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I
am ill today but I am not
too ill. I am not ill at
all.
It is a perfect day, warm
for winter, cold
for fall.
A fine day for seeing. I
see
ceramics, during lunch hour, by
Mir6, and I
see the sea by Leger;
light, complicated
Metzingers
and a rude awakening by Brauner,
a
little table by Picasso, pink.
I am tired today
but I am not
too tired. I am not tired at
all.
There is the Pollock, white, harm
will not
fall, his perfect hand
and the many short
voyages. They'll
never fence the silver
range.
Stars are out and there is sea
enough
beneath the glistening earth
to bear me toward the
future
which is not so dark. I
see.
Click here to view the painting this
poem was written about:
Jackson Pollock's "Number 1
(1948)"
Frank O'Hara
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poems about / on: pink,
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Frank O'Hara
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Frank O'Hara
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