In the End...

The end of the year is just a few hours away and I've spent the afternoon reading some poetry by Frank O'Hara. Some lines from his poem For the Chinese New Year and for Bill Berkson have somehow struck a chord. I am sharing them with you:


it is perhaps the period that ends
the problem as a proposition of days of days
just an attack to the feelings that stay
poised in the hurricane's center that
eye through which only camels can pass

but I do not mean that tenderness doesn't
linger like a Paris afternoon or a wart
something dumb or desplicable that I love
because it is silent [...]


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