Bemused and Bewildered

     Frank O'Hara, I cannot even pretend to understand what you were trying to say to the world when you wrote Second Avenue. I sat in complete silence reading the words you put down on paper so many years ago. I read them once, I read them twice and then I came back to read the passages I had highlighted just one more time.  Now, while I must respect you as a writer, because well, you are revered and famous in the world of literature, I do not have pretend that I enjoy or even comprehend your work. The entire poem is disjointed and wearisome. I am not a sophisticated reader or writer so while I find the whole thing incoherent and illogical, I am sure the "academic" types applaud it as innovative, fresh and enlightening.
     Second Avenue is much like a book filled with riddles, and in fact, riddles with absolutely no answers. In an attempt to grasp the significance and meaning behind reading this poem, I went on to do a bit of research on  both the writing and the writer. The only common thread that I could find was a general opinion that no one really understands it.  Nothing really makes sense until you stop and  realize that maybe  it is not supposed to. It's almost as if he wrote the poem on a dare from one of his colleagues who said, "Frank, you could probably publish anything...anything at all, and it will be worshiped and admired!" With that challenge, Mr. O'Hara set out to prove him right, and did.
     Reading the poem all but convinced me that I do not belong in such a class as CRTW 300. I cannot even fathom what three more months of reading poems and stories such as this will teach me. I joined this class with an ambition to become a good, maybe even a great writer one day. However, assignments like this one make me question my decision. I feel inadequate, even foolish attempting to discuss the value or merit of something that I do not even comprehend.