Quote reblogged from pillow talk. with 1 note
You do not always know what I am feeling.
Last night in the warm spring air while I was
blazing my tirade against someone who doesn’t
interest
me, it was love for you that set me
afire,and isn’t it odd? for in rooms full of
strangers my most tender feelings
writhe and
bear the fruit of screaming. Put out your hand,
isn’t there
an ashtray, suddenly, there? beside
the bed? And someone you love enters the room
and says wouldn’t
you like the eggs a littledifferent today?
And when they arrive they are
just plain scrambled eggs and the warm weather
is holding.
Audio post reblogged from POETRYEATER with 16 notes - Played 10 times
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]“Ode to Joy” and “To Hell With It” read by Frank O’Hara
Source: poetryeater
Quote reblogged from Talking of Michelangelo with 25 notes
melancholy breakfast
blue overhead blue underneaththe silent egg thinks
and the toaster’s electrical
ear waitsthe stars are in
“that cloud is hid”the elements of disbelief are
very strong in the morning
Source: buried-denmark
Quote reblogged from A la recherche du temps perdu with 102 notes
I want my feet to be bare,
I want my face to be shaven, and my heart—
you can’t plan on the heart, but
the better part of it, my poetry, is open.
Source: proustitute
Quote reblogged from thoughts from a bourgeois dharma bum with 3 notes
Don’t be bored, don’t be lazy, don’t be trivial, and don’t be proud. The slightest loss of attention leads to death.
Source: eriniee
Post reblogged from GHOST-MODERNISM with 5 notes
Autobiographia Literaria, Frank O’Hara
Every spring I get the urge to read a ton of O’Hara. Here’s one of my favorites from his early days:
When I was a child
I played by myself in a
corner of the schoolyard
all alone.
I hated dolls and I
hated games, animals were
not friendly and birds
flew away.
If anyone was looking
for me I hid behind a
tree and cried out “I am
an orphan.”
And here I am, the
center of all beauty!
writing these poems!
Imagine!
Source: ghostorballoon
Post reblogged from I am I am I am. with 6 notes
I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
“Sit down and have a drink” he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. “You have SARDINES in it.”
“Yes, it needed something there.”
“Oh.” I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. “Where’s SARDINES?”
All that’s left is just
letters, “It was too much,” Mike says.But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven’t mentioned
orange yet. It’s twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike’s painting, called SARDINES.Frank O’Hara, Why I Am Not A Painter
Source: quietism
Post reblogged from your eyes are countries with 2 notes
To the Harbormaster
I wanted to be sure to reach you;
though my ship was on the way it got caught
in some moorings. I am always tying up
and then deciding to depart. In storms and
at sunset, with the metallic coils of the tide
around my fathomless arms, I am unable
to understand the forms of my vanity
or I am hard alee with my Polish rudder
in my hand and the sun sinking. To
you I offer my hull and the tattered cordage
of my will. The terrible channels where
the wind drives me against the brown lips
of the reeds are not all behind me. Yet
I trust the sanity of my vessel; and
if it sinks it may well be in answer
to the reasoning of the eternal voices,
the waves which have kept me from reaching you.-Frank O’hara
Source: orangeblossom24
Photo reblogged from ~~fuck macho bullshit forever =^_^= with 2 notes
![queermutineer:
[Image: Photograph of text,“it is coolI am highand happy”]
Excerpt from a poem by Frank O’Hara](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ljxj2wBJmG1qgbj2go1_1280.jpg)
[Image: Photograph of text,
“it is cool
I am high
and happy”]Excerpt from a poem by Frank O’Hara
Source: anarkitsch
Post reblogged from PRETTY PICTURES with 1 note
St. Paul and All That by Frank O’Hara
Totally abashed and smiling
I walk in
sit down and
face the frigidaire
it’s April
no May
it’s May
such little things have to be established in the morning
after the big things of night
do you want me to come? when
I think of all the things I’ve been thinking of
I feel insane
simply “life in Birmingham is hell”
simply “you will miss me
but that’s good”
when the tears of a whole generation are assembled
they will only fill a coffee cup
just because they evaporate
doesn’t mean life has heat
“this various dream of living”
I am alive with you
full of anxious pleasures and pleasurable anxiety
hardness and softness
listening while you talk and talking while you read
I read what you read
you do not read what I read
which is right, I am the one with the curiosity
you read for some mysterious reason
I read simply because I am a writer
the sun doesn’t necessarily set, sometimes is just
disappears
when you’re not here someone walks in
and says “hey,
there’s no dancer in that bed”
O the Polish summers! those drafts!
those black and white teeth!
you never come when you say you’ll come but on the
other hand you do come.
Source: mishkabeesh
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