HiH has returned to the question of a “social” poet and whether Frank O’Hara and/or Bruce Andrews might be one.

David had originally asked:

Who is the more ‘social’ poet — Frank O’Hara or Bruce Andrews? It would seem that optimism or something resembling grace would be an axiom of a truly social poetry. As I define it are there then any social language poets?

Perhaps then the role of the poet is not to create a discourse in which only the initiate can participate but a social language that desires all to speak, hear and be heard.

To which I responded:

iI guess I think of O’Hara as less a social than a sociable poet, someone who’s always talking to everybody and reporting on talking to everybody, friendly and open in that way–but the question is whether that sociability is just being reported on at a remove or whether the reader is really invited into it, included in it.

You make the call. Two examples, chosen at semi-random.

O’Hara, from “In Memory of My Feelings” (chosen in part because David cited “grace” as one of the qualities of a social poet):

Beards growing, and the constant anxiety

over looks. I’ll shave before she wakes up. Sam Goldwyn

spent $2,000,000 on Anna Sten, but Grushenka left America.

One of me is standing in the waves, an ocean bather,

or I am naked with a plate of devils at my hip.

Grace

to be born and live as variously as possible. The conception

of the masque barely suggests the sordid identifications.

I am a Hittite in love with a horse. I don’t know what blood’s

in me I feel like an African prince I am a girl walking downstairs

in a red pleated dress I am a champion taking a fall

I am a jockey with a sprained ass-hole I am the light mist

in which a face appears

Andrews, from “Mistaken Identity”:

The situation has a situation

Electro-convulsive opinions eat us

Pig brink dollarization, the marriage of money gobble gobble money

Profit margin american cream dream cultures of vultures

A social predicament, the losers are self-preoccupied

Jellyfish FBI — are you a vending machine?

Who fights the free? — at least the exploited ones have a future

Dayglo ethics, corporate global chucksteak

Lose the flag, nightstick imitation value goosing me

Estados Unidos, suck o loaded pistol

Scale model blonde — zoloft, paxil, luvox, celexa

Need money? — it’s easy, it’s simple

Dot-commie foreskin arrevederci

Hot mark-up johnny on the spectacle

You as the human labor saving device

Culture, please — all very non-missionary

Massive doses of dog tranquilizer — to stop being reeducated

Hostesss of the ecosystem