Frank O'Hara Poems
A collection of select Frank O'Hara famous poems that were written by Frank O'Hara or written about the poet by other famous poets. PoetrySoup is a comprehensive educational resource of the greatest poems and poets on history.
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1
If half of me is skewered
by grey crested birds
in the middle of the vines of my promise
and the very fact that I'm a poet
suffers my eyes
to be filled with vermilion tears
2
how much greater danger
from occasion and pain is my vitality
yielding like a tree on fire!--
for every day is another view
of the tentative past
grown secure in its foundry of shimmering
that's...Read more of this...
by
O'Hara, Frank
It's not so much
abstractions are available:
the lofty period of the mind
ending a sentence while the pain endures:
departures absences.
And you are still on the dock
the smoke hasn't cleared in The Narrows
At noon I sit in Jim's Place waiting for George
Who is mopping the stage up
While two girls cry in the last row.
I think they got laid last...Read more of this...
by
O'Hara, Frank
I'm not going to cry all the time
nor shall I laugh all the time
I don't prefer one "strain" to another
I'd have the immediacy of a bad movie
not just a sleeper but also the big
over-produced first-run kind. I want to be
at least as alive as the vulgar. And if
some aficionado of my mess says "That's
not like Frank!"...Read more of this...
by
O'Hara, Frank
The clouds ache bleakly
and when they can manage it
crush someone's head in
without a sound of anger.
This is a brutal mystery.
We meet in the streets
with our hands in our pockets
and snarl guiltily at each other
as if we had flayed a cloud
or two in our salad days.
Lots of things do blame us;
and in moments when I forget
how cruel we really should...Read more of this...
by
O'Hara, Frank
I know so much
about things I accept
so much it's like
vomiting. And I am
nourished by the
shabbiness of my
knowing so much
about others and what
they do and accepting
so much that I hate
as if I didn't know
what it is to me.
And what it is to
them I know and hate....Read more of this...
by
O'Hara, Frank
He waits and it is not without
a great deal of trouble that he tickles
a nightingale with his guitar.
He would like to cry Andiamo!
but alas! no one has arrived
yet although the dew is perfect
for adieux. How bitterly he beats
his hairy chest! because he is
a man sitting out an indignity.
The mean moon is like a nasty
little lemon above the ubiquitous
snivelling fir trees...Read more of this...
by
O'Hara, Frank