Frank O'Hara

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

Frank O'Hara Poems

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

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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