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       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

notable birthdays 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
Rod's random thoughts Time is a runner, and not with good intentions.

Life isnít 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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