Wednesday 1st September, 2004

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Thought for Today

September is the turning point... the time that takes us home.

 

This One Does It For Me!

Dear Ken,

I'm not sure of the exact year, but somewhere around 1970 Mr. McKuen made an all too brief stop in St. Louis.

He was the Guest Celebrity at the Fireman's Rodeo ( a one time big deal in our city, now only a mere memory for us "50 somethings.") My dad was the man who picked Rod up at the airport and brought him into the city. I slipped a copy of "Listen To The Warm" in with my dad's things that morning before going to school with a note begging him to get an autograph. My dad was a little perturbed at my request....." I can't bother a big star like him for something like that..." But he did. And Rod signed the book.

It was the first book my mother had ever purchased herself, and was, indeed, her most prized possession. After some 20+ years, she had lost track of her gem. It wasn't until about a year ago that I found another copy for her. (Didn't know about your website, or Stanyan House, at the time.) It now sits along side her copies of many of Rod's other books. My mother has never really had many things she could call her own, except, possibly, her 5 children. But her Rod McKuen "collection" has been her pride, and sometimes, her comfort.

Many of his writings have gotten her through the chaos of too many mouths to feed and not enough money. A son away in Vietnam, and again recently in Iraq. The suicide of another son. And now the sadness of a body growing older while her mind and heart stay young. She has turned me on to his works over the years and, I can tell you, they have seen me through some dark times and continue to lift me out of those blue times we all still occasionally have.

At the risk of sounding sappy, please tell Rod of our deep appreciation for his sharing his passion, his sense of humor, his anguish, and his love. What a gift he has been to all of us, and what a gift it would be for him, if he could know how he has moved us to places we'd not likely know without his lead!

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU

Kathie B.

Thanks for a wonderful letter, Kathie. It never ceases to amaze me just how many lives that one little book has touched.

You didn't choose a poem to accompany your letter so I've done it for you. "Eighteen" has to be one of the definitive poems from "Listen to the Warm" and it comes with lots of good wishes for both you and your Mom.

If you have a favorite McKuen song, poem or story you'd like to share, or if you have a question you'd like answered, drop me a line at kenb@mckuen.com and I'll feature your letter right here one Wednesday soon.

 - Ken, Johannesburg, South Africa, September 1

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Rod's random thoughts September is the edge of hope, and sometimes it’s the center. Travel through it carefully, but with ease.

Summer seldom comes at some appointed time. Unbridled and unheralded, it jogs along toward September in a forward, headlong run.

Never come up to an existing standard, always move ahead.

EIGHTEEN

I stood watching
as you crossed the street
                for the last time.
Trying hard to memorize you.
Knowing it would be important.
The way you walked,
the way you looked back over your shoulder at me.

Years later
I would hear the singing of the wind
and that day’s singing would come back.
That time of going would return to me
every sun-gray day.
April or August it would be the same
      for years to come.

Man has not made the kind of bromide
that would let me sleep without your memory
or written erotically enough
to erase the excitement of just your hands.

These long years later it is worse
for I remember what it was
as well as what it might have been.

 - from "Listen to the Warm", 1970

 
© 1970, 1986, 2002, 2003 by Stanyan Music Group & Rod McKuen. All Rights Reserved
Webmaster: Ken Blackie o Birthday research by Wade Alexander, coordinated by Melinda Smith
Poetry from the collection of Jay Hagan o Sound & Fury: Dr. Eric Yeager o Editor at Large: Bruce Bellingham
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