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
1959
Donald Allen, editor
op. cit.
No comments:
Post a Comment