it's no use worrying about Time

Every morning I see a copy of a Frank O'Hara poem on my dresser. My sister printed it out for my birthday last year, and it immediately resonated with me. I already liked O'Hara's poetry a lot (thanks to my sister), but hadn't read this poem yet.

It's taken from O'Hara's collection "Meditations in an Emergency," which was featured on an episode of the AMC show "Mad Men" last year. At the time my sister gave me the poem, I hadn't yet seen "Mad Men," but now I have and completely adore it. So when I finally got to the episode from the start of season two in which the main character Don Draper recites the poem, I was beyond excited. Sure I was a year late in seeing it ("Mad Men" is now into its third season on AMC, but I'm only three episodes in...watching illegally online), but hearing my beloved Don Draper read the poem gave me chills.

Here is a clip of Don reading it out loud, followed by the poem. The real scene it's featured in is not available on Youtube, so this is just a compilation of different clips from the first two seasons with Don's voice over.

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.