Alone at night
in the wet city
the country's wit
is not memorable.
The wind has blown
all the trees down
but these anxieties
remain erect, being
the heart's deliberate
chambers of hurt
and fear whether
from a green apartment
seeming diamonds or
from an airliner
seeming fields. It's
not simple or tidy
though in rows of
rows and numbered;
the literal drifts
colorfully and
the hair is combed
with bridges, all
compromises leap
to stardom and lights.
If alone I am
able to love it,
the serious voices,
the panic of jobs,
it is sweet to me.
Far from burgeoning
verdure, the hard way
in this street.
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Comments
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I am new to Frank O'Hara and unsure of what he is saying here. Will someone more knowledgeable explain please because I think I may learn to appreciate his style. Thank you.
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He attended graduate school at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, and received his M.A. in 1951. That autumn O'Hara moved into an apartment in New York. City. He was soon employed at the front desk of the Museum of Modern Art and began to write seriously. He picked the job so that he would be able to see the art collection as often as possible. From this time forward his two biggest interests were art and poetry. His life had changed dramatically by the time he got to New York. I believe this poem is reflective of New York, the City and how he saw his life there. ~richard
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