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      April 23, 2011Mary BuchingerSee How Free We Are!

      from “On Seeing Larry Rivers’ Washington Crossing
      the Delaware at the Museum of Modern Art”
      —Frank O’Hara

      Reading War and Peace
      led Larry Rivers to, as he put it,
      “get into the ring with Tolstoy”

       

      and paint “Washington
      Crossing the Delaware”
      which, in turn, led Frank O’Hara

       

      who, incidentally,
      wanted to sleep with Larry
      but Larry didn’t love him that way,

       

      to write the poem “On Seeing
      Larry Rivers’ Washington Crossing
      the Delaware at the Museum of Modern Art,”

       

      which I read
      because one of my favorite poets
      admires O’Hara’s work.

       

      On the other hand,
      one of my favorite professors
      hated Larry Rivers, calling him a bloody fraud

       

      which is more or less what
      both Rivers and O’Hara
      seem to be saying about Washington

       

      “with his nose
      trembling like
      a flag under fire”

       

      or maybe about
      the notion of
      heroes in general

       

      perhaps, in the same way
      that Tolstoy said Napoleon
      was a “slave of history”

       

      which might also account
      for the liberty
      Rivers took in painting

       

      a portrait of Napoleon
      and calling it “The
      Greatest Homosexual.”

       

      Rivers liked to joke
      but also found it odd
      and noteworthy

       

      that Napoleon liked to
      bathe naked in front
      of his officers

       

      which, perhaps, he did
      because he was, after all,
      already so exposed

       

      not unlike Washington
      and Larry
      and Frank

       

      giving new meaning
      to both ex nihilo
      and free will.

      from #25 - Summer 2006

      Mary Buchinger

      “Dostoyevsky and Poetry are my antistatic, my defense against the beat of images soft and constant about the head and all those faceless, toneless conversations that click-click through my day. They deliver me with brain fevers, fits and sobs; clear a path for touch of skin and paper; return me to sparrows in the morning.”