"When my mother was very old and in a nursing home, she surprised me one day toward the end of her life by asking me if I still wrote poetry. When I blurted out that I still do, she stared at me with incomprehension. I had to repeat what I said, till she sighed and shook her head, probably thinking to herself this son of mine has always been a little nuts. Now that I’m in my seventies, I’m asked that question now and then by people who don’t know me well. Many of them, I suspect, hope to hear me say that I’ve come my senses and given up that foolish passion of my youth and are visibly surprised to hear me confess that I haven’t yet. They seem to think there is something downright unwholesome and even shocking about it, as if I were dating a high school girl, at my age, and going with her roller-skating that night."
http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/nyrblog/2012/may/15/why-i-still-write-poetry/
Taken with instagram
Taken with instagram
Taken with instagram
Walking to Work
It’s going to be the sunny side
from now
on. Get out, all of you.
This is my traffic over the night
and how
should I range my pride
each oceanic morning like a cutter
if I
confuse the dark world is round
round who
in my eyes at morning saves
nothing from nobody? I’m becoming
the street.
Who are you in love with?
me?
Straight against the light I cross.
—Frank O’Hara
