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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Frank O'Hara - A Step Away from Them

It’s my lunch hour, so I go

for a walk among the hum-colored

cabs. First, down the sidewalk

where laborers feed their dirty

glistening torsos sandwiches

and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets

on. They protect them from falling

bricks, I guess. Then onto the

avenue where skirts are flipping

above heels and blow up over

grates. The sun is hot, but the

cabs stir up the air. I look

at bargains in wristwatches. There

are cats playing in sawdust.


to Times Square, where the sign

blows smoke over my head, and higher

the waterfall pours lightly. A

Negro stands in a doorway with a

toothpick, languorously agitating.

A blonde chorus girl clicks: he

smiles and rubs his chin. Everything

suddenly honks: it is 12:40 of

a Thursday.

                Neon in daylight is a

great pleasure, as Edwin Denby would

write, as are light bulbs in daylight.

I stop for a cheeseburger at JULIET’S   

CORNER. Giulietta Masina, wife of

Federico Fellini, è bell’ attrice.

And chocolate malted. A lady in

foxes on such a day puts her poodle

in a cab.

             There are several Puerto

Ricans on the avenue today, which

makes it beautiful and warm. First

Bunny died, then John Latouche,

then Jackson Pollock. But is the

earth as full as life was full, of them?

And one has eaten and one walks,

past the magazines with nudes

and the posters for BULLFIGHT and

the Manhattan Storage Warehouse,

which they’ll soon tear down. I

used to think they had the Armory

Show there.

                A glass of papaya juice

and back to work. My heart is in my

pocket, it is Poems by Pierre Reverdy.

Frank O'Hara - The Day Lady Died

it is 12:20 in new york a friday
three days after bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and i go get a shoeshine
because i will get off the 4:19 in easthampton
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and i don’t know the people who will feed me


i walk up the muggy street beginning to sun
and have a hamburger and a malted and buy
an ugly new world writing to see what the poets
in ghana are doing these days
i go on to the bank
and miss stillwagon (first name linda i once heard)
doesn’t even look up my balance for once in her life
and in the golden griffin i get a little verlaine
for patsy with drawings by bonnard although i do
think of hesiod, trans. richmond lattimore or
brendan behan’s new play or le balcon or les nègres
of genet, but i don’t, i stick with verlaine
after practically going to sleep with quandariness


and for mike i just stroll into the park lane
liquor store and ask for a bottle of strega and
then i go back where i came from to 6th avenue
and the tobacconist in the ziegfeld theatre and
casually ask for a carton of gauloises and a carton
of picayunes, and a new york post with her face on it


and i am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
leaning on the john door in the 5 spot
while she whispered a song along the keyboard
to mal waldron and everyone and i stopped breathing


Frank O'Hara - Call Me

the eager note on my door said "call me,
call when you get in!" so i quickly threw
a few tangerines into my overnight bag,
straightened my eyelids and shoulders, and


headed straight for the door. it was autumn
by the time i got around the corner, oh all
unwilling to be either pertinent or bemused, but
the leaves were brighter than grass on the sidewalk!


funny, i thought, that the lights are on this late
and the hall door open; still up at this hour, a
champion jai-alai player like himself? oh fie!
for shame! what a host, so zealous! and he was


there in the hall, flat on a sheet of blood that
ran down the stairs. i did appreciate it. there are few
hosts who so thoroughly prepare to greet a guest
only casually invited, and that several months ago.

Frank O'Hara - Mayakovsky

my heart's aflutter!
i am standing in the bath tub
crying. mother, mother
who am i? if he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it's throbbing!


then i can put on my clothes
i guess, and walk the streets.


i love you. i love you,
but i'm turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.


words! be
sick as i am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,


and i'll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
for poetry.


cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick


with bloody blows on its head.
i embrace a cloud,
but when i soared
it rained.


that's funny! there's blood on my chest
oh yes, i've been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as i step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky and
glistening with a passion for running
i leap into the leaves, green like the sea


now i am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.


the country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.


it may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? i mean, what do i? and if i do,
perhaps i am myself again.



Via loverofbeauty, a reference in beauty if there ever was one.

Frank O'Hara - Animals

Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth


it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners


the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water


I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

Frank O'Hara - Morning

I've got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with death

in my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robe

chills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snow

At night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutes

I miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem mine

although I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you'd be proud of

the parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicycle

what are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies it

is difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are alone

Last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I'll not be cordial

there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is

when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go

(via all of me)

Frank O'Hara - To The Harbormaster (about Larry Rivers)

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
you i offer my hull and the tattered cordage
of my will. the terrible channels where
the wind drives me against the brown lips
of the reeds are not all behind me. yet
i trust the sanity of my vessel; and
if it sinks, it may well be in answer
to the reasoning of the eternal voices,
the waves which have kept me from reaching you.


via loverofbeauty

Frank O'Hara - Poem

light clarity avocado salad in the morning

after all the terrible things i do how amazing it is

to find forgiveness and love, not even forgiveness

since what is done is done and forgiveness isn’t love

and love is love nothing can ever go wrong

though things can get irritating boring…