They say I mope too much but really I’m loudly dancing. I eat paper. It’s good for my bones. I play the piano pedal. I dance, I am never quiet, I mean silent. Some day I’ll love Frank O’Hara. I think I’ll be alone for a little while. — Frank O’Hara, “Katy,” The Collected Poems… Continue reading Frank O’Hara
In Favor of One’s Time The spent purpose of a perfectly marvellous life suddenly glimmers and leaps into flame it’s more difficult than you think to make charcoal it’s also pretty hard to remember life’s marvellous but there it is guttering choking then soaring in the mirrored room of this consciousness it’s practically a… Continue reading Frank O’Hara
I don’t believe in god, so I don’t have to make elaborately sounded structures. … Pain always produces logic, which is very bad for you. … As for measure and other technical apparatus, that’s just common sense: if you’re going to buy a pair of pants you want them to be tight enough so everyone… Continue reading Frank O’Hara
Somewhere a nightingale waits for each of us, crying its heart out. — Frank O’Hara, from “Serenade,” Poetry (May 1977)
Words! be sick as I am sick, swoon, roll back your eyes, a pool, and I’ll stare down at my wounded beauty which at best is only a talent for poetry. — Frank O’Hara, from “Mayakovsky,” The Collected Poems of Frank O’Hara. (University of California Press March 31, 1995)
Dear: I am dying without you, and I won’t be dying long. But don’t come. Best always, Frank — Frank O’Hara, from “Letter,” Poems Retrieved. (City Lights Publishers; Reprint edition May 7, 2013) Originally published 1977.
Serenade Starlings are singing like glass breaking and falling into a rather vulgar plate. Somewhere a nightingale waits for each of us, crying its heart out. Oh I don’t know, say, say it’s your fingernails scratching down my neck with a fragile roar. No, it’s starlings singing, simply starlings singing. And all around… Continue reading Frank O’Hara