Rod McKuen - Flight Plan


TGIF!		A Thought for Today Silence with friends is comfort. Thank goodness it's Friday! It's been a tough week for all at ASPTL. Rod's been burning the midnight oil in the studio, working on the mysteriously named "Project" and I've been fighting with our African service provider trying to get our link to the Internet re-established. For some strange reason the address www.mckuen.com is accessible from South Africa but not from the rest of the world and as a result I was a bit slow in cottoning onto the fact that there was a problem. We have some good people working on it and I'm hoping normal service will be resumed pretty soon. Mail to both Rod and I has also been disrupted so if you need to contact either of us try rod@rodmckuen.com and ken@rodmckuen.com All things being equal, one of us will be back with you tomorrow! - Ken, Johannesburg, February 9 Details of Rod's upcoming concerts and appearances can be obtained via the link below: Rod McKuen Concerts & Appearances



		Heather Angel o Brendan Behan o Ronald Colman o Mia Farrow o Kathryn Grayson o William H. Harrison o Carole King o Gypsy Rose Lee o Amy Lowell o Carmen Miranda o Roger Mudd o Joe Pesci o Dean Rusk o Charles Shaughnessy o Mena Suvari o Janet Suzman o Ernest Tubb o Bill Veeck o Alice Walker o Peggy Wood

		Time is a runner, and not with good intentions. Life isn’t life without the company of cats. Sorrow is proof of life.

NIGHT WATCH September 29		The first hour passes slowly. I try to memorize the room. A single bed, nightstand with a radio, a picture of a girl in riding breeches - all crowded back against the middle of one wall. A closet, bath and water closet form another. The third escapes intact. In front of me, a hip high window patrols the street below. I move forward and raise the shade a little more. The street is nearly empty. I check my watch. Ten-thirty. I look again, ten-thirty-one. Near a streetlamp two people have begun to talk. I cannot hear what they speak about but partway through a conversation hands are shaken, smiles float over faces. They are meeting for the first time. They turn and side by side begin to walk toward the corner. A checkered chariot arrives. A moment for the light to change then gone. Again the lamppost. Another stranger, collar turned, looks blankly at the pavement or at something on the pavement. I go back from the window to the room find the radio and turn the dial until low music mumbles and scratches at the air. I sit a nearly breathless moment on the bed's edge click off the radio and then the light. A longer moment and the light clicks on as if by some hand other than my own. I get up. Go out through the door, Forgetting to put on a jacket. - from "The Sound of Solitude," 1983

© 1970, 1983, 1986, 2001 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

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