Dragonfly's Poetry & Prolixity: Poet Rod McKuen Died

Friday, January 30, 2015

Poet Rod McKuen Died

Rod McKuen died yesterday at age 81. He was a bestselling poet in the 1970's and my muse during that decade. My favorite books of his are "Lonesome Cities" and "In Someone's Shadow". His title poems in both of those books are magical. His love poems have no equal.

Rest in peace, gentle poet...

4 comments:

Kelly said...: A sad day in the world of words. I saw where Colleen McCullough died, also. I read her Masters of Rome series last year and loved it.; January 30, 2015 at 12:16 PM
Marion said...: Indeed, Kelly. "The Thorn Birds" is in my top ten favorite novels. I appreciate you! xo; January 30, 2015 at 1:17 PM
Serena said...: He was the first poet I really got "into," way back when, and I'm so sorry to hear of his passing. And of Colleen McCullough as well. I have such fond memories of "The Thorn Birds." I think I still have it here somewhere.; January 30, 2015 at 7:14 PM
Marion said...: SJ, I know...he sold over a million books of poetry when nobody was selling/buying/reading poetry. I own several copies of each of his books. I found a poem I wrote in the 1970's copying his style. I consider him one of my earliest teachers. He did more for poetry than most poets I know of today. Thanks for stopping by. xo; January 31, 2015 at 9:36 AM

I Love Lorrie Moore!!

“You’re not a poetess, I hope,” said the English geologist next to her. “We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us.”

“Really.” After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

“Yes. She kept referring to insects as ‘God’s typos’ and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line ‘the hairy kiwi of his balls.’”

From: “Birds of America” by Lorrie Moore, page 266, ‘Terrific Mother’

Miranda July's Best Book:

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise." From: "No One Belongs Here More Than You Stories by Miranda July", Page 11

A Dreamy, Drug of a Book

"The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat night and day, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town." ~Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume", page 240