POEMS
Two Poems
by
Frank O'Hara
POEM DURING POULENC'S GLORIA
The sweet sounds of the Seine
drift slowly along inside my left shoulder blade
it is slightly like a stiff neck
only in the back
how strange! we don't know each other
what faintly purposeful motives lead
us to such odd ends
and that they are ends
stops
what stops
nothing but a moment of thoughtful tranquillity
unless it's pleasant you hasten
I hasten
no
I did not say hello to you when you wanted me to deliberately
and you deliberately wanted me
not to
so you
could gracefully complain
which is again almost
the only graceful thing anyone could do
as you so well know
just as hurt is the only beautiful
now that we are grown up
but I don't find the rewards
actual as you do
only in thinking about it
I would rather know someone happy and vulgar
