By the way… if you watched the season premiere of Mad Men last Sunday, you probably recall that the episode ended with Don Draper (Jon Hamm) reading a poem. If you’re curious, the poem is called “Mayakovsky”, and it is indeed part of the Frank O’Hara book Meditations In An Emergency that featured prominently in the episode.
The full text of the poem is as follows:
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.
Incidentally, Meditations jumped from 15,565 to 161 on Amazon’s sales ranking list after Mad Men aired last Sunday night.
I have resisted the urge to say this about Mad Men so far, but I’ll go ahead and get it out of the way now:
You HAVE to love this show or you’re stupid.
At one point I thought I was the only person who was funny enough to write stuff like this.
This is actually the “full text” of the poem:
MAYAKOVSKY
1
My heart’s aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it’s throbbing!
then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.
2
I love you. I love you,
but I’m turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.
Words! be
sick as I am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,
and I’ll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
for poetry.
Cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick
with bloody blows on its head.
I embraced a cloud,
but when I soared
it rained.
3
That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest
oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as I step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky and
glistening with a passion for running
I leap into the leaves, green like the sea
4
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.
FRANK O’HARA