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10th & 11th January, 2004
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Photograph by Donna Marie
Bergeniao 11/11/2003
A Thought for Today
Friendship is not a substitute for loving, it is an
amplification.
TAKING LEAVE FOR LONDON
Goodbye's a word that should be
said only to near friends or distant relatives, those who speed away at bus stops or at
taxi curbs. Friends the army carries off and children heading out to seek their fortune in
towns more fortuitous than those they leave. Goodbye's a word I will not say to you. Not
on the deathbed or in the driveway. Not at the start of some day trip that separates us
sunup till sundown or a year's sabbatical, if such could ever be.
Remember how reluctantly we said goodbye on telephones when talking half a continent
apart? Multiply that same reluctance tenfold, tenfold more.
Two weeks till you join me. That time away will not be easy, though three decades plus
were piled up in finding you.
- from Folio No. 7, Fall 1975.
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ROD McKUEN
CONCERTS
ROD
McKUEN APPEARANCES
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SATURDAY 10 JANUARY
Ethan Allen o
Pat Benatar o
Ray Bolger o
Francis X. Bushman o
Shawn Colvin o
Jim Croce o
George Foreman o
Paul Henreid o
Robinson Jeffers o
Linda Lovelace o
Giselle MacKenzie o
Willie McCovey o
Sherrill Milnes o
Sal Mineo o
Johnnie Ray o
Max Roach o
Craig Russell o
Frank Sinatra, Jr. o
Rod Stewart o
Rodger Ward
SUNDAY
11 JANUARY
Mary J. Blige o
Don Cherry o
Jean Chretien o
Kim Coles o
Ben Crenshaw o
Joel Crothers o
Bobby Goldsboro o
Alexander Hamilton o
William James o
Naomi Judd o
Sonja Kennedy o
Juanita Kreps o
Eva Le Gallienne o
Pierre Mendes-France o
Amanda Peet o
William Proxmire o
Lee Ritenour o
Mary Rodgers o
Lionel Stander o
Rod Taylor o
Grant Tinker o
Stanley Tucci o
David Wolper
And a very special Happy Birthday to Hy
Fujita. |
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In feeling there is
recognition and resignation.
Believe in everything and you know nothing completely.
If there is panic in my eyes, it is surrounded by curiosity.
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THE WAY IT WORKS |
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Applause on entry
now the house is quiet.
The moment chooses me,
demands that I perform
in such a way
as to cause ignition
or continued silence.
The choice is always mine
sometimes I hesitate
or wait three seconds,
maybe six, too long.
The moment goes, is gone.
I will have
within that evening
a second or perhaps
a third such moment,
yet another chance.
If I miss each setup,
or hold a note
unsteadily
where I should have
stopped or paused -
that ovation
some had come to give
(triggering those who didn't)
will dwindle to polite
applause.
It happens.
Lack of concentration,
an eye I should have
looked into or locked on
but didn't or would not
can cause the framework
of the evening
to fall forward
like a house
of bent unsteady cards.
But part of my profession
is the taking of risks.
When I'm unprepared,
I can't prepare an audience.
Why come into the ring
or circle the arena?
Because somebody has to go
and why not me?
Stepping on the stage
is like stepping on the starter,
you keep pumping
till the engine turns.
I am sure that there are risks
in the business you have chosen
and ones you gladly take.
And then
there is the march,
the banner hoisted high.
Whatever cause that I espouse,
I'm sure that someone
in the middle
aisle
or in the bottom bleacher
of the crowd
will be offended.
But long ago I learned a truth,
and in this life but few are given,
that if those people who have followed
and still follow me
do not yet understand
that one man's freedom,
one
woman's hope in jeopardy
jeopardizes all of us,
then I invite them, I insist
they pack up and go home.
They'll find others
they can follow
and anyway, I'm not a leader -
I'm a needer like all others.
Open as a wound I am
to criticism, but not guilt.
If I join the march,
if I hoist the flag,
lend my name
or wave the
banner,
I do so with consistency
for every man and every woman
coming down the pike
or floating through
the pipeline
in search of freedom
or someone just to hold the candle.
Take advantage
of my position?
Abuse its privilege
you say?
Why the hell do you think
I worked so hard to get here
and plot so hard to stay?
If I can't give something back
to a nation that affords me
everything,
then I don't belong.
If I have to take
what some may call the low road
to help a citizen reach higher ground
I'll crawl back in the gutter
once again
and proudly.
In case you didn't notice
that's how it sometimes works.
- from Folio No. 26, Spring 1980 |
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