My first exposure to Frank O’Hara’s poetry was on season two of Mad Men. Don Draper mails a book of poems to someone, and over the scene Jon Hamm’s smoky gravel recites a few lines from “Mayakovsky”: Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern. What gorgeous brooding was this? I looked up the book, drove to Barnes & Noble, and bought Meditations immediately. I skimmed it once and let it sit on my shelves for […]