Mayakovsky

BY FRANK O’HARA

1

My heart’s aflutter!

I am standing in the bath tub

crying. Mother, mother

who am I? If he

will just come back once

and kiss me on the face

his coarse hair brush

my temple, it’s throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes

I guess, and walk the streets.

2

I love you. I love you,

but I’m turning to my verses

and my heart is closing

like a fist.

Words! be

sick as I am sick, swoon,

roll back your eyes, a pool,

and I’ll stare down

at my wounded beauty

which at best is only a talent

for poetry.

Cannot please, cannot charm or win

what a poet!

and the clear water is thick

with bloody blows on its head.

I embrace a cloud,

but when I soared

it rained.

3

That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest

oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks

what a funny place to rupture!

and now it is raining on the ailanthus

as I step out onto the window ledge

the tracks below me are smoky and

glistening with a passion for running

I leap into the leaves, green like the sea

4

Now I am quietly waiting for

the catastrophe of my personality

to seem beautiful again,

and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and

brown and white in trees,

snows and skies of laughter

always diminishing, less funny

not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of

the year, what does he think of

that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,

perhaps I am myself again.

the moon is hiding in

her hair.

The

lily

of heaven

full of all dreams,

draws down.

cover her briefness in singing

close her with the intricate faint birds

by daisies and twilights

Deepen her,

Recite

upon her

flesh

the rain’s

pearls singly-whispering.

e.e. cummings

let’s live suddenly without thinking

under honest trees,

                                a stream

does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling

-water pursues the angry dream

of the shore.   By midnight,

                                            a moon

scratches the skin of the organised hills

an edged nothing begins to prune

let’s live like the light that kills

and let’s as silence,

                                because Whirl’s after all:

(after me)love,and after you.

I occasionally feel vague how

vague i don’t know tenuous Now-

spears and The Then-arrows making do

our mouths something red,something tall

e.e. cummings