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.


Number 1 (1948) by Jackson Pollack 
Oil on canvas, 68 inches x 104 inches.  
The Museum of Modern Art, New York City. 
It is from the class "Paintings & Poems" in  
The Department of English at Emory University  

***this poem is from The Collected Poems of Frank O'Hara, edited by Donald Allen (Berkeley: U of California P, 1995)

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