When I first picked up my copy of Frank O’Hara’s Lunch Poems, I decided to bring it along with me to the beach so that I could enjoy it in the sunlight, even as the wind harshly blew. The pages flitted up at me each time I started to daydream, as each poem I read incited a thought, or more accurately, a plethora of thoughts that made my mind eager to wander. Each journey O’Hara entails is unique, even if he seems to roam the same set of streets day in and day out. Each poem made me short of breath, as I felt like I was rushing along behind him so that I could see all that he wanted me to.

The lively movement of his poetry not only excited me, but it also encouraged me to embrace the constant, unstoppable motion in my own life, as it may be hard to keep up, but there are still so many things worth seeing. It was after I finished reading “On the Way to San Remo” that I realized that O’Hara had this effect on me. The pure, fast-paced, enthusiastic optimism in O’Hara’s poetry invigorated me when I had just come out of a really dark place in my life. With the help of O’Hara, I could see the world in motion and not be overwhelmed; instead, I could enjoy the moving parts and even participate myself.

“On the Way to San Remo” is the first poem of O’Hara’s that captured my interest, as it reads almost as if you’re experiencing this walk on a carousel. The revolving nature of the focus that O’Hara has on his subjects is an odd sensation, as he does not fixate on one person, animal, or thing for very long. The third stanza of the poem, in particular, is exemplary of this speedy detailing: “The cross-eyed dog scratches a worn patch of pavement / his right front leg is maimed in the shape of a V / there’s no trace of his nails on the street a woman cajoles” (O’Hara 7-9).

The stanza may start as a testament to a cross-eyed dog, but it ends on a new beginning, as the “woman [who] cajoles” suddenly becomes O’Hara’s focus even before he has started the next stanza. This leaking of one subject into another is very human-like, as there is often never a neat, orderly progression of thoughts in the human mind. Rather, O’Hara has the poem operate similarly to an authentic thought process; one that is similar to a carousel, going ‘round and ‘round and new images becoming the center of our thoughts as they zoom into view.

Also of interest to me was the final stanza of the poem, as it brings this carousel to a screeching halt; “Yes you are foolish smoking / the bars are for rabbits / who wish to outlive the men” (28-30). These final lines came out of nowhere for me, as they seem to be more opinionated than observational.

The diction of “foolish” and the serious tone of “who wish to outlive the men” seem to be an effort by O’Hara to ground the reader back in reality, or at least take a step off of the carousel for a moment. In doing this, though, the jarring effect is equivalent to feeling the dizziness upon returning to stable ground. This disorientation by being reoriented with the seriousness of mortality among “the men” is executed beautifully by O’Hara, as the poem ends up having a larger impact that is beyond the scope of the streets of New York. For me, the poem really makes you think about those around you and how they would like to think that their fates aren’t of a revolving, cyclical nature.

Another one of O’Hara’s poems that caught me off guard was “A Step Away From Them.” This poem also has a fast pace to it, but it has a different effect. As I read it, I felt the sun intensify on my skin, and the passersby’s sweat gleam brighter, and the colors of the ocean become more vibrant.

The first stanza of the poem, in particular, seems to be of a flirty, suggestive nature, as O’Hara writes, “… First, down the sidewalk / where laborers feed their dirty / glistening torsos sandwiches” (3-5). As he passes these men, O’Hara notes their “glistening torsos,” and even takes a moment to note the “skirts [that] are flipping / above heels and blow up over / grates” (9-11). This flirtation continues, but dies down considerably when the climax of the poem occurs, when “Everything / suddenly honks” (22-23). From this point on, O’Hara adopts a more reflective attitude, as he reveres the greats in art, which leads him to the powerful question of “But is the / earth as full as life was full, of them?” (37-38). The question that O’Hara asks is one that can be sensed throughout his poetry, but it is not until he addresses death that it becomes an explicit thought.

The final poem that I’ve selected to discuss is especially brief, but especially insightful. It also takes on a less lively tone, as compared to O’Hara’s other poetry. “Poem” begins, “Instant coffee with slightly sour cream / in it, and a phone call to the beyond” (1-2). These first lines come across as charming, but also quite mysteriously. What does “a phone call to the beyond” have to do with coffee? Or, more importantly, to whom is the phone call being placed? To attempt to answer these questions, the rest of the poem should be accounted for.

The next few lines discuss a drunkenness concerning “the poetry of a new friend,” which could be a form of escape for the speaker of the poem (4-5). O’Hara also brings up the issue of “impossibilities” twice, as he writes, “my life held precariously in the seeing / hands of others, their and my impossibilities,” as well as, “Is this love, now that the first love / has finally died, where there were no impossibilities?” (6-9). Now that we’ve considered the poem as a whole, the “phone call to the beyond” could be interpreted as being placed to the speaker’s dead first love, who “has finally died” (2,9).

With the death of this first love, the speaker seems to be grieving deeply, while he tries to continue normal, daily activity, such as drinking a cup of coffee. In this sense, the content of the poem really strikes a chord with me. What I’ve experienced over the past few months can be summed up in this poem, as I’ve lost my first love, and have had to continue to live as normally as possible. With this poem, O’Hara points to a grief dealt with in daily life, and the fact of the matter is that this experience is universal to an extent. Even if this poem takes on a darker tone, I still find it to be reassuring, as I feel that O’Hara recognizes my struggle with grief, and even mental illness. This poem allowed me to realize in a crowd of people that they are all probably just as susceptible to my struggles as I am, and that maybe everyone wishes to make that “phone call to the beyond.”

O'Hara's poetry had such a profound effect on me that day on the beach, and still continues to as I walk around every day, embracing the lightness of life, while the darker tones are only present when they should be. Frank O’Hara, with his poetry, has convinced me to embrace the physical and mental wandering in life, but he has also reminded me to return to the surface, as sometimes the bare minimum in poetry, as well as in contentment with life, is all it takes to be happy.