Cover image for Life could be verse : reflections on love, loss, and what really matters
Title:
Life could be verse : reflections on love, loss, and what really matters
Author:
Douglas, Kirk, 1916- , author.
Publication Information:
Deerfield Beach, Florida : Health Communications, Inc., [2014]
Physical Description:
ix, 116 pages : illustrations (some color) ; 19 cm
Summary:
"Through poems, prose, and photos, Douglas candidly shares it all as he chaperones us through the stages of his life, including the untimely death of his youngest son and the stroke that left him unable to speak"--Page 4 of cover.
Language:
English
Personal Subject:
ISBN:
9780757318474
Format :
Book

Available:*

Library
Call Number
Material Type
Home Location
Status
Item Holds
Searching...
PN2287.D54 A3 2014 Adult Non-Fiction Biography
Searching...
Searching...
PN2287.D54 A3 2014 Adult Non-Fiction Popular Materials-Biography
Searching...
Searching...
PN2287.D54 A3 2014 Adult Non-Fiction Biography
Searching...
Searching...
PN2287.D54 A3 2014 Juvenile Non-Fiction Open Shelf
Searching...
Searching...
PN2287.D54 A3 2014 Adult Non-Fiction Open Shelf
Searching...
Searching...
PN2287.D54 A3 2014 Adult Non-Fiction Open Shelf
Searching...
Searching...
PN2287.D54 A3 2014 Adult Non-Fiction Open Shelf
Searching...

On Order

Summary

Summary

For his 98th birthday, Kirk Douglas offers us an intimate look into his life. Through a collection of poetry, prose and photographs, he pulls the curtain all the way back exposing the bombs and blockbusters of both the personal and professional aspects. From uncomplicated poems written for his beloved wife, Ann, of 60 years, to poems written for his four boys when they were still small, Douglas' words are comical, sentimental, romantic, and sometimes painful. He chaperones us through the stages of his life, including the untimely death of his youngest son, and shares nostalgic pictures of the other 'leading ladies' in his life like Marlene Dietrich, Lauren Bacall, and Bridget Bardot. Kirk Douglas is an American legend--crowned as one of the greatest male screen legends in American film history by the American Film Institute. And, at 97, he is the highest ranked person on the list alive today. Life Could Be Verse's beautiful design makes it a keepsake for the myriad of Kirk Douglas' fans who have adored "Spartacus" for many, many decades.


Excerpts

Excerpts

Most of my life was spent as an actor who never took the time to know who he really was. For years, I lived in a land of make-believe, slipping in and out of characters for ninety films. I have flubbed just as many scenes in my 'real life' as I have in the 'reel life' of my films. In 1996, I suffered a debilitating stroke that rendered me speechless. An actor who can't talk, I thought. Is this the end? This caused me to take inventory of my life and ask questions like, 'Who am I?' At the age of 98, I am still looking. I know that I have made mistakes and I have my share of regrets. But overall, life has been very good to me. As they say in Yiddish, 'It could be verse.' Poetry has been a part of my life from an early age. From schoolyard rhymes to love sonnets, my verses have helped me woo some leading ladies, deal with rejections on screen and off, and even to find my voice again after my stroke. Now, I am happy to share my love of poetry with my grandchildren, who also like to write. Writing is a gift that I hope will stay with them long after I am not. Here I share some of my memories and the poems they inspired. We'll travel back in time to old Hollywood, when times were simpler. I hope you enjoy the journey. . . . I grew up in Amsterdam, New York, a small town northwest of Albany and Schenectady. My family lived in the last house on the road near the mill and the railroad tracks. I was the only son, in the middle of six sisters. My father emigrated from Russia and couldn't find work in the mills. So, he got himself a horse and a wagon and became a ragman, buying and reselling old rags, pieces of scrap, and junk for pennies. Even in our poor neighborhood, the ragman was the lowest rung on the ladder. And I was the ragman's son. Pa spent most of his time in the saloon, drinking and fascinating his friends with his stories. I would often sneak in the back and watch everybody listening to Pa, mesmerized; he was such a showman. But my mother was the one who told me my favorite story. She was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. I asked her, 'Ma, how was I born?' She wiped her hands on her apron and scooped me up on her lap. 'Well, Issur,' she said (that's my real name), 'it was a sunny winter morning when I saw something out of the window. I looked out and saw a beautiful gold box shimmering in the snow. It was carved with fruits and flowers and suspended from heaven by thin silver strands.' 'A gold box?!' 'Yes, a gold box. I threw on my shawl, rushed into the yard, and opened it.' 'What was in it? What was in it?' 'You!' 'Me?' 'Yes, you! Naked. I wrapped you in my shawl and ran back into the house.' 'But, Ma, what about the box?' 'I don't know. When I looked out the window again, it was gone.' 'But, Ma, why didn't you grab the box and keep it?' 'Issur, when I found you I was so happy that I couldn't think about anything else.' 'You lost the gold box?!' When I was in second grade, I got a part in the school play. I played the lead, the shoemaker in The Shoemaker and the Elves. Ma was thrilled. She made me a little black apron that tied in the back. On stage, I proudly sang the song I'd memorized: I'm Tack Hammer The shoemaker I work on shoes All day Of course, my mother and sisters were there to watch me. But when I looked out from the stage, I was stunned. My father was standing in the back of the auditorium. He was a gruff man who usually ignored me, but not this time. After the play, he took me out and bought me a vanilla ice cream cone. I felt like my father recognized me for the first time. That cone was better than any Oscar. In high school I was introduced to poetry. It intrigued me--until the English teacher announced, 'I want all of you to write a short poem.' Holy Moses! What the hell did I even know about writing?! My parents could barely speak English, and now I was expected to put words together that rhymed. I didn't know what to do. I'd always dreamed about seeing the ocean and going out on a big sailing ship. It was a wonderful trip only in my imagination. The farthest I had ever traveled was to the big city of Schenectady, fifteen miles away. So I decided to write about things I never knew: The Discarded Ship Above me have flown many flags But now my sails are torn to rags My bows are white from swirling foam As o'er the many seas I roam But now there's nothing left for me I live in days that used to be. After graduating from high school, I kissed my crying mother good-bye (my father was at the saloon), and I hitchhiked to St. Lawrence University in Canton, New York, with $164 in my pocket. I filled out an application, and, surprisingly, the school accepted me. My first class was Shakespeare. I loved to listen to the teacher recite the many sonnets. But more than that, I liked to look at the girl who sat in front of me. She had flaming red hair. She always looked straight ahead and followed the professor while I stared at the back of her head. For the first time in my life, a strange feeling came over me. I fell in love. This is what I wrote to get her attention: How Oft Have I Sat Behind Thee How oft have I sat behind thee In awe and watched thy titian hair Resplendent in the rays Of morning's golden light, Which danced about thy head For joy, a gorgeous sight! Each ray thus shaped A sparkling diadem Of jewels to crown You queen of beauty over all. Bewitched by a vision so fair, I reached out and touched your hair. Happily you turn, smile at me-- And change my humble state to ecstasy. ©2014 Kirk Douglas. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Life Could Be Verse: Reflections on Love, Loss, and What Really Matters . No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442. Excerpted from Life Could Be Verse: Reflections on Love, Loss, and What Really Matters by Kirk Douglas All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.