Sunday, June 29, 2014

Listening at the Monteleone v

 Vaguely I hear the purple roar of the
   torn-down Third Avenue El
 it sways slightly but firmly like a hand or
   a golden-downed thigh
 normally I don't think of sounds as colored
   unless I'm feeling corrupt
 concrete Rimbaud obscurity of emotion which
   is simple and very definite
 even lasting, yes it may be that dark and purifying
   wave, the death of boredom
 nearing the heights themselves may destroy you in the
   pure air
 to be further complicated, confused, empty but
   refilling, exposed to light

 With the past falling away as an acceleration of
   nerves thundering and shaking
 aims its aggregating force like the Métro towards
   a realm of encircling travel
 rending the sound of adventure and becoming ultimately
   local and intimate
 repeating the phrases of an old romance which is constantly
   renewed by the
 endless originality of human loss the air the stumbling
   quiet of breathing
 newly the heavens' stars all out we are all for the captured
   time of our being

Frank O'Hara
Collected Poems
  You are Gorgeous and
  I'm Coming
Donald Allen, editor
op. cit.

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