Rod McKuen (1933–2015)

Move over Shakespeare! Time for a new career, Amanda Gorman! Maya Angelou, Robert Frost, culture has judged you and found you wanting. This small book proclaims Rod McKuen as one of the very best, and in fact *the* best-selling poet of all time.

This small volume -- a mere 61 pages -- offers such hyperbolic assertions with neither embarrassment nor much in the way of convincing evidence. The "lyrics" taken from a record album called "Pastorale" range from a few lines to 20, printed on show more largely empty pages with large margins. The common theme is Love, along with Nature, and the sentiments are, no doubt, Heartfelt. They also are saccharine and mawkish, and bring to mind the sort of kitsch one would find in a Hallmark greeting card.

To enhance the mood they are intended to elicit, this books contains multiple photos of the Very Sensitive Poet himself. Here's our Rod, looking dreamy and sensitive off to the left, his quiet demeanor disturbed only by his loud, vertically striped shirt. Here he is in a huggable cable knit sweater, looking in the other direction, his blonde-bleached locks curling over his ears. Here he is, seen from distance on the back of a horse (we think it's probably Rod, though it's hard to tell). And here he is again, looking thoughtfully downward towards his umbilicus, in another of those loud striped shirts that he loves. No doubt he's thinking of a past lover, or maybe a future one. Regarding the latter, his images are easy for sentimental girls and women of a certain age to project their own unfulfilled longings. And who's to say they might not be fulfilled with Rod Himself, who, by his frank if questionable claim in interviews, was an equal opportunity lover when it came to gender.

I got little out of this small volume. But then, poetry is not a genre I much appreciate. Thus, this "review" probably warrants no attention from those millions more cultured and sensitive than I. For what it's worth, I do enjoy Shel Silverstein and Edward Lear, and after two beers, have been known to quote "Song of Hiawatha" at length ("By the Shores of Gitche-Goomee" and so on). I can also sing a few words of "Jean", Rod's Academy Award-nominated composition -- No.1 in 1969 on the Billboard Adult Contemporary chart. show less

When I read how critics snubbed Rod McKuen's poetry, I dismissed them as snobs. Which was probably fair; but it's also fair to observe that the poems in this collection are not very deep or interesting. The only noteworthy feature of the collection is the very strong and consistent melancholy mood and theme of sorrow. But the poems are extremely thin; uncomplicated in structure and thought, and not challenging. They're poems that I, lacking poetic talent, could have written. Or some show more twenty-year-old wanna-be poets at a coffee shop poetry slam. ("And then, my friend, YOU DIED, MAN!")

The only exception in the entire book, out of about eighty poems, is one called "The Summertime of Days," whose last verse is:

In the summertime of days
I'll ask for nothing more
than a face and a quiet place
that was cast aside by God.

Except for that poem, the collection makes the 1960s audience that loved McKuen look shallow. My ability to appreciate poetry is probably more limited than I would like; but I still read poetry deeper and more challenging than this stuff.

Not recommended. show less

This is another book I inherited from my late uncle, Joe. The inscription on the inside cover tells me it was a gift to him from an old high school prom date/girlfriend, Bess. As far as I remember, she kept in touch with him well into the 1990s, writing him from France. She once asked him to join her, but he never did. So, I read it, and after reading, I guess she had it bad for my uncle, considering the content of most of the poems, though he was a gay man.
There is also a folded piece of show more old notebook paper with green runes (a mix of Anglo-Saxon and younger futhark) on it tucked in the dustjacket flap. Although it appears to say something in how they’re written, I just got gibberish when I tried to decode them.
“He smiles as if he never been
hunted by the crowd, beaten by all the fools.” [p.65, Here He Comes Again]
I didn’t mind the first of this poet’s books that I read (also inherited from said uncle), Stanyan Street and Other Sorrows. This is a somewhat lesser work, in my opinion, than the previous. However, I do have some favorite bits: A Cat Named Sloopy (or named Snoopy if the table of contents is to be believed – the ending to this one got to me), On Borrowing (it was okay), and Folksong for Judy (I actually only really liked the first stanza). I hated the centerpiece, the long form Listen to the Warm poem, though.
Overall, it was a fast read, and I got a few things out of it, so if you can pick this one up for a song, I’d recommend it; otherwise, there is better poetry out there.
“Only the friendly dead calling HELP.” [p.73, First and Last Visit to an Annex in Burbank] show less

Yes, I admit it. I once loved the poems and records of Rod McKuen. Back in the late 60s and early 70s, when he was one of the hottest selling poets in America, I had several of his books and more than a dozen of his albums. The music on those albums was so soothing, silky, smooth, etc. And his lyrics fit right in with all those strings.

So I found this old tattered Pocket Books paperback, HAND IN HAND (1977) at a library sale today, aInd all those times from fifty years ago came rushing back. show more And the songs - "A Cat Named Sloopy," "Listen to the Warm," "Lonesome Cities," and more. Or maybe those were the LP titles, it's hard to remember. I kept one vinyl from those years, his BEAUTIFUL STRANGERS album. We used to listen to that one when we went to bed, so - well, special memories.

One of the song-poems from that album is in this book - "Comfort," with its opening lines -

"If we could do it all again / motorbike through Roman cities in the rain / watch the cats chase lizards in the forum / and drink bad wine from mouth to mouth / I probably would try / to love you harder than I did ..."

And the closing line -

"I even love your enemies / because they drive you to my arms for comfort."

It's better with the music, but still ...

And there's this last verse from "Lemon Leaves" -

"I found a twenty-dollar bill when I was ten. / I bought a cardboard circus and a fountain pen / and a jackknife because I never had one before. / My mother thought I'd stolen the money. / I bought her perfume from the dime store. / She believed me then. / I was rich in those days, / for a week I had everything. / I wish I'd known you then."

Imagine those words over Arthur Greenslade's lush string arrangements. It was - still is - a comforting experience, something we could sure use more of these days.

I whipped through this old book in less than an hour. And, truth be told, it ain't all that good. But it brought back some wonderful memories. And there was this very short one, "Preamble," especially poignant because my wife just left this morning to go spend a few days at our daughter's.

"I need nothing
when you're gone
but you."

Rod McKuen died in January of 2015 at the age of 81. R.I.P., Rod, and thanks for all those memories.

- Tim Bazzett, author of the memoir, BOOKLOVER show less