Frank O'Hara

(27 March 1926 – 25 July 1966 / Baltimore, Maryland)

Frank O'Hara Poems

1. 1951 1/13/2003
2. A City Winter 1/13/2003
3. A Quiet Poem 1/13/2003
4. A Step Away From Them 1/13/2003
5. A True Account Of Talking To The Sun On Fire Island 1/20/2003
6. Animals 3/29/2012
7. Ann Arbor Variations 1/13/2003
8. As Planned 1/13/2003
9. At Joan's 1/13/2003
10. At Night Chinamen Jump 1/13/2003
11. Autobiographia Literaria 1/13/2003
12. Ave Maria 1/13/2003
13. Call Me 1/13/2003
14. Chinamen Jump 1/13/2003
15. Digression On Number 1, 1948 1/13/2003
16. Five Poems 1/23/2015
17. For Grace, After A Party 1/13/2003
18. Having A Coke With You 3/27/2015
19. Homosexuality 1/13/2003
20. In Memory Of My Feelings 1/20/2003
21. Jane Awake 1/13/2003
22. Lines For The Fortune Cookies 1/13/2003
23. Mayakovsky 3/29/2012
24. Meditations In An Emergency 1/13/2003
25. Melancholy Breakfast 1/13/2003
26. Morning 1/13/2003
27. Music 1/13/2003
28. My Heart 1/13/2003
29. On Seeing Larry Rivers' Washington Crossing The Delaware At The Museum Of Modern Art 1/13/2003
30. Personal Poem 3/29/2012
31. Poem (Hate Is Only One Of Many Responses) 1/13/2003
32. Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed!) 1/13/2003
33. Rhapsody 3/29/2012
34. Sleeping On The Wing 3/29/2012
35. Song (Did You See Me Walking By The Buick Repairs?) 1/13/2003
36. Song (Is It Dirty) 1/13/2003
37. Spleen 1/13/2003
38. Steps 1/13/2003
39. The Day Lady Died 1/13/2003
40. The Eager Note On My Door Said "Call Me," 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Frank O'Hara

Why I Am Not A Painter

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 ...

Read the full of Why I Am Not A Painter

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

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