It’s all quite hectic,
there must be music on the turntable
(his beloved late French classical stuff)
before he enters the bathroom to shave,
only to come out at irregular intervals
to drop me a witticism in the kitchen or,
later, on the balcony, where I’m sitting
with something to read. To make some
sort of a point, like, “Look, I’m busy
even though you’re here and we both
know that you’re a full-attention kind
of guy.”
– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2007)
Note
For some reason I tried to picture what it would be like to have Frank O’Hara over for breakfast.
3 comments:
Leon, you won't believe this but here's a poem I wrote back in 1995:
Going on Nerve, or Talking to Frank O’Hara
Frank,
(you don’t mind me calling you Frank?)
I’ve read almost all of your work in the last 3 days,
and tears still hang around my eyes.
Only a short while ago, I had never heard of you;
another poet said your name
and I read you and now I don’t recognize
my self or my poetry.
My poems are heavy, plodding, profound in the worst way;
yours are right there, “beautiful lies.”
I hold back and you run toward,
I explain & pontificate, you sweat the details,
I describe the moonlight, you talk to the Sun.
But, Frank, my poetry is becoming
I'd love to get your reaction. mt
Thanks for posting this, Mary.
Is this really the end of your poem:
"But, Frank, my poetry is becoming"?
Do you still feel that you are describing the moonlight? ("I describe the moonlight, you talk to the Sun" is great, by the way.)
Yes, "But Frank, my poetry is becoming" is the end of the line. Maybe it needs an ellipsis? Would it be clearer then?
Anyway happy Holidays to you and your family! :)
Post a Comment