Pic of the Day

Thursday Morning

When I woke up this morning, I fed Isabella, made breakfast, and since it’s Thursday, I watched the new episode of Star Trek: Discovery. It’s a show I can’t multitask while watching, so I didn’t have much time to write a post. By the way, I think Discovery saved the best season for its last season. So far, I’ve enjoyed it more than any other season. I hope that continues.

Well, that’s it for today, have a great Thursday. Here’s your Isabella pic of the week:

In this picture, she’s staring at a robin. Of all the birds and wildlife around where I live, she only pays attention to one other animal: a robin. She’s obsessed with them. If I have a window open, and she hears a robin, she runs to the window as fast as possible. When I took this picture, she and a robin were having a staring contest. It seemed to go on forever until the robin got bored and flew away.

Pic of the Day

If Only…

If I didn’t have classes to teach today, I would have loved to call in sick and go back to bed. However, not only do I have classes to teach, but I spent all afternoon yesterday pulling objects out of storage to use in the class. I got home and was totally exhausted. I woke this morning with my back hurting. Even if I didn’t have classes to teach, I probably wouldn’t call in sick. I work with people who’ll call in sick for the most minor things, including “mental health days,” which basically means the person just didn’t want to go to work that day. I have a better work ethic than that, not that it gets noticed. If I have responsibilities that can’t be postponed, even if it’s something someone else could handle, I take my job seriously. 

Anyway, “Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho; it’s off from work I go.”* I may not “ dig dig dig dig dig dig dig” the “whole day through” like the seven dwarfs in Snow White, but my job “is what I really like to do.”

*Before anyone points it out, I know the lyrics are actually, “Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho; it’s home from work we go.” 

Pic of the Day

Having a Coke with You

Having a Coke with You

By Frank O’Hara

 

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne

or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona

partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian

partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt

partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches

partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary

it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still

as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it

in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth

between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

 

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint

you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

                                                                                                              I look

at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world

except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick

which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together for the first time

and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism

just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or

at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me

and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them

when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank

or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully

as the horse

                               it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience

which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it

About the Poem

 

First published in a small magazine Love, “Having a Coke with You” was also included in the 1965 book Lunch Poems, which I mentioned a few weeks ago. It is a typically spontaneous O'Hara work, unconventional and open-hearted, dashed off with enthusiasm.

 

Frank O'Hara was known as 'a poet among the painters' because of his association with a group of New York artists, the abstract expressionists, with whom he collaborated for a number of years. A livewire and party animal, he worked as an assistant curator at MoMA. Though not prolific, his carefree style, which he termed 'Personism', went against the grain of tradition. He hated literary pretension and wanted his poetry to reflect his dynamic interest in and involvement with cutting-edge cultural activity. Manhattan, his stomping ground, was certainly full of that.

 

"Having A Coke With You" was written when O'Hara returned from a trip to Spain in April 1960 and focused on the intimate relationship between two people enjoying a drink and alludes to art and religion. It's an unorthodox poem that contrasts a beautiful lover with fine art and saintliness. The poem celebrates the mundane and the present moment, contrasting it with the formalism of traditional art. It's conversational tone and colloquial language differ from O'Hara's previous poems, which were often more experimental and abstract. Compared to his earlier works, this poem showcases a shift towards simplicity and accessibility. O'Hara emphasizes the immediate and personal experience, rejecting the grand narratives and artistic conventions of the past. The poem also reflects the cultural shift of the post-war era, where artists sought to break away from traditional forms and engage with everyday life.

 

By praising the beauty and authenticity of everyday moments, "Having a Coke with You" challenges the notion that art must be monumental or grand to be meaningful. Instead, it asserts the value of the ordinary and the subjective experience.

 

 

About the Poet

 

On March 27, 1926, Frank (Francis Russell) O’Hara was born in Maryland. He grew up in Massachusetts, and later studied piano at the New England Conservatory in Boston from 1941 to 1944. O’Hara then served in the South Pacific and Japan as a sonarman on the destroyer USS Nicholas during World War II.

 

Following the war, O’Hara studied at Harvard College, where he majored in music and worked on compositions and was deeply influenced by contemporary music, his first love, as well as visual art. He also wrote poetry at that time and read the work of Arthur Rimbaud, Stéphane Mallarmé, Boris Pasternak, and Vladimir Mayakovsky.

 

While at Harvard, O’Hara met John Ashbery and soon began publishing poems in the Harvard Advocate. Despite his love for music, O’Hara changed his major and left Harvard in 1950 with a degree in English. He then attended graduate school at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, and received his MA in 1951. That autumn, O’Hara moved into an apartment in New York. He was soon employed at the front desk of the Museum of Modern Art and continued to write seriously.

 

O’Hara’s early work was considered both provocative and provoking. In 1952, his first volume of poetry, A City Winter, and Other Poems, attracted favorable attention; his essays on painting and sculpture and his reviews for ArtNews were considered brilliant. O’Hara became one of the most distinguished members of the New York School of poets,* which also included Ashbery, James Schuyler, and Kenneth Koch.

 

O’Hara’s association with painters Larry Rivers, Jackson Pollock, and Jasper Johns, also leaders of the New York School, became a source of inspiration for his highly original poetry. He attempted to produce with words the effects these artists had created on canvas. In certain instances, he collaborated with the painters to make “poem-paintings,” paintings with word texts.

O’Hara’s most original volumes of verse, Meditations in an Emergency (1956) and Lunch Poems (1964), are impromptu lyrics, a jumble of witty talk, journalistic parodies, and surrealist imagery.

 

O’Hara continued working at the Museum of Modern Art throughout his life, curating exhibitions and writing introductions and catalogs for exhibits and tours. On July 25, 1966, while vacationing on Fire Island, Frank O’Hara was killed in a sand buggy accident. He was forty years old.

 

 

*About the New York School of Poetry

 

The New York School of poetry began around 1960 in New York City and included poets such as John Ashbery, Barbara Guest, Kenneth Koch, and Frank O’Hara. Heavily influenced by Surrealism and Modernism, the poetry of the New York School was serious but also ironic and incorporated an urban sensibility into much of the work. An excerpt from Ashbery’s poem “My Philosophy of Life” demonstrates this attitude:

Just when I thought there wasn’t room enough
for another thought in my head, I had this great idea—
call it a philosophy of life, if you will. Briefly,
it involved living the way philosophers live,
according to a set of principles. OK, but which ones?

Abstract Expressionist art was also a major influence, and the New York School poets had strong artistic and personal relationships with artists such as Jackson Pollock and Willem DeKooning. Both O’Hara and James Schuyler worked at the Museum of Modern Art, and Guest, Ashbery, and Schuyler were critics for Art News. O’Hara also took inspiration from artists, entitling two poems “Joseph Cornell” and “On Seeing Larry Rivers’ Washington Crossing the Delaware at the Museum of Modern Art.” O’Hara’s poem “Why I am Not a Painter” includes the lines “I am not a painter, I am a poet. / Why? I think I would rather be / a painter, but I am not.”

 

A second generation of New York School poets arose during the 1960s and included Ted Berrigan, Ron Padgett, Anne Waldman, and Joe Brainard. These poets were also influenced by art, and their work contained much of the same humor and collaborative spirit. Their scene grew up around downtown New York and was associated with the Poetry Project at St. Mark’s Church, a poetry organization that started in the mid-1960s.

The New York School continues to influence poets writing today. Recently published books such as Daniel Kane’s All Poets Welcome: The Lower East Side Poetry Scene in the 1960s and David Lehman’s The Last-Avant Garde: The Making of the New York School of Poets are important histories of this poetic movement that still captures readers today.

Pic of the Day

Pleasant Dreams

I had a weird night of sleep last night. It’s not like I didn’t sleep well; I slept really well and woke up refreshed this morning. However, what made it weird was that I feel like I was dreaming all night long, one dream after another. Some of you might say that everyone dreams during REM sleep, and that’s certainly true. I know I dream, but I never wake up feeling like I’ve been dreaming all night. I can’t remember any of the dreams, just vague flashes here and there this morning. Every so often, I vividly remember my dreams; the vast majority of the time, I do not remember any of my dreams. 

One of those bits and pieces I remember was dreaming about the movie Cruel Intentions. I’m not sure why I was dreaming about this movie other than a friend and I were discussing the movie Friday night. I wouldn’t actually call it discussing the movie, I was mainly saying that this was one of my gay awakenings. There were certainly other things I saw or that happened that really cemented to me that I was gay, but the scene above in which Sebastian (Ryan Phillipe) drops his towel after getting out of the pool is one I will always remember vividly. Many gay men around my age will say that this scene was their gay awakening too. I think that’s what made this somewhat mediocre movie a cult classic. Oh, and my dream car has been a black vintage Jaguar XK140 convertible, like the one Sebastian drives in the movie.

Anyway, as I sit here drinking my tea, it’s nice to have the feeling that I slept well last night and had pleasant dreams. Whether we remember our dreams or not, I suspect we have all woken up some mornings knowing we had a night full of unpleasant dreams and nightmares. So, it’s very nice to wake up knowing that you had a restful night of sleep filled with pleasant dreams.

Pic of the Day

Comfort and Acceptance

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 

—2 Corinthians 1:3-4

 

I had a migraine last night, and it is still with me this morning. As it is Sunday, I was thinking about my weekly devotional. Did I even have the fortitude to write one this week? It made me think about what the Bible says about pain. The Bible speaks a lot about mental and metaphysical such as Revelation 21:4, “And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” The Bible discusses our grief and suffering many times and how it will one day end “In the Morning of Joy.”

 

However, other than the miracles Jesus performed healing the sick, not as much is said about physical pain and suffering. As I was searching for verses about physical pain, I came across 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, which says, God “comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” While this may not be specifically about physical pain, it did remind me of some of the purposes of this blog. When I first started this blog, it was meant to be “A blog about LGBTQ+ History, Art, Literature, Politics, Culture, and Whatever Else Comes to Mind. The Closet Professor is a fun (sometimes tongue-in-cheek, sometimes very serious) approach to LGBTQ+ Culture” as the tagline says at the top of this blog, but as we do in life, it has taken a journey in a more varied direction.

 

One of those purposes was to be a place where LGBTQ+ Christians, especially those raised in the Church of Christ, could find a place of understanding and acceptance. Over the years, I have met some wonderful people who came across this blog while searching for what it means to be an LGBTQ+ Christian who wanted to keep their faith in the very conservative Church of Christ, and many of them told me that this blog helped them to understand their faith better and through it found personal acceptance. Some of those individuals became close friends of mine. 

 

Being a welcoming place for LGBTQ+ Christians is something I consider a mission of my Sunday devotionals, but this has not been my sole objective for this blog. I have also chosen to be open and honest about the trials, tribulations, and treatments for my migraines. I am not in the medical profession, but I have experienced nearly every possible medical treatment for migraines, from antidepressants, anti-anxiety medications, beta blockers, calcium blockers, Botox injections, to newer CGRP treatments. I have taken a long list of preventative and abortive treatments for migraines.

 

In both of these instances, I have tried to give others an honest perspective and to let them know they are not alone. There are people out there who have suffered just like I have. I wanted this blog to be a place where others can hopefully find the same comfort with which I have been comforted by God. I may no longer attend church or formally pray, but I have kept a close relationship with God. I have an internal dialogue with God constantly. Yes, there are certainly times when I offer up a silent prayer for myself and others, because I follow Jesus’s instructions about prayer in Matthew 6:6-7, “But you, when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly. And when you pray, do not use vain repetitions as the heathen do. For they think that they will be heard for their many words.”

 

For me, faith is a very personal journey. I will never deny being a devout Christian. I will continue to share my spiritual mission every Sunday, but in my everyday existence, I believe that the best way to show my faith is by living in a way that I hope is an example of a true believer in Christ’s teachings. 

 

So, with this blog, I attempt to provide comfort to others, whether that is through my personal journey as a faithful Christian, a sufferer of chronic migraines, or through stories of my mundane life, my love of poetry, or by giving examples of LGBTQ+ people and our allies throughout history (and, yes, also my appreciation for beautiful men). I’m not sure I’m successful in all those aspects, but I’ll continue to try to be a place of comfort and acceptance.

Pic of the Day

Moment of Zen: Running

I personally don’t like to run, but I love watching other guys run.

Pic of the Day

Prescott Townsend

Prescott Townsend (1894-1973) was born into an old, wealthy Boston family. His mother was both a descendant of Myles Standish through her grandmother Susannah Perkins Staples (the sister of Yale Law School founder Seth Perkins Staples) and other Mayflower passengers, and the great-granddaughter of the American founding father Roger Sherman and his wife Rebecca Minot Prescott, through their son Roger Sherman, Jr. Townsend came out as a teenager, and his parents were accepting but told him to be cautious. 

 

He attended the Volkman School, graduated in 1918 from Harvard University, and attended Harvard Law Schoolfor one year. He spent the summer of 1914 in logging camps in Montana and Idaho, and traveled to North Africa and the Soviet Union. After serving in World War I, Prescott lived in Paris for a time, becoming immersed in the bohemian culture of the era. He then "sought to establish an outpost of that culture" in his hometown of Boston and returned to Boston's Beacon Hill neighborhood, where he began a relationship with theater producer Elliot Paul, with whom he founded the experimental Barn Theatre in 1922.

 

Paul introduced Townsend to numerous avant-garde creatives, including openly gay writer André Gide. Townsend operated speakeasies, restaurants, and theaters, cultivating a bohemian neighborhood on Beacon Hill's Joy Street. He also spent time in Provincetown, where he became friendly with playwright Eugene O'Neill and other theater artists. He pioneered the popularity of A-frame houses, building several in Provincetown. He was later a founder of the Provincetown Playhouse, where the works of Eugene O'Neill were first performed.

Prescott was very happy to be a patron of the arts, and artists were very happy to take his money, However, the Great Depression ended all that. 

 

By the 1930s, Prescott Townsend repeatedly addressed the Massachusetts legislature as an acknowledged homosexual man advocating for the repeal of sodomy legislation, urging the lawmakers "to legalize love.” He was indulged due to his family's wealth and Boston Brahmin status, but he was ignored by lawmakers. While working at the shipyard during World War II, Townsend was arrested in 1943, for participating in an "unnatural and lascivious act.” He did not deny it, and was sentenced to eighteen months in the Massachusetts House of Corrections. 

 

Shortly after, Prescott was officially stricken from both the New York and Boston Social Registers. In the 1950s, he held meetings at his home/bookstore, which he described as "the first social discussion of homosexuality in Boston.” In talks in Boston and Provincetown he promoted his "Snowflake Theory" of human personality and sexuality, stating that the human mind is like a snowflake in that no two are alike, and each has six opposing sides: I/You, He/She, Hit/Submit. He embraced a more in-your-face generation of activists in the late 1960s, marked by the uprising at New York City's Stonewall Inn in 1969 and at age 76, he attended the first Pride parade in New York on the one-year anniversary of the Stonewall riots.

 

Toward the end of his life, his two remaining properties on the Hill were on its North Slope, traditionally the side where servants of patrician South Slope residents lived. He accommodated a motley collection of tenants, mostly young gay men, in an eight-unit building at 75 Phillips St. He always advocated for the outsider, the hippies, vagabonds, and runaway homeless queer youth his was a legacy of love, money and uplift. 

 

Townsend died at age 78. He had, for years, been suffering from failing health brought on by Parkinson's disease, and on May 23, 1973, his body was found in the Beacon Hill apartment of John Murray, who had been caring for him during the final years of his life. The police reported that "when we came in to take charge of the body, Mr. Townsend was found in a kneeling prayer position at his bedside." Of his entire family, only one sister, a nephew and a great-nephew attended his memorial service at the Arlington Street Church.