30 nov. 2011

Frank O'Hara and Me

Here is a poem I composed in my head as I was trying to get out of bed this morning. Once I showered and shaved and dressed, I wrote it down in this blog post. It is unlike any poem I have ever written.
Frank O'Hara and Me

I have outlived Frank O'Hara by eleven years,
Lorca by thirteen.
Spicer, too, dead at forty.
Fiercely devoted to them, I am unlike them,
less talent, drinking less, not gay,
with a daughter who plays Mahler.
Their work flows through me
like Mahler through Julia's trumpet,
"the inexorable product of my own time"?
A time that is also mine.

3 comentarios:

Clarissa dijo...

My poetry appreciation skills are nothing special, but I really like this poem. I read it aloud and I think I found prosody in it. This is a big achievement for me. :-)

Jonathan dijo...

Thanks. What does that mean, "I found prosody in it"? Prosody is not exactly a substance that can be found somewhere.

Clarissa dijo...

I mean I finally got what it is. I know the definition but I find it hard to really get what it means. So now I'm trying to connect to poems not on the level of looking for a plot in them (as I used to do) but concentrating on prosody.