I had SUCH a crush on him in high school (30 years ago! :eek: ). I had a picture of him in my nightstand drawer and I used to take it out and look at it every night before I went to bed. (The Cat Who Walks Alone had Leonardo DiCaprio pictures all over her bedroom wall when she went through her Titanic phase, and I told her, indulgently, “Honey, DiCaprio’s a toddler.”)
But then I discovered REAL boys and somehow my copy of Come to Me in Silence got left behind somewhere.
But today’s Chicago Tribune brought it all back with a whoosh. He’s doing a comeback tour, answering the same questions over and over again (“so, you’re not dead?” “No.”)
All his books are out of print. I went down to the used bookstore this morning to look for a copy but got sidetracked by the Harry Potter display (egad).
Anybody else remember sighing over what the Trib guy accurately calls “a scruffy masculine sensitivity”? I could live without the hightops, but the flannel shirt and the old blue jeans…[sigh]
OMG, DDG, LOL (is this the record for internet abbreviations?)…this is the guy who translated Jaques Brel and gave us such wonderful pop hits as “Seasons in the Sun.” He should die a horrible death for that alone…let alone his poetry. The guy was a Hallmark Card poet gone too far.
After reading your post, I pulled out an old LP of his, “The Sea” and listened. You know, I liked it.
Then I listened to a Glenn Yarborough LP that was almost exclusively McKuen songs. I truly loved that.
It was so cool for so long to detest McKuen. I think most of us guys felt threatened a bit that this wimpy looking guy with the raspy voice was so popular. Or maybe it was he seemed still very '50s in a ‘60s’ way during the '70s . I don’t know.
Listening again. It wasn’t at all bad. Maybe, I’m just getting old.
All I know about Rod McKuen is what I learned from my Creative Writing teacher in high school, who summed it up with three words:
He’s a hack.
I learned to like him just to piss that teacher off. It worked.
This same teacher wanted to be e.e. cummings or the male equivalent to Anne Sexton. He writes children’s poems now. They suck way worse than McKuen could ever hope to suck. They do sell…but who cares?
I think he got the message:
If you can’t beat 'em…copy 'em.