You can forgive a little arrogance if Sheldal doesn’t seem to be so deliberately aware of his intellectual commonality with his daughter, even the ones that helped him forge. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Frank O’Hara,” he says when Ada announced her intentions, but many years ago he gave her a copy of her “lunch poem.” Gave. “It seemed a bit to me that this didn’t seem to know that your child was allergic to vegans, theologicalists or bees,” Calhorn wrote.
He couldn’t admit the book she gave him as a gift, and she was completely put in the trash and cooked a gag of a Harvard acolyte (one of whom moved to her bedroom). I asked for. here. When Ada studied Sanskrit, Sheldar was so tired of her outlook that she was a scholar, so she knocked on the kitchen cabinet (keeping her cabinet open). (Although it is known for that). When Spencer picked up Sanskrit, Sheldar shouted about him, “I have expanded his knowledge in all directions!”
The hiss of the entire tooth in Calhorn’s father’s groping is as great as the tape. It’s a poetry snatch to myself. “It seemed like it was snowing more at the time,” said Barbara Guest, another so-called New York School poet, dreamily remembering walking along 6th Avenue with O’Hara. “We went home in the snow and laughed, laughed, and laughed.” Similarly, gangster Gorey said, “Sit, tweak, tweak, tweak, and another.” I admire how to write a three-page poem and then go to the movies.
Lucas Mathiessen, like Calhorn, the wounded child of the scene, is the son of writers Patsy Southgate and Peter Matthiessen, and recalls the battle between O’Hara, Tomato and Pear. “Complete madness.” Drunk De Kooning struggles to stay talked about as a bird hits a window in his studio deadly. And Granville-Smith responds to the Overture of Calhoun. We hear her radiating ambivalence — “Pain, Pain!” — Through one long conversation, available here thanks to Shorthand’s Tour Deforce by Calhoun.
“Biography is not a good idea,” Granville-Smith wrote in a letter. Calhorn is mischievously wondering, “Who will tell Ron Chernow the news?”
“The Poet Again” is packaged as a love triangle: father, daughter, and ohala. It’s actually a tetrahedron, from which all sorts of creative characters pop out. It’s a big Valentine’s Day for New York City, past and present, and a contribution to a literary scholarship that blends into the soul.
