River by Frank O’Hara

This poem seems to provide a nice metaphore for a working life (of an unenjoyable job eating up your time when you are burning up with creativity inside, and you do not have the time and have lost the energy to get it out and it ends up destroying you, instead of making you happy)  ‘bowing to necessity’ with a broken spirit and warped mind, brainwashed into thinking you should be greatful you even have this job, and you must submit to this life, and your dreams are ridiculous and unattainable your cannot sustain your existence.  Ahh but I am getting carried away! and maybe I have got the concept completely wrong…

Whole days would go by, and later their years,
while I thought of nothing but its darkness
drifting like a bridge against the sky.
Day after day I dreamily sought its melancholy,
its searchings, its soft banks enfolded me,
and upon my lengthening neck its kiss
was murmuring like a wound. My very life
became the inhalation of its weedy ponderings
and sometimes in the sunlight my eyes,
walled in water, would glimpse the pathway
to the green sea. For it was there I was being borne.
Then for a moment my strengthening arms
would cry out upon the leafy crest of air
like whitecaps, and lightning, swift as pain,
would go through me on its way to the forest,
and I’d sink back upon the brutal tenderness
that bore me on, that held me like a slave
in its liquid distances of eyes, and one day,
though weeping for my caresses, would abandon me,
moment of infinitely salty air! Sun fluttering
like a signal! Upon the open flesh of the world.

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One Response to River by Frank O’Hara

  1. Don Lambert says:

    I think you’ve got it all wrong.

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