Frank OHara by Ted Berrigan Winter in the country, Southampton, pale horse as the soot rises, then settles, over the pictures The birds that were singing this morning have shut up I thought I saw a couple, kissing, but Larry said no Its a strange bird. He should know. & I think now Grandmother divided by monkey equals outer space. Ron put me in that picture. In another picture, a good- looking poet is thinking it over; nevertheless, he will never speak of that it. But, his face is open, his eyes are clear, and, leaning lightly on an elbow, fist below his ear, he will never be less than perfectly frank, listening, completely interested in whatever there may be to hear. Attentive to me alone here. Between friends, nothing would seem stranger to me than true intimacy. What seems genuine, truly real, is thinking of you, how that makes me feel. You are dead. And youll never write again about the country, thats true. But the people in the sky really love to have dinner & to talk a walk with you. Our 50th Anniversary edition of OHaras Lunch Poems is out now: bit.ly/1lRfRd9
Posted on: Tue, 15 Jul 2014 19:00:00 +0000
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