Brian’s Reviews > Also a Poet: Frank O'Hara, My Father, and Me > Status Update
Brian
is on page 208 of 272
Aunt Ann had struggled to forgive my father for his eulogy of her son sixteen years earlier. About my cousin, the closest thing I had to a brother, my father delivered a rambling monologue about life and poetry and suicide that included the line “little fucker took himself out.”
— Sep 28, 2026 07:23PM
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Brian
is on page 58 of 272
My father never did know how to relate to me. He tried some things that made sense and some that didn't. When I was in kindergarten, he typed up a bedtime story about a stuffed animal called Doctor Bear. The same year, he showed me Judgment at Nuremberg. I was so traumatized by the graphic concentration camp scenes that soon after, when I saw a Hasidic man on the street, I shrieked and said, “Oh no! Will he be okay?"
— Sep 28, 2026 07:02AM
Brian
is on page 37 of 272
There is nothing quite like walking around New York City three-drinks drunk after a heavy snowfall. It feels like waking up, finally, to find that you’re in the center of the universe. That is the feeling characters always have in Dawn Powell novels and in Replacements songs. You’re alive. You’re dead. You’re both at once.
— Sep 28, 2026 06:38AM
Brian
is on page 36 of 272
He lived in the glamorous swirl the gifted lonely can invent in a great city.
— Sep 28, 2026 06:36AM