Frank O'Hara

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

Frank O'Hara Poems

1. Yesterday Down at the Canal 11/16/2016
2. POEM EN FORME DE SAW 11/16/2016
3. Poem ["Khrushchev is coming on the right day!"] 6/24/2017
4. Poem ["The eager note on my door said, ‘Call me,'"] 6/24/2017
5. Poem (At night Chinamen jump) 6/24/2017
6. Adieu to Norman, Bon Jour to Joan and Jean-Paul 6/24/2017
7. Chez Jane 6/24/2017
8. Five Poems 1/23/2015
9. Rhapsody 3/29/2012
10. Sleeping On The Wing 3/29/2012
11. To The Film Industry In Crisis 3/29/2012
12. Personal Poem 3/29/2012
13. Today 3/29/2012
14. V.R. Lang 1/13/2003
15. Mayakovsky 3/29/2012
16. Animals 3/29/2012
17. Having A Coke With You 3/27/2015
18. Song (Did You See Me Walking By The Buick Repairs?) 1/13/2003
19. Spleen 1/13/2003
20. To The Harbormaster 1/13/2003
21. The Eager Note On My Door Said "Call Me," 1/13/2003
22. On Seeing Larry Rivers' Washington Crossing The Delaware At The Museum Of Modern Art 1/13/2003
23. At Night Chinamen Jump 1/13/2003
24. Song (Is It Dirty) 1/13/2003
25. Chinamen Jump 1/13/2003
26. Poem (Hate Is Only One Of Many Responses) 1/13/2003
27. Steps 1/13/2003
28. Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed!) 1/13/2003
29. Ann Arbor Variations 1/13/2003
30. At Joan's 1/13/2003
31. 1951 1/13/2003
32. Call Me 1/13/2003
33. Ave Maria 1/13/2003
34. Jane Awake 1/13/2003
35. Digression On Number 1, 1948 1/13/2003
36. Music 1/13/2003
37. The Day Lady Died 1/13/2003
38. My Heart 1/13/2003
39. A Quiet Poem 1/13/2003
40. As Planned 1/13/2003

Comments about Frank O'Hara

  • Emma Poet (4/27/2015 12:13:00 PM)

    No, he is not alive. He died at forty, but he is awake, in his poetry. He cannot write you your poems, his body is sleeping, yet not, in his poetry. There he is dancing. That is all.

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  • Michael Shepherd (3/17/2005 5:44:00 AM)

    Dear Frank O'Hara,
    Are you alive?
    I've read your poems and know that you are.
    But are you available in person?
    I'd like to ask for more poems..
    that's all.

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

At Joan's

It is almost three
I sit at the marble top
sorting poems, miserable
the little lamp glows feebly
I don't glow at all

I have another cognac
and stare at two little paintings
of Jean-Paul's, so great

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