Frank’s birthday

“It’s the birthday of poet Frank O’Hara, born in Baltimore, Maryland (1926).”

Thus begins the writer’s almanac entry for today. Frank was a god among poets. I have often quoted Autobiographia Literaria as my favorite poem. It doesn’t seem to move me in quite the same way it used to, but its brilliance is still apparent.

This afternoon Laura and her sisters and Jason and I went to see Pirates of Penzance at the Guthrie theater. I’d never seen it before, and had only watched the first half of the movie-ized version with Kevin Klein. I have to say that I enjoyed watching the intricacies of Klein’s facial expressions more than I did watching the play. Of course it is a musical, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised I didn’t enjoy it all that much.

Anyway, I did find an interesting quote about poetry to add to my collection.

Although we live by strife,
We’re always sorry to begin it,
For what, we ask, is life
Without a touch of Poetry in it?

Hail, Poetry, thou heav’n-born maid!
Thou gildest e’en the pirate’s trade.
Hail, flowing fount of sentiment!
All hail, all hail, divine emollient!