4th & 5th October, 2004

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rod 4/16/04 Photo by Billy Iz

A Thought for Today

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

 

.ASK ROD

A SATURDAY FOR THE SOUL

On Saturday I walked off the boundaries of Dos Vidas, all thirty acres of it. Now that the property is in development I had it resurveyed so it can be fenced properly.

It was a long trek up and down hills, across creak beds and over and around the beautiful rock formations that make up the acreage. My pride was pretty high as I paced the official boundaries of the land where my new home and barn will soon rise from scratch and good ground. The view 7,000 feet above nearly everything was pristine. Just below the property the wide lake with weekend sailboats (if there were speedboats we couldn’t hear their motors), further on more forests like the one surrounding me and beyond all that the far off communities and cities spreading Cinemascope-like across the high desert.

The day was so light and bright that it was easy to follow the shadows of the low not so slow moving cumulous that shuffled along far away hills. A hundred miles off the tops of already snowcapped Sierra Nevada mountain peaks were clean and frosty.

Mark Hill who did the excellent new topographical survey led me from one knotted red ribboned stake to another as we traced the land talking about the importance of the earth, families and aims in life. Mark is tall, rugged, amiable and in his late forties. He came up to the area for a weekend three decades ago and stayed to become a mountain man.

Dos Vidas is a spiritual place and I always come away from it full of optimism and energy. I’m not alone in feeling cerebral about it, Charlie Hallam pointed it out and Edward comments on it every time we turn the corner and spot the gate that might as well be the entrance to Shangri-La as far as we’re concerned. I know, I know it all sounds a bit heady . . . and it is.

Look at it this way; how often do we get a chance to watch a dream come true with enough consciousness and perspective to recognize it happening. And, of course I have always been partial to new beginnings when and wherever they start.

FAVORITE CONCERT

Mr. McKuen, No question. Just a thank you for all the years I have enjoyed your poetry, songs, and concerts. I wax a little nostalgic right now because of hearing Cindi Lauper doing "If You Go Away". It is my all-time favorite and she really did a goose-bump provoking rendition of the song.

My favorite was concert was the 1971 Red Rocks concert. The Frisbee game before the concert and the standing ovation when you did "If You Go Away". The saddest concert was at The Warehouse in Denver when you talked about Jacque Brel dying. My heart went out to you as you struggled with losing your friend. A fan, Jolynn


Dear Jolynn, You’ve picked out two concerts that meant a lot to me too.

Red Rocks was always a favorite place to play. I’ll never forget the Frisbee game that Sunday afternoon or the sold out audience singing along with me on the chorus of The Summer’s Long. That summer’s tour was recorded for a double LP entitled Grand Tour. “The Summer’s Long” and “My Mary” from Red Rocks both made their way to the album.

The Warehouse show in Denver, coming so soon after Jacques death really helped in what they call the healing process. While I’ve sung If You Go Away hundreds of times I never perform it the same way twice. I love the fact that Cindi Lauper recorded it and I just got the DVD where she performs live.

Thank you for attending and helping me remember both concerts. With affection, Rod

SEASONS IN THE SUN, THE FINAL WORD

Dear Rod, First of all let me thank you for the many years of enjoyment your music has brought me, you are a shining light for us all.

I have a predicament that I hope you can help me with. My wonderful fiancée Michelle and myself had a small bet (£5). I said that you wrote 'Seasons in the Sun' translating the Jacques Brel song and she said Terry Jacks did so.

Below is my dear Michelle's answer but I still believe that I have won. Can you help sort this out? Kindest Regards Richard.

“Richard, we are both correct with regards to the song Season's in the Sun: "Seasons in the Sun" had been written in French in 1961 under the title of "Le Moribond" (The Dying Man), by Belgian poet-composer Jacques Brel. In 1964, it was translated into English by Rod McKuen and recorded by The Kingston Trio. Although that version didn't sell well, Terry heard it, and the tune remained in the back of his mind. He thought it would be good for The Beach Boys. The Beach Boys' rejection -- coupled with the death of a close personal friend of Terry's, which made the song's theme more meaningful to him -- finally sent Terry back into the studio, accompanied by guitarist Link Wray.

Terry received permission, but not credit, for changing part of "Seasons in the Sun." He rewrote the last verse and rearranged the words and chords in the chorus in order to "lighten up" the song. He released it on his own label, Goldfish Records, and was amazed when it became the largest-selling single in Canadian history -- more than 285,000 copies sold in a matter of weeks."

P.S We are to be wed in London England on 12th November, "To You" will certainly be playing at the reception.


Dear Richard, Thanks for the kind thoughts and congratulations on your upcoming marriage.

Terry Jacks did not get permission from either Jacques or myself to change any of the lyrics or chords to Seasons in the Sun. I was in Mexico taking my month long yearly sabbatical from just about everything when the Jacks record was released. It was an immediate hit and by the time I heard it the single had already hit number one on the charts in Canada and the United States. Pretty hard to step in at that stage and censor a song that was not only a hit but one that had been covered by many other artists in the unauthorized version.

To begin with, whatever may have been reported Jacks did not change any of the words or chords to the four choruses of Seasons in the Sun but he did muck about with the final verse. Just for the record, here are the unauthorized changes Jacks made in the final verse of the song.

Goodbye Michelle my little one
you gave me love and helped me find the sun
and every time that I was down
you would always come around
get my feet back on the ground.


And here is my original lyric to the last verse:

Goodbye Francois my trusted wife
without you I'd have had a lonely life
You cheated lots of times but then
I forgave you in the end
thou your lover was my friend.


And in the second part of that verse where I have the line "with your lovers everywhere just be careful I'll be there." he substituted "with the flowers everywhere wish that we could both be there."

In a song where I tried to be as faithful as possible to Brel's original lyric, agonizing over every one of the more than two hundred fifty words that tell the tale of a dying man saying goodbye to his father, best friend and finally his wife; was I upset that Jacks changed forty-two of them? You bet, but not as pissed off as Jacques on finding out that his serious short story had been turned into a teenyboppers lament. I was more riled that the humor of "with your lovers everywhere just be careful I'll be there" was sacrificed.

I bought a house with my share of the royalties and never looked back. Over time Terry keeps changing his story about the song. For years he claimed to be the original translator. That would of course have meant that he had written it as a small child. About ten years ago when I presented the facts in a widely printed interview that must have gotten back to him he started to somewhat minimize his role as the songwriter. Still even now TV channel VH1 continues to re-run a segment of its "One Hit Wonders" series where Jacks claims to be the author, even elaborating on his inspiration for it. He isn't challenged on the claim despite the camera close up on the label revealing the writers to be Brel-McKuen.

As you know Jacks is from Canada, one of my favorite places, but there must be something about the air up there. Another Canadian artist once added one word to my song "Rock Gently" (making it Rock Me Gently), put his name on it as the author and even won a Juno award for writing the best song of the year.

With all deference to your fiancé it's my humble opinion that you won the fiver.

Incidentally “To You” is one of the songs Jacques and I wrote together from scratch and one of my favorites. As you have probably heard by now I have gotten back to working on a number of songs Jacques and I started together but never finished during his lifetime.

Again, Richard, my best to you both. Warmly, Rod

A POEM FOR THE TIMES

I recently discovered your website, forgive me if you have presented El Monte already. This poem would be very appropriate considering the current war and the taking of "tinsel from our lives", once again.

Thank you for your beautiful thoughts which you are so willing to share. Ralph Berggruen


Dear Richard, Your thoughts are much appreciated. It’s ironic, given the text of the poem that I pass through El Monte often these days going to and from my mountain retreat. More often than not it happens on a Sunday so the poem does come back to me during my drive.

The last time El Monte appeared in the Flight Plan was June 1st of this year. Here it is again for you. Thanks, Rod

EL MONTE

I probably will never see El Monte on a Sunday
or El Segundo washed by winter rain.
I never knew these towns existed – if they do,
outside of the obituary page that states
how many boys came home today
                            in boxes made of steel.
I am well aware that some who lived in Chicago
have died too, but it’s the new El Nowhere towns
                           I think about this morning
and young men that the whole town knew.

Today some children running down the hill
                 were shouting out the war is over.
They must have had some other private war of words
in mind and not the one I’m paying for
the that’s killing off the boys I see on airplane rides
staring off in space in search of El Dorado.
Sometimes I ask them where they come from
El Paso is the answer or El Monte.

And so they take the tinsel from our lives
on airplane rides across the sea
and like the silver in our dimes
it won’t come back until we question why..

El Monte’s just ten minutes from L. A.
To some I’m told it seems like El Dorado
                                         when it rains.

Just the same
I doubt I’ll ever go there on a Sunday.

-from "Lonesome Cities," 1968. Revised 5/30/04

AGE IS BETTER

Hi, I read your books in the 70's and wondered how old you
are. I have not been able to find a date in my searching.

I understand if you do not want to give your age. Ellison


Dear Ellison, I'm delighted to give my age. I was born April 29, 1933, making me a seasoned citizen of seventy-one. Elsewhere on this site you'll find an ode I wrote on age, "Age is Better." All my best, Rod

BANNER ADS

Hi there, I love your site! I was wondering if you accept banner advertising on your website? I am a former opera singer, who quit singing opera to just sing Sinatra. I have two songs on my new CD that hit the top 40. (My Funny Valentine & Mona Lisa.) You can hear samples of my work at: www.stevecardone.com

Have a blessed day, and I look forward to hear from you. Sincerely, Steve Cardone



Dear Steve, Thanks for your nice note. I can see by your online name (TheSinatraGuy) that you really are a Francophile. So far we have never used any banner advertising but I wish you all the very best on your career.

I look forward to checking out your site one of these days when I'm not on deadline. Cheers, Rod

AND IN CONCLUSION

My absentee ballot form has arrived and while I’m pretty sure I’ll be in town on election day, November 2nd, none the less I plan to vote by mail and I can’t urge you enough to do the same. California tried electronic balloting in the last primary and more than one machine malfunctioned. This meant there was no paper trail and no way to recount the votes. And . . . there were several very close ballot measures.

Please, please request a mail in ballot. No matter who or what you are voting for, make sure your vote counts.

Sleep warm and have a happy and productive week. Don’t forget to join Webmaster Ken for This One Does it For Me on Wednesday.

RM 10/3/2004 11:25PM PDST

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ROD McKUEN CONCERTS

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notable birthdays

Monday 4 October

Armand Assante o H. Rap Brown o Jackie Collins o Rachel Leigh Cook o Clifton Davis o Felicia Farr o St. Frances of Assisi o Brendan Gill o Rutherford B. Hayes o Charlton Heston o Buster Keaton o Sharon LaBell o Patti LaBell o Jan Murray o Frederic Remington o Anne Rice o Damon Runyan o Susan Sarandon o Live Schreiber o Jon Secada o Alicia Silverstone o Alvin Toffler o Leroy Van Dyke

Tuesday 5 October

Karen Allen o Chester A. Arthur o Susan Badger o Josie Bissette o Peter Brown o Diane Cilento o Jeff Conaway o Bill Dana o Johnny Duncan o Larry Fine o Bob Geldof o Richard Gordon o Grant Hill o Glynis Johns o Ray Kroc o Mario Lemieux o Joshua Logan o Allan Ludden o Guy Pearce o Donald Pleasence o George Rebh o Patrick Roy o Cecilia Salvesen o Ovidu Varga o Horace Walpole o Kate Winslet

Rod's random thoughts A lie is more trouble to remember than the truth.

Every moment is a teacher; every moment lost cannot be recovered.

Meditation is refertilization.

LOWER MONTGOMERY STREET

       A bulldog
saunters down the white dividing line
no less menacing with tail awag,
he brags about his ugly beauty
                                 every step.
Behind him two boys throw a ball
forth and back, forth and back
reaching up and bending
boy children in a non-atomic catch.

A hill still farther back
comes coasting from a higher hill.
There is no high drive
on this too warm summer / winter day,
only deft, low gear meanderings.

Random motion.
A ball midair, two young men,
slow overhand, slower underhand.
A bulldog at the corner, Churchill.
A tall black lady, fashion’s captive,
is passing, passes, passes on
the smell of mingled blossoms
                lingers in her wake.
There is no mistaking costly scent,
like beauty is not approximated.

The boys come closer
with their silver sphere
its oval arch is ever higher.
Above pedestrians it sails a little
until they stretch to bring it down.
A woman passes with an unformed frown,
too many boxes carried in her arms.

And on that same slow coasting hill
a row of pastel houses or facades
sits quiet as premeditation.
A little car is at the corner,
                 undecided.
South toward the docks,
east to meet Embarcadero,
up the hill again and over? What?
Joggers crisscross in a thought-out pattern.
The heart is stopped
by one young girl not yet aware
of her capacity to still the heart.
And suddenly there is no suddenly
as nothing happens that will make
the broadsheet, evening news.

On and on, continuing
two young men, once boys
when they were further down the block,
send a tired football through the air.
A secret sexercise for those
who only watch and want.

Life moves and moves
without a hint of interruption.
But little dreams and lesser dramas
each different and the same
are acted, played out hourly
                on Montgomery Street,
the lower end down near the bay.

Coming back to San Francisco
is not unlike reopening
           an envelope unopened -
You know that you will be amazed
and dazzled by its content,
but just how dazzling
the prize inside turns out to be
                is still beyond
the credibility of eye and heart.

- from "Suspension Bridge", 1984

 
© 1984, 1988, 1999, 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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