Frank O’hara is the only poet in the world to me. And yet, when he died at 40, his recognition as a poet was an afterthought; something placed after an em dash in his New York Times obituary. “Exhibitions Aide at Modern Art Dies — Also a Poet.” I knew this because I ran to buy Ada Calhoun’s book on O’hara when it came out last year. She had titled the book after this peculiar clause: Also a Poet.
The best part of making your obsessions widely known is that sometimes you get sent a link to a t-shirt with Frank O’haras obituary plastered across the chest. When the link was sent to me, the shirt was sold out. For months, I continued to revisit the site, staring at the headline I had known well.