Wednesday 21st December, 2005
San Sebastian Strings
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now!
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A Thought for Today
Dream often and dream big.
This
One Does It For Me!
Although I said "This One Does
It For Me" would be taking a break during the month of December, Joke
Vervelde has a very special request.
After the wonderful reports
from the Utrecht concerts, how could I say no?
Hi Ken,
Will you please post (is this the right word???) a poem from Rod on the
website?
I mean "Have you been to Holland?" from Folio 1985 and it was/is for my
friend Lydia Brandt. Once, July 5th 1998, it was all ready on the site
...
Is it possible?
Baie dankie en alles van die beste, Ken!
Joke.
Here it is, Joke, together
with a couple of additional "Holland" poems.
Have You Been to Holland ?
for Lydia Brandt
Have you been to Holland
to Friesland where the locks lie open
and North Sea meets Atlantic ?
Following Rembrandt on the night watch
as gulls give windmills helping hand
to Rotterdam, then Amsterdam
through acres of petals
firm and proud.
Have you seen the tall ships
waiting for tide and wind in measure ?
Fishermen fondling nets like lovers,
brothers all of the mother sea.
Sisters all of guarded land.
Children each of the Heavenly Father,
protector of this marched-on place
every neighboring country covets.
Who grows the bulbs, sails the ships,
builds the dikes and in between
staves off armadas from Aragon ?
Only the Dutchman tall and proud
guarding the land through centuries.
Here is this beautiful stopping place
invaders wisely call Netherlands.
-from "Intervals" 1986
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ROD McKUEN
CONCERTS
ROD
McKUEN APPEARANCES
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First Day
of Winter
Alicia Alonso o
Andy Dick o
Benjamin Disraeli o
Phil Donahue o
Chris Evert o
Jane Fonda o
Samuel L. Jackson o
Florence Griffith Joyner o
Chris Evert Lloyd o Ed
Nelson o
Jean Racine o
Ray Romano o
Joseph Stalin o
Kiefer Sutherland o
Kurt Waldheim o
Paul Winchell o
Frank Zappa |
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Only our own conceits and arrogance enable us to hate.
Love finds beauty in the plainest smile.
Imagination is my only refuge and it has
stood me well.
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FOUR DAYS IN A HOLLAND WINTER |
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SUNDAY NIGHT
I’m living
no I’m staying,
down the street.
We can walk.
MONDAY AFTERNOON
Blinking like an owl in morning
I woke up wanting you,
for all the Denver days ahead
and ever after,
for all the Sausalitos past
and Boston nights that ended
before they had beginnings.
Thick throated still
and not yet
wide awake
enough
I finally came alive
to find you studying me.
I wish that I
had told you then
I wasn’t what you watched,
and given time to rearrange
my face and frame for you,
I’d be closer to the man
who picked you up
the night before.
Nearer to whatever
you must have wanted
or expected.
But seeing you
at my breath’s edge
filled my head
with such a wonder
that I could only
pray in silence
that though your eyes
were open
you stared at me from sleep.
A sleep I would not dare
invade.
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
A cat
came off the higher roof
and down below my window,
balancing on so thin a rail
that even pigeons had not dared
that tightrope walk before.
A red and yellow cat
of some age
and some experience
sat the afternoon out
down below my window – waiting
as he must have known
I waited.
A cat for company
until the sunset started
then he leisurely climbed back.
TUESDAY NIGHT
I don’t know why we lie here
on the floor collecting dust
when both of us are well aware
that any bed’s more comfortable
than carpet over hardwood.
What the evening needs
is some suggestion.
One of us will have to stop
being or pretending to be shy.
Till boldness catches hold,
of you or me or we,
use my elbow as a pillow
let my body cover you
as lightly as it
can
with this bumpy body blanket.
Now we’re eye to eye. Hello.
WEDNESDAY
I move in close,
Crouching like a fighter
waiting for a chance.
An opening.
I cannot wait much longer.
Give in quietly or go.
Are you that wild
late blooming plant?
If so you might not wait
to tell me
for there’s little time
within this life
and the next one’s
nearly spent.
WEDNESDAY NIGHT
I do not have to touch you
to be touching you
nor feel your face
to feel your face.
Yet sometimes touching you
I feel you not at all.
There seems to be
so much of you at times
enough to fill
and spill across the room.
Other times
I stretch in your direction
and draw back to me
great armfuls of nothing,
great handfuls of air.
- from "Moment To Moment" 1973, 1974, 1975 |
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