Too many poets act like a middle-aged mother trying to get her kids to eat too much cooked meat, and potatoes with… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
I am not a painter. I am a poet. / Why? I think I would rather be / a painter, but I am not. — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
the only truth is face to face, the poem whose words become your mouth and dying in black and white we fight… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
“The stars blink like a hairnet that was dropped / on a seat and now it is lying in the alley behind / the… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
“It's a bright summer day, and I want to be wanted more than anything else in the world.” — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
I don't believe in god, so I don't have to make elaborately sounded structures. ... Pain always produces logic, which is very bad for you. ... As for measure and other technical apparatus, that's just common sense: if you're going to buy a pair of pants you want them to be tight enough so everyone will want to go to… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
“I am moved by the multitudes of your intelligence and sometimes, returning, I become the sea— in love with your speed, your heaviness and… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
When I am feeling depressed and anxious sullen all you have to do is take off your clothes and all is wiped away revealing… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
I don't ... like rhythm, assonance, all that stuff. You just go on your nerve. If someone's chasing you down the street with a… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
“One need never leave the confines of New York to get all the greenery one wishes--I can't even enjoy a blade of grass unless… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
“Now That I Am in Madrid I Can Think " I think of you and the continents brilliant and arid and the slender heart you are sharing my share of with the American air as the lungs I have felt sonorously subside slowly greet each morning and your brown lashes flutter revealing two perfect dawns colored by New York see… — Frank O'Hara Copy Share
Kerouac: You're ruining American poetry, O'Hara. O'Hara: That's more than you ever did for it, Kerouac — Frank O'Hara Copy Share Image
