I am just four days away from not only a Mozart-free home for at
least a blessed month, I'm four days away from not hearing Debussy's "Golliwog," with luck, ever fucking again, but with Planet's practicing before her recital this Sunday? GAH!
Oh, I've been thinking about the power of poetry to affect political
change, and let me say this: I've been posting poetry regularly since
the beginning of this shuuty bleeg and posting a poem on each BWOCK! post for as long as I can remember, and I betcha NONE! of my regulars ping in each day to read the poem, though I flatter myself the majority at least start most of them and see how it goes.
Have one:
A TRUE ACCOUNT OF TALKING TO THE SUN AT FIRE ISLAND
Frank O'Hara
The Sun woke me
this morning loud
and clear, saying
“Hey! I've been
trying to wake you up
for fifteen
minutes. Don’t be so
rude, you are
only the second poet
I’ve ever chosen
to speak to
personally
so why
aren’t you more
attentive? If I could
burn you through the
window I would
to wake you up. I
can't hang around
here all day.”
“Sorry, Sun, I stayed
up late last night
talking to Hal.”
“When I woke up
Mayakovsky he was
a lot more prompt”
the Sun said
petulantly. “Most
people are up
already waiting to
see if I’m going
to put in an
appearance.”
I
tried
to apologize “I
missed you yesterday.”
“That’s better” he
said. “I didn’t
know you’d come out.”
“You may be
wondering why I’ve
come so close?”
“Yes” I said
beginning to feel hot
wondering if maybe he
wasn’t burning me
anyway.
“Frankly I
wanted to tell you
I like your poetry. I
see a lot
on my rounds and
you’re okay. You may
not be the greatest
thing on earth, but
you’re different.
Now, I’ve heard some
say you’re crazy,
they being excessively
calm themselves to my
mind, and other
crazy poets think
that you’re a boring
reactionary. Not me.
Just keep on
like I do and pay no
attention. You’ll
find that people
always will complain
about the atmosphere,
either too hot
or too cold too
bright or too dark, days
too short or too
long.
If you don’t appear
at all one day they
think you’re lazy
or dead. Just keep
right on, I like it.
And don’t worry about
your lineage poetic or natural.
The Sun shines on the jungle, you know,
on the tundra the sea, the ghetto.
Wherever you were
I knew it and saw you
moving. I was waiting
for you to get to
work.
And
now that you
are making your own
days, so to speak,
even if no one reads
you but me you won’t be
depressed. Noteveryone can look up,
even at me. Ithurts their eyes."
“Oh Sun, I’m so grateful to you!”
“Thanks and remember
I’m watching. It’s
easier for me to
speak to you out here. I don’t have to
slide down
between buildings to
get your ear.
I know you love
Manhattan, butyou ought to look up
more often.
And
always embrace
things, people earth
sky stars, as I do,
freely and with the appropriate sense
of space.That is your inclination,
known in the heavens and you should follow
it to hell, if necessary, which I
doubt.
Maybe
we’ll
speak again in
Africa, of which I too
am specially fond. Go
back to sleep now
Frank, and I may
leave a tiny poem
in that brain of
yours as my farewell.”
“Sun, don’t go!” I
was awake
at last. “No, go I
must, they’re calling
me.”
“Who are
they?”
Rising he said “Some
day you’ll know.
They’re calling to you
too.” Darkly he rose,
and then I slept.
Have another song:
Comments
ฟังการกำหนดของวันนี้
I am just four days away from not only a Mozart-free home for at
least a blessed month, I'm four days away from not hearing Debussy's "Golliwog," with luck, ever fucking again, but with Planet's practicing before her recital this Sunday? GAH!
Oh, I've been thinking about the power of poetry to affect political
change, and let me say this: I've been posting poetry regularly since
the beginning of this shuuty bleeg and posting a poem on each BWOCK! post for as long as I can remember, and I betcha NONE! of my regulars ping in each day to read the poem, though I flatter myself the majority at least start most of them and see how it goes.
Have one:
A TRUE ACCOUNT OF TALKING TO THE SUN AT FIRE ISLAND
Frank O'Hara
The Sun woke me
this morning loud
and clear, saying
“Hey! I've been
trying to wake you up
for fifteen
minutes. Don’t be so
rude, you are
only the second poet
I’ve ever chosen
to speak to
personally
so why
aren’t you more
attentive? If I could
burn you through the
window I would
to wake you up. I
can't hang around
here all day.”
“Sorry, Sun, I stayed
up late last night
talking to Hal.”
“When I woke up
Mayakovsky he was
a lot more prompt”
the Sun said
petulantly. “Most
people are up
already waiting to
see if I’m going
to put in an
appearance.”
I
tried
to apologize “I
missed you yesterday.”
“That’s better” he
said. “I didn’t
know you’d come out.”
“You may be
wondering why I’ve
come so close?”
“Yes” I said
beginning to feel hot
wondering if maybe he
wasn’t burning me
anyway.
“Frankly I
wanted to tell you
I like your poetry. I
see a lot
on my rounds and
you’re okay. You may
not be the greatest
thing on earth, but
you’re different.
Now, I’ve heard some
say you’re crazy,
they being excessively
calm themselves to my
mind, and other
crazy poets think
that you’re a boring
reactionary. Not me.
Just keep on
like I do and pay no
attention. You’ll
find that people
always will complain
about the atmosphere,
either too hot
or too cold too
bright or too dark, days
too short or too
long.
If you don’t appear
at all one day they
think you’re lazy
or dead. Just keep
right on, I like it.
And don’t worry about
your lineage poetic or natural.
The Sun shines on the jungle, you know,
on the tundra the sea, the ghetto.
Wherever you were
I knew it and saw you
moving. I was waiting
for you to get to
work.
And
now that you
are making your own
days, so to speak,
even if no one reads
you but me you won’t be
depressed. Noteveryone can look up,
even at me. Ithurts their eyes."
“Oh Sun, I’m so grateful to you!”
“Thanks and remember
I’m watching. It’s
easier for me to
speak to you out here. I don’t have to
slide down
between buildings to
get your ear.
I know you love
Manhattan, butyou ought to look up
more often.
And
always embrace
things, people earth
sky stars, as I do,
freely and with the appropriate sense
of space.That is your inclination,
known in the heavens and you should follow
it to hell, if necessary, which I
doubt.