In Which We Celebrate The Happiness That Is Frank O’Hara On This What Would Have Been His 87,454 Day of His Life

The sad thing about Frank O’Hara is that he easily could be alive today. He’d be old. I feel it’s important not to calculate how old. There’s a great biography of him by Brad Gooch–Ashbery and Creeley deserve a treatment half as good. You can see my O’Hara style poem at my myspace. O’Hara was very gay, and very inspired. He has tons of great poems; he has tons of mediocre ones. Overall it’s his style that we treasure–he wasn’t afraid to go there, anywhere his mind wanted to go. I mean, he actually did fuck a subway ticket taker in the booth. He loved people passionately, forever, and he never forgot about it. He was a wonderful friend to many. The best part of his biography may be the description of what happened after he died in a car accident. People finding out about it, rushing to wherever, commiserating with each other. He was taken much too young, and it’s all the more sad, because he would have wanted to live forever.

You can get a sense of his poetry below, and find more here and here.


Let’s take a walk you
and I in spite of the
weather if it rains hard
on our toes

we’ll stroll like poodles
and be washed down a
gigantic scenic gutter
that will be

exciting! voyages are not
all like this you just put
your toes together then
maybe blood

will get meaning and a trick
become slight in our keeping
before we sail the open sea it’s

And the landscape will do
us some strange favor when
we look back at each other

Frank O’Hara


I cannot possibly think of you
other than you are: the assassin

of my orchards. You lurk there
in the shadows, meting out

conversation like Eve’s first
confusion between penises and

snakes. Oh be droll, be jolly
and be temperate! Do not

frighten me more than you
have to! I must live forever.

Frank O’Hara


Light clarity avocado salad in the morning
after all the terrible things I do how amazing it is
to find forgiveness and love, not even forgiveness
since what is done is done and forgiveness isn’t love
and love is love nothing can ever go wrong
though things can get irritating boring and dispensable
(in the imagination) but not really for love
though a block away you feel distant the mere presence
changes everything like a chemical dropped on a paper
and all thoughts disappear in a strange quiet excitement
I am sure of nothing but this, intensified by breathing.

Frank O’Hara

“If It’s Hurting You” — Robbie Williams

One thought on “In Which We Celebrate The Happiness That Is Frank O’Hara On This What Would Have Been His 87,454 Day of His Life

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