“I find O’Hara’s hopefulness one of the most comical and touching aspects of his love poems. O’Hara was a glass-half-full revisionist of reality. He could make a virtue of anything, even a row (“That’s not a cross look, it’s a sign of life”) or of being left alone (“You never come when you say you’ll come but on the other hand you do come”).”
I first read To the Harbourmaster this past summer as I dug my feet into the imported sand at the artificial beach by the port as cargo ships were loaded up with sugar. What dainty weight. The words of the poem collided in my heart as few things had rung so true to what I wish I could hear from the man I loved for years who could just not keep still. I showed the poem to him in the dark city park the last time I saw him as my hair became matted with tears. At the time, it was the end of optimism.
I’m not sure I will ever read the poem again without thinking of him. There’s a long life ahead that me and this page will share, and I wonder if one day I’ll love the poem more than I love him still. I wonder what weight he carries.
