Frank O'Hara

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

Frank O'Hara Poems

41. Song (Did You See Me Walking By The Buick Repairs?) 1/13/2003
42. Song (Is It Dirty) 1/13/2003
43. Spleen 1/13/2003
44. Steps 1/13/2003
45. The Day Lady Died 1/13/2003
46. The Eager Note On My Door Said "Call Me," 1/13/2003
47. To The Film Industry In Crisis 3/29/2012
48. To The Harbormaster 1/13/2003
49. Today 3/29/2012
50. V.R. Lang 1/13/2003
51. Why I Am Not A Painter 1/13/2003
52. Yesterday Down at the Canal 11/16/2016

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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