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Ideas of Order
Wallace Stevens did not publish his first book of poetry until the age of 44 and did not issue his second book, Ideas of Order, for over a decade. This rare signed limited edition of that crucial work features his illuminating meditation on art—“The Idea of Order at Key West”—along with 32 additional poems, each the sublime expression of a body of work praised by critics as “drenched with the life of his senses. This vibrant fact forms the core of his exploration of the interplay between the mind and reality… What gives his best work its astonishing power and vitality is the way in which a fixed point of view, maturing naturally, eventually takes in more than a constantly shifting point of view could get at” (New York Times). Awarded the 1955 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, “no poet gives us more to think about or greater reward for thinking” (Chiasson, New York Review of Books).
- GenresPoetry
61 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1936
About the author
Wallace Stevens
216 books501 followersWallace Stevens is a rare example of a poet whose main output came at a fairly advanced age. His first major publication (four poems from a sequence entitled "Phases" in the November 1914 edition of Poetry Magazine) was written at the age of thirty-five, although as an undergraduate at Harvard, Stevens had written poetry and exchanged sonnets with George Santayana, with whom he was close through much of his life. Many of his canonical works were written well after he turned fifty. According to the literary critic Harold Bloom, who called Stevens the "best and most representative" American poet of the time, no Western writer since Sophocles has had such a late flowering of artistic genius.
Stevens attended Harvard as a non-degree special student, after which he moved to New York City and briefly worked as a journalist. He then attended New York Law School, graduating in 1903. On a trip back to Reading in 1904 Stevens met Elsie Viola Kachel; after a long courtship, he married her in 1909. In 1913, the young couple rented a New York City apartment from sculptor Adolph A. Weinman, who made a bust of Elsie.
A daughter, Holly, was born in 1924. She later edited her father's letters and a collection of his poems.
After working for several New York law firms from 1904 to 1907, he was hired on January 13, 1908 as a lawyer for the American Bonding Company. By 1914 he had become the vice-president of the New York Office of the Equitable Surety Company of St. Louis, Missouri. When this job was abolished as a result of mergers in 1916, he joined the home office of Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company and left New York City to live in Hartford, where he would remain for the rest of his life.
Stevens attended Harvard as a non-degree special student, after which he moved to New York City and briefly worked as a journalist. He then attended New York Law School, graduating in 1903. On a trip back to Reading in 1904 Stevens met Elsie Viola Kachel; after a long courtship, he married her in 1909. In 1913, the young couple rented a New York City apartment from sculptor Adolph A. Weinman, who made a bust of Elsie.
A daughter, Holly, was born in 1924. She later edited her father's letters and a collection of his poems.
After working for several New York law firms from 1904 to 1907, he was hired on January 13, 1908 as a lawyer for the American Bonding Company. By 1914 he had become the vice-president of the New York Office of the Equitable Surety Company of St. Louis, Missouri. When this job was abolished as a result of mergers in 1916, he joined the home office of Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company and left New York City to live in Hartford, where he would remain for the rest of his life.
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Displaying 1 - 20 of 20 reviews
November 2, 2010
Wallace Stevens is one of the best poets, not only of the twentieth century, but ever- when he's not being 'witty,' which makes me think of the worst dad jokes dad can devise; and when he's not droning on about how the poet is some sort of mega-prophet who will save us all from... well, he doesn't say what it saves us from, but it is surely the pose most likely to induce eye-rolling fever in a reader. So, about 5-10% of the time, Stevens is really, really great. Check out Farewell to Florida, Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz, Waving Adieu Adieu Adieu, The Idea of Order at Key West, Botanist on Alp 1 & 2, Winter Bells, Anglais Mort a Florence, A Postcard from the Volcano and, despite its eye-roll inducing quotient, Academic Discourse at Havana.
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December 21, 2022saucy & much appreciated though not consistently the calibre of Harmonium. Still, WS's development of his own ars poetica is plain to see and while he's absolutely still thinking it out it's getting there!
She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
the water never formed to mind or voice
like a body wholly body, fluttering
its empty sleeves
She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
the water never formed to mind or voice
like a body wholly body, fluttering
its empty sleeves
May 27, 2018
This collection left me speechless. Favorite poems include: “Waving Adieu, Adieu, Adieu,” “Mozart, 1935,” “Botanist on Alp (No. 1),” “Evening Without Angels,” “Academic Discourse at Havana,” and “Re-Statement of Romance.”
Read in one sitting. Could not put down for the life of me.
Read in one sitting. Could not put down for the life of me.
May 30, 2022
Stevens evokes the imagination as a source of forms and orders for an unalterably prosaic reality.
May 19, 2021
My definitive poet. No writer I can think of has been as aesthetically and intellectually significant to me as Stevens. I might have exhausted these poems looking for an imprecise line.
Read
April 18, 2022Fantastic— didn’t like this one as much as Harmonium but The Idea of Order at Key West, Winter Bells, Re-Statement of Romance, and Anglais Mort à Florence were perfect
Also, when visiting Key West, Wallace Stevens punched Ernest Hemingway
Also, when visiting Key West, Wallace Stevens punched Ernest Hemingway
May 7, 2020
Stevens second collection of poetry contains 36 poems. Highlights ~ "farewell to florida" "Ghosts as Cocoons" "Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz" "Waving Adieu, Adieu, Adieu" "The Idea of Order at Key West" "Evening Without Angels" "Re-Statement of Romance" "Like Decorations in a Nigger Cemetery" and "A Postcard from the Volcano".
January 18, 2025
Ideas of Order is Wallace Stevens second book of poetry. It contains his famous poem The Idea of Order at Key West.
As with his first book, and probably in all his books, the use of words is to be appreciated rather than finding a particular meaning or insight from them. Though building upon the nothingness that The Snow Man started, he does examine the issue of nothing, of blending with the skies and stars, of being there while not being there. The act of reading is one such example that he likes to explore: the reader becoming the book.
One of his best poems is in this book. A Re-Statement of Romance. Which is amusing to some degree in a sardonic way. "The night knows nothing of the chants of the night. It is what it is as I am what I am."
Stevens, as always, is a poet to be enjoyed in small doses.
As with his first book, and probably in all his books, the use of words is to be appreciated rather than finding a particular meaning or insight from them. Though building upon the nothingness that The Snow Man started, he does examine the issue of nothing, of blending with the skies and stars, of being there while not being there. The act of reading is one such example that he likes to explore: the reader becoming the book.
One of his best poems is in this book. A Re-Statement of Romance. Which is amusing to some degree in a sardonic way. "The night knows nothing of the chants of the night. It is what it is as I am what I am."
Stevens, as always, is a poet to be enjoyed in small doses.
January 3, 2013
Hay épocas en las que resulta más necesario que nunca leer poesía. Stevens consigue ya desde el título obrar el milagro de mitigar el caos reinate y hacer más llevadera la realidad. Excelente libro en una excelente traducción al castellano de Daniel Aguirre.
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May 14, 2024I do not think it can be attributed to my becoming acclimated to Stevens, I simply think these poems are less abstruse on the whole than those in his first collection. That isn't to say he's become straightforward. But he's pared down the mischievousness, gone a little lighter on the jargon, lost a little of the staggering and pummeling effect, I'd say -- though that latter bit could perhaps be, I suppose, attributed to the acclimation.
Stevens does employ a lot of repetition of words and phrases here that I don't recall in Harmonium. 'Autumn Refrain' is a perfect example -- verging on a sort of song-like lyricism in the way he comes again and again to 'still' and 'bird', like the words hold some sort of power that can be endlessly channeled merely through their utterance. I think -- unless I'm mistaken, which is possible -- that he's far more inclined towards throwing in some standard rhyming than he was in the previous collection. 'The Idea of Order at Key West' is the most famous poem here, and even though its written in good old blank verse, it doesn't shy away from tucking a small smattering of lovable rhymes within itself. But the poem is also terribly ambiguous and abstract.
'Snow and Stars' is a lovely poem -- funny and with a great number of bewitching, enchanting phrases for its short length. "The devil take it, wear it, too. / It might become his hole of blue." , "And make much bing, high bing." , "And fill the hill and fill it full / Of ding, ding, dong."
My favorite poem here is 'Mozart, 1935', which does that remarkable thing of painting a very vivid scene with very few words. It sets the drama of the poem in an evocative image, but the heart of the piece is a sort of nebulously philosophical matter. The poem is both emotionally and intellectually involving. This is stuff you can read over and over again and still want to read again, because you've never quite gotten it, there's always more to be found, you're still just beautifully flummoxed. Or, maybe you're not -- maybe you get it all -- but I know that I am.
Stevens does employ a lot of repetition of words and phrases here that I don't recall in Harmonium. 'Autumn Refrain' is a perfect example -- verging on a sort of song-like lyricism in the way he comes again and again to 'still' and 'bird', like the words hold some sort of power that can be endlessly channeled merely through their utterance. I think -- unless I'm mistaken, which is possible -- that he's far more inclined towards throwing in some standard rhyming than he was in the previous collection. 'The Idea of Order at Key West' is the most famous poem here, and even though its written in good old blank verse, it doesn't shy away from tucking a small smattering of lovable rhymes within itself. But the poem is also terribly ambiguous and abstract.
'Snow and Stars' is a lovely poem -- funny and with a great number of bewitching, enchanting phrases for its short length. "The devil take it, wear it, too. / It might become his hole of blue." , "And make much bing, high bing." , "And fill the hill and fill it full / Of ding, ding, dong."
My favorite poem here is 'Mozart, 1935', which does that remarkable thing of painting a very vivid scene with very few words. It sets the drama of the poem in an evocative image, but the heart of the piece is a sort of nebulously philosophical matter. The poem is both emotionally and intellectually involving. This is stuff you can read over and over again and still want to read again, because you've never quite gotten it, there's always more to be found, you're still just beautifully flummoxed. Or, maybe you're not -- maybe you get it all -- but I know that I am.
August 20, 2023
Evening Without Angels
„the great interests of man: air and light, the joy of having a body, the voluptuousness of looking.”
Mario Rossi
Why seraphim like lutanists arranged
Above the trees? And why the poet as
Eternal chef d'orchestre?
Air is air.
Its vacancy glitters round us everywhere.
Its sounds are not angelic syllables
But our unfashioned spirits realized
More sharply in more furious selves.
And light
That fosters seraphim and is to them
Coiffeur of haloes, fecund jeweller -
Was the sun concoct for angels or for men?
Sad men made angels of the sun, and of
The moon they made their own attendant ghosts,
Which led them back to angels, after death.
Let this be clear that we are men of sun
And men of day and never of pointed night,
Men that repeat antiquest sounds of air
In an accord of repetitions. Yet,
If we repeat, it is because the wind
Encircling us, speaks always with our speech.
Light, too, encrusts us making visible
The motions of the mind and giving form
To moodiest nothings, as, desire for day
Accomplished in the immensely flashing East,
Desire for rest, in that descending sea
Of dark, which in its very darkening
Is rest and silence spreading into sleep.
…Evening, when the measure skips a beat
And then another, one by one, and all
To a seething minor swiftly modulate.
Bare night is best. Bare earth is best. Bare, bare,
Except for our own houses, huddled low
Beneath the arches and their spangled air,
Beneath the rhapsodies of fire and fire,
Where the voice that is in us makes a true response,
Where the voice that is great within us rises up,
As we stand gazing at the rounded moon.
„the great interests of man: air and light, the joy of having a body, the voluptuousness of looking.”
Mario Rossi
Why seraphim like lutanists arranged
Above the trees? And why the poet as
Eternal chef d'orchestre?
Air is air.
Its vacancy glitters round us everywhere.
Its sounds are not angelic syllables
But our unfashioned spirits realized
More sharply in more furious selves.
And light
That fosters seraphim and is to them
Coiffeur of haloes, fecund jeweller -
Was the sun concoct for angels or for men?
Sad men made angels of the sun, and of
The moon they made their own attendant ghosts,
Which led them back to angels, after death.
Let this be clear that we are men of sun
And men of day and never of pointed night,
Men that repeat antiquest sounds of air
In an accord of repetitions. Yet,
If we repeat, it is because the wind
Encircling us, speaks always with our speech.
Light, too, encrusts us making visible
The motions of the mind and giving form
To moodiest nothings, as, desire for day
Accomplished in the immensely flashing East,
Desire for rest, in that descending sea
Of dark, which in its very darkening
Is rest and silence spreading into sleep.
…Evening, when the measure skips a beat
And then another, one by one, and all
To a seething minor swiftly modulate.
Bare night is best. Bare earth is best. Bare, bare,
Except for our own houses, huddled low
Beneath the arches and their spangled air,
Beneath the rhapsodies of fire and fire,
Where the voice that is in us makes a true response,
Where the voice that is great within us rises up,
As we stand gazing at the rounded moon.
July 27, 2026
The was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard,
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.
-- "The Idea of Order at Key West"
...Evening, when the measure skips a beat
And then another, one by one, and all
To a seething minor swiftly modulate.
Bare night is best. Bare earth is best. Bare, bare,
Except for our own houses, huddled low
Beneath the arches and their spangled air,
Beneath the rhapsodies of fire and fire,
Where the voice that is in us makes a true response,
Where the voice that is great within us rises up,
As we stand gazing at the rounded moon.
-- "Evening Without Angels"
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard,
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.
-- "The Idea of Order at Key West"
(In a world that was resting on pillars,
That was seen through arches)
-- "Botanist on Alp (No. 1)"
...Evening, when the measure skips a beat
And then another, one by one, and all
To a seething minor swiftly modulate.
Bare night is best. Bare earth is best. Bare, bare,
Except for our own houses, huddled low
Beneath the arches and their spangled air,
Beneath the rhapsodies of fire and fire,
Where the voice that is in us makes a true response,
Where the voice that is great within us rises up,
As we stand gazing at the rounded moon.
-- "Evening Without Angels"
That night is only the background of our selves,
Supremely true each to its separate self,
In the pale light that each upon the other throws.
-- "Re-Statement of Romance"
October 2, 2018
Mixed thoughts about this one.
I'm new to the poetry of Wallace Stevens. I wanted to check him out because I heard that he was an early influence on Robert Creeley.
There are some great poems in here, some poems that have a few excellent lines or stanzas and then several poems which completely baffled me. Had no idea what some of the poems meant and perhaps they didn't have any particular meaning but maybe just a certain 'music' that appealed to Stevens' own ear.
My favorite poems from this collection were Mozart, 1935 and Re-statement of Romance.
I did find it interesting overall and I usually try to avoid overused adjectives like 'unique' but I think it might apply in the case of Wallace Stevens as his poetry is unlike any other form I have encountered to date.
I'm new to the poetry of Wallace Stevens. I wanted to check him out because I heard that he was an early influence on Robert Creeley.
There are some great poems in here, some poems that have a few excellent lines or stanzas and then several poems which completely baffled me. Had no idea what some of the poems meant and perhaps they didn't have any particular meaning but maybe just a certain 'music' that appealed to Stevens' own ear.
My favorite poems from this collection were Mozart, 1935 and Re-statement of Romance.
I did find it interesting overall and I usually try to avoid overused adjectives like 'unique' but I think it might apply in the case of Wallace Stevens as his poetry is unlike any other form I have encountered to date.
January 27, 2021
De ninguna forma este libro tiene la fuerza de Harmonium. Es verdad que evoca el poder imaginativo de la mente, que los poemas muchas veces son indescifrables y que hay que poner mucho de uno para que nos empapen de sentido. Es verdad también que poemas como "Como adornos en un negro cementerio" son increíble por su sola composición de cincuenta acápites, pero insisto, no son ni la sombra de Harmonioum.
Mis favoritos: Unos amigos de Pascagoula
Mozart, 1935
Botánico en los alpes (N.° 2)
Atardecer sin ángeles (mi favorito)
El lector
La verdad "Atardecer sin ángeles" y "Mozart, 1935" bien podrían ser del nivel de Harmonioum.
Mis favoritos: Unos amigos de Pascagoula
Mozart, 1935
Botánico en los alpes (N.° 2)
Atardecer sin ángeles (mi favorito)
El lector
La verdad "Atardecer sin ángeles" y "Mozart, 1935" bien podrían ser del nivel de Harmonioum.
January 8, 2022
A more rooted collection of observational poetry.
February 1, 2023
“Mrs. Anderson's Swedish baby
Might well have been German or Spanish,
Yet that things go round and again go round
Has rather a classical sound.”
Might well have been German or Spanish,
Yet that things go round and again go round
Has rather a classical sound.”
October 8, 2024
More overtly American? Certainly less refined than Harmonium. 3 and a half star but closer to 4 than to 3. Ideas of order in key west, Lions in Sweden and anglais mort à Florence stood out.
May 18, 2025
While not hitting the highs of Harmonium, there are some quite satisfying poems here as well as some clever bits. The heavy hitters include "Idea of Order at Key West" and "Academic Discourse at Havana." Favorites include "Mud Master," "Re-Statememt of Romance," "How to Live. What to Do," and "Meditation Celestial and Terrestrial."
March 1, 2017
4 and a half stars ...
November 24, 2015
LA IDEA DE ORDEN EN CAYO HUESO
[…] Así nosotros,
al contemplar las zancadas que daba allá ella sola,
sabíamos que nunca hubo un mundo para ella,
excepto el que cantaba y, al cantar, hacía.
[…]
Oh, dichosa manía por el orden, pálido Ramón,
manía del artífice por ordenar palabras de la mar,
palabras de los fragantes portales, tenuemente estrellados,
y de nosotros, de nuestros orígenes,
en más fantasmagóricas demarcaciones, más nítidos sonidos.
MOZART, 1935
[…]
Podemos retornar a Mozart.
Él era joven, y nosotros, nosotros somos viejos.
Está cayendo nieve
y están las calles llenas de chillidos.
Id y sentaos, vos.
EL HOMBRE ATREVIDO
El sol, ese atrevido hombre,
sale a través de ramas que esperan al acecho,
ese atrevido hombre.
Verdes, lúgubres ojos
en las oscuras formas de la hierba
salen corriendo.
Buenas estrellas,
timones pálidos, puntiagudas espuelas
salen corriendo.
Temores de mi lecho,
temores de la vida,
temores de la muerte,
salen corriendo.
Ese atrevido hombre va saliendo
de abajo y anda sin meditación,
ese atrevido hombre.
UN ATENUARSE DEL SOL
¿Quién va a pensar en las ataviantes nubes de sol
cuando toda la gente tiembla
o en la enlumbrada noche, orgullosa,
cuando la gente se despierta
y grita y grita pidiendo auxilio?
La antigüedad templada del yo,
todo el mundo, se enfría de repente.
Malo el té, triste el pan.
¿Cómo es posible que el mundo, tan viejo, esté tan mal
que se muera la gente?
Si puede el gozo pasar sin un libro
miente, y estando ella dentro de sí misma,
si la gente mira
dentro de sí misma,
y no grita pidiendo auxilio,
dentro como pilares del sol,
soportes de la noche. El té,
el vino es bueno. El pan,
la carne es un placer.
Y ya no morirá la gente.
REITERACIÓN DEL ROMANCE
Ninguna cosa sabe la noche de los cantos de la noche.
Ella es lo que es así como yo soy lo que soy:
y percibiendo esto mejor percibo yo mi ser
y el tuyo. Solamente nosotros dos podemos intercambiar,
cada uno en el otro, eso que tiene cada uno que dar.
Solamente nosotros dos somos uno, no tú y la noche,
la noche y yo tampoco, sino tú y yo, solos,
tan solos, tan profundamente a solas con nuestros seres,
tan lejos, tan apartados de las fortuitas soledades,
que es la noche solamente el trasfondo de nuestros seres,
supremamente veraz cada uno con su superado ser,
a la pálida luz que arroja cada uno sobre el otro.
[…] Así nosotros,
al contemplar las zancadas que daba allá ella sola,
sabíamos que nunca hubo un mundo para ella,
excepto el que cantaba y, al cantar, hacía.
[…]
Oh, dichosa manía por el orden, pálido Ramón,
manía del artífice por ordenar palabras de la mar,
palabras de los fragantes portales, tenuemente estrellados,
y de nosotros, de nuestros orígenes,
en más fantasmagóricas demarcaciones, más nítidos sonidos.
MOZART, 1935
[…]
Podemos retornar a Mozart.
Él era joven, y nosotros, nosotros somos viejos.
Está cayendo nieve
y están las calles llenas de chillidos.
Id y sentaos, vos.
EL HOMBRE ATREVIDO
El sol, ese atrevido hombre,
sale a través de ramas que esperan al acecho,
ese atrevido hombre.
Verdes, lúgubres ojos
en las oscuras formas de la hierba
salen corriendo.
Buenas estrellas,
timones pálidos, puntiagudas espuelas
salen corriendo.
Temores de mi lecho,
temores de la vida,
temores de la muerte,
salen corriendo.
Ese atrevido hombre va saliendo
de abajo y anda sin meditación,
ese atrevido hombre.
UN ATENUARSE DEL SOL
¿Quién va a pensar en las ataviantes nubes de sol
cuando toda la gente tiembla
o en la enlumbrada noche, orgullosa,
cuando la gente se despierta
y grita y grita pidiendo auxilio?
La antigüedad templada del yo,
todo el mundo, se enfría de repente.
Malo el té, triste el pan.
¿Cómo es posible que el mundo, tan viejo, esté tan mal
que se muera la gente?
Si puede el gozo pasar sin un libro
miente, y estando ella dentro de sí misma,
si la gente mira
dentro de sí misma,
y no grita pidiendo auxilio,
dentro como pilares del sol,
soportes de la noche. El té,
el vino es bueno. El pan,
la carne es un placer.
Y ya no morirá la gente.
REITERACIÓN DEL ROMANCE
Ninguna cosa sabe la noche de los cantos de la noche.
Ella es lo que es así como yo soy lo que soy:
y percibiendo esto mejor percibo yo mi ser
y el tuyo. Solamente nosotros dos podemos intercambiar,
cada uno en el otro, eso que tiene cada uno que dar.
Solamente nosotros dos somos uno, no tú y la noche,
la noche y yo tampoco, sino tú y yo, solos,
tan solos, tan profundamente a solas con nuestros seres,
tan lejos, tan apartados de las fortuitas soledades,
que es la noche solamente el trasfondo de nuestros seres,
supremamente veraz cada uno con su superado ser,
a la pálida luz que arroja cada uno sobre el otro.
Displaying 1 - 20 of 20 reviews