Now that our hero has come back to us <br />in his white pants and we know his nose <br />trembling like a flag under fire, <br />we see the calm cold river is supporting <br />our forces, the beautiful history. <br /> <br />To be more revolutionary than a nun <br />is our desire, to be secular and intimate <br />as, when sighting a redcoat, you smile <br />and pull the trigger. Anxieties <br />and animosities, flaming and feeding <br /> <br />on theoretical considerations and <br />the jealous spiritualities of the abstract <br />the robot? they're smoke, billows above <br />the physical event. They have burned up. <br />See how free we are! as a nation of persons. <br /> <br />Dear father of our country, so alive <br />you must have lied incessantly to be <br />immediate, here are your bones crossed <br />on my breast like a rusty flintlock, <br />a pirate's flag, bravely specific <br /> <br />and ever so light in the misty glare <br />of a crossing by water in winter to a shore <br />other than that the bridge reaches for. <br />Don't shoot until, the white of freedom glinting <br />on your gun barrel, you see the general fear. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Click here to view the painting this poem was written about: <br />Washington Crossing The Delaware"<br /><br />Frank O'Hara<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-seeing-larry-rivers-washington-crossing-the-d/
