Rod McKuen - Flight Plan


THIS ONE DOES IT FOR ME!		A Thought for Today Marriage renders a man unique, virtuous and wise - so does thirty days in a monastery. Great to be back with you all though I can't believe it's December already! Didn't we do this December thing just a few weeks ago? Many thanks to Jay and Melinda for a terrific job over the past month - I thought their selections were excellent and judging from some of the mail I've seen, I'm not alone in this thought. Today is World Aids Day - take a moment during the course of your day to remember those we've lost to this disease, and to acknowledge those still battling it's terrors. In my part of the world it's particularly prevalent amongst children, which is a frightening scenario. Help out in any way you can. Ken in Chicago comes up with a real goodie today - thanks Ken and I think you're right - I certainly don't remember this particular poem appearing in any of the Flight Plans to date. If you have a song or poem of Rod's that brings back a particular memory, let us know about it by dropping me a line at ken@mckuen.com and I'll make sure it appears right here. Rod will be back with you tomorow with replies to some of the mail that's come in over the past month. - Ken, Johannesburg, December 1 Ken, Just wanted to drop you a line to tell you about a poem of Rod's I haven't seen on here for awhile, if at all. It's Kearny Street. I remember it being on one of Rod's early spoken word albums. I also remember it being very symmetrical yet effective at the same time, with the ending consisting of the phrase "I was loved on Kearny Street, but no more the young heart leaping the dark room." That poem always struck a chord with me for some reason. Maybe you could post it on a flight plan soon? Ken in Chicago



		Woody Allen o Carol Alt o Bob Goen o Matthew Laborteaux o Mary Martin o Keith Michell o Bette Midler o Matt Monro o Jeremy Northam o Jaco Pastorius o Billy Paul o Richard Pryor o Lou Rawls o Dick Shawn o Rex Stout o Charlene Tilton o Lee Trevino o Alexander Ryan Ward o Treat Williams

		In friendship, silence is more important than words. Only look back to gain perspective. Conscience is the hardest weight to lift.

Kearny Street		The house on Kearny Street where I came and went on weekends is the same. The hill above is summer green the sky a foggy blue and children still march by each day at three o'clock foraging back from school. The hill and Kearny Street are still the same but I have changed. No more the winning smile the hasty song the happy stare of love the young heart leaping in the dark room. And no more the wild young man who talked to quickly and too loud of love he owned and wished to give away. Seldom the sun catches me lying in bed late anymore. Seldom the pigeons gargling in the grass see my form stretched out upon the lawn. I pace unfamiliar streets now attempting new solutions to old problems and the answers seldom come. But there was a time in the fall and winter of the year when the sun's bright yellow mingled with the fog and Kearny Street in San Francisco was the whole world. Sometimes I'm sorry for love once known it doesn't justify the years you spend remembering. I was always timid about your loving me anyway knowing the eagle doesn't hunt flies and that worlds were larger than our love. But I am happy still that even for a moment you laughed in my direction and chased my nakedness down a lonely beach. For maybe six months of love is worth the lifetime you spend looking, and marmalade and oysters for breakfast one morning and knowing you tried to love me is enough. For love is only moments here and there it comes and goes quietly I think. You hear it like silver bells tied about the throats of cats ( now near - now sounding far away. ) I was loved on Kearny Street. But no more the young heart leaping in the dark room. - from "Stanyan Street & Other Sorrows"

Birthday research by Wade Alexander o Poetry from the collection of Jay Hagan

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