SATURDAY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edward & Rod: The Brother's McKuen. Photographed by Diane Kopperman, May 2002 at BB King's New York City

A Thought for Today

Language has no end and no beginning, other than the coda each death makes and the paragraph that starts with each new birth. 

 

FROM the¨BOOKS

Today’s poetry is taken from “. . and autumn came,” “Alone” and my newest book “A Safe Place to Land.”

THREE POEMS FROM “ALONE”

Concerto for Four Hands

Those waiting shadows
have always come along
in time to save me
from the mischief
              of myself.
Now in this
        snow-baroque winter
this Telemann time
              of Empty
do some shadows
       not yet formed
conspire to fill
       my empty mattress,
my too-wide room ?

Come soon then
for I am growing tired
     of Telemann
I could use some Bach.

Butterfly

Yesterday
a butterfly
flew through the eaves
of Villa Trenta
and came to land
upon the middle of my arm.

He crawled with sureness
down to my hand
then back along my shoulder.
He fluttered there
a moment only
then fell dead,
a victim of the heat
or something higher up.

If God
can strike down
birds and butterflies
and then change rain
              to rainbows
and clouds to grays and whites
of every hue,
then the ugliness
      I’ve shown of late
has surely marked me
for an early death.

What troubles me
              is not
my disappearance
but my lack of being
troubled by it.
I am willful now
toward well-meaning friends
when I should have will instead
to fight off the oncoming end.

Cycle

Only lonely men
know freedom.
Love,
as lovely as it is,
still ensnares.

Is it better then
to be on the outside
in the dark and free,
or caged contentedly
but still looking
out beyond the bars?

-from “Alone”, 1975

OCTOBER 25

it’s sky time now... luminary time
the lights of the earth die out
and the sky takes over

each star is a candle...
each bright star a reason to live

the sky is full of innocence tonight
full of tenderness and fog

this is night
a cool breeze along the lake

a moon half empty hiding in the mists
this is saturday night
a cricket counting minutes
a swallow winging... up from the riverbank
alone with himself

the wind sleeps behind a hill
dead like an autumn leaf
and i am content
like still water
with no place to go

- from "and autumn came", 1954, 1969

TODAY’S INSTRUCTIONS

Don’t forget to turn those clocks back an hour tonight and by all means sleep an hour later tomorrow. And, of course, sleep warm.

RM 10/23/2002 7:45 PM PST

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notable birthdays Charlie Barnet o Primo Carnera o Hillary Rodham Clinton o Jackie Coogan o Cary Elwes o Chuck Foreman (football) o Diane Hoffman o Bob Hoskins o Mahalia Jackson o T.C. Jones o Margaret Leighton o Dylan McDermott o Pat Sajak o Domenico Scarlatti o Shah of Iran o Jaclyn Smith o Lauren Tewes
Rod's random thoughts See all sides of everything before being sure of anything.

Better to uncover a soul than a continent.

To love is to live out among the giants.

SELF-PITY

Spring has never seen
                this country,
where lilac root stays frozen, cold.
        And monotonous river rolls
and runs and rolls some more.

             No birds fly here;
                        none will.
No fox will chase his rabbit down,
pinning him to frozen ground.
Not even cloud will come to cover
the gray that stays on gray.
And when the universe has turned
                       upon itself
this place will still be waiting here.
Challenging nothing.
      Changing nothing.
      Doing nothing for itself.

Not creeping ivy or thistledown
has found this piece of land
             and stayed,
where evening is the rule
   and not the welcome home.

No scholar comes to study here.
How much frozen solitude can be
set down in even alien country?

When darkness falls it falls forever,
over the homestead, over the sea.
An overwhelming desolation spreads
hinted death, destroying the breath
                of branch and bone.
Awesome the silence,
             appalling the gloom
that crowds this once-wide land
                 into single room.

Do not come here by mistake
                    or by design.
The highway in is easy enough
to find, but the road away
               is a tangled maze
that turns the days to year,
the year to decade and so on.

Swans will not go swimming
here, nor cattle feed, nor sparrows
       breed and populate.

This is no resting place. It is
a place of empty nests picked
clean, ruins that reverberate
down centuries gone and yet
                       to come.

Fallen angels manage
to avoid dropping in upon these
              acres, never green.
Nothing perishes, germ or grain.
Only different shades of decay
distinguish rock from harder place.


But if the ear could hear it,
pick it up,
the language practiced would be
made of layered mold. Odd times,
              when the wind is right,
you can hear the nails
                  being driven home.

-from “A Safe Place to Land”, 2001

 
© 1954, 1969, 1975, 1998, 2001, 2002 by Stanyan Music Group & Rod McKuen. All Rights Reserved
Birthday research by Wade Alexander o Poetry from the collection of Jay Hagan o Coordinated by Melinda Smith o Sound & Fury Dr. Eric Yeager o Webmaster Ken Blackie
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