic Rock I listened to, and the front singers of bands I really love, such as Siouxsie and the Banshees as well as Joy Division, have cited him as their influence. I thought because he was a catalyst and a common connection in a lot of my interests, I might as well see what his writing was all about, besides, I really enjoyed the album An American Prayer. Which, The Doors created after his death in 1971 by overlaying instrumentals over his recorded poetry.
Wilderness is composed of Morrison’s lost writings; poems, notes, dialogue, epigrams, and lyrics. I found they were sort of everywhere, often without a clear explanation for someone like me who is new at reading outside of narrative works. I made sure to take my time with it, especially because there were so many different modes of writing compiled into one book. I felt towards the beginning, a lot of the short poems and notes were difficult to follow and decipher but I feel that’s a given when reading the works not published by himself. There was an unpolished charm to them. It may also just have been my ignorance that led me to not understand the content. In contrast, I felt there were some pieces I really enjoyed and felt that as I read towards the end, those pieces stood out to me more when looking back. A lot of his work was fragmented. They were chaotic and nonsensical at times, but I still appreciated a lot of them and could make some sense when placing it into my own meaning. I enjoyed the imagery and spirituality Morrison infused his work with. I found that even if his words were jumbled, there was a certain otherworldly observation he exhibited in the language he used. His words were rich and even if some of it didn’t make too much sense, there was still a raw and unabridged power behind the prose. I also observed that in some instances, I could make out the influences from Jack Kerouac. All in all, I enjoyed this book, although I felt challenged in understanding what he was meaning. I figured it wasn’t his best work, so I cannot fairly say I disliked it completely, knowing the circumstances. I hope to read more of his poetry. However, I felt it wasn’t best showcased in this book. Maybe I’ll feel different after reading it a few more times.
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