I just published my second poetry collection, "A Letter to Frank & Othee Poems," dedicated to Frank O'Hara. Thank you, Frank for your inspirational spirit. And thank you for posting this recording. Where did you find these recordings?
To Hell With It “Hungry winter, this winter” meaningful hints at dismay to be touched, to see labeled as such perspicacious Colette and Vladimirovitch meet with sickness and distress, it is because of sunspots on the sun. I clean it off with an old sock and go on: And blonde Gregory dead in Fall Out on a Highway with his Broadway wife, the last of the Lafayettes, (How I hate subject matter! melancholy, intruding on the vigorous heart, the soul telling itself you haven’t suffered enough ((Hyalomiel)) and all things that don’t change, photographs, monuments, memories of Bunny and Gregory and me in costume bowing to each other and the audience, like jinxes) nothing now can be changed, as if last crying no tears will dry and Bunny never change her writing of the Bear, nor Gregory bear me any gift further, beyond liking my poems (no new poems for him.) and a large red railroad handkerchief from the country in his sportscar so like another actor: For sentiment is always intruding on form, the immaculate disgust of the mind beaten down by pain and the vileness of life’s flickering disapproval, endless torment pretending to be the rose of acknowledgement (courage) and fruitless absolution (hence the word: “hip”) to be cool, decisive, precise, yes, while the barn door hits you in the face each time you get up because the wind, seeing you slim and gallant, rises to embrace its darling poet. It thinks I’m mysterious. All diseases are exchangeable. Wind, you’ll have a terrible time smothering my clarity, a void behind my eyes, into which existence continues to stuff its wounded limbs as I make room for them on one after another filthy page of poetry.
O’Hara is so modern, he still is.
I just published my second poetry collection, "A Letter to Frank & Othee Poems," dedicated to Frank O'Hara. Thank you, Frank for your inspirational spirit. And thank you for posting this recording. Where did you find these recordings?
Is ur book avail online?
I don’t know much about poetry, but I enjoy this
Well said Stan!
🙏
Thank you Guenonposter, I appreciate it.
If you like O' Hara, you might like this:
ua-cam.com/video/A1bleMz8aLo/v-deo.html
To Hell With It
“Hungry winter, this winter”
meaningful hints at dismay
to be touched, to see labeled as such
perspicacious Colette and Vladimirovitch meet with sickness and distress,
it is because of sunspots on the sun.
I clean it off with an old sock
and go on:
And blonde Gregory dead in Fall Out on a Highway with his Broadway wife,
the last of the Lafayettes,
(How I hate subject matter! melancholy,
intruding on the vigorous heart,
the soul telling itself
you haven’t suffered enough ((Hyalomiel))
and all things that don’t change,
photographs,
monuments,
memories of Bunny and Gregory and me in costume
bowing to each other and the audience, like jinxes)
nothing now can be changed, as if
last crying no tears will dry
and Bunny never change her writing of
the Bear, nor Gregory bear me
any gift further, beyond liking my poems
(no new poems for him.) and
a large red railroad handkerchief from the country
in his sportscar
so like another actor:
For sentiment is always intruding on form,
the immaculate disgust of the mind
beaten down by pain and the vileness of life’s flickering disapproval,
endless torment pretending to be the rose
of acknowledgement (courage)
and fruitless absolution (hence the word: “hip”)
to be cool,
decisive,
precise,
yes, while the barn door hits you in the face
each time you get up
because the wind, seeing you slim and gallant, rises
to embrace its darling poet. It thinks I’m mysterious.
All diseases are exchangeable.
Wind, you’ll have a terrible time
smothering my clarity, a void
behind my eyes,
into which existence
continues to stuff its wounded limbs
as I make room for them on one
after another filthy page of poetry.
Let us have madness openly ...
Incredible
Thank you
I much prefer Ashbery's obscurity to O'Hara's directness.