poetry for breakfast

May 15,2015

 

 

 

Frank O’Hara (USA, 1926-1966)

 

St. Paul and All That

 

 

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 it 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