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The Morning of the Poem
"The flowers, trees, birds, clouds, and effects of light that Schuyler describes with such élan, even if only glimpsed from the window of his apartment, could easily be transposed to the poetry written in Japan or Persia many centuries ago. Even more, his culture and learning, worn so lightly as almost to pass unnoticed, link his verse to other and larger traditions, as in this reflection on Baudelaire – clearly intended as an artistic credo of sorts ..." - Open Letters Monthly
128 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1980
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Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews
June 20, 2009
Liking Schuyler’s poetry is like liking vacations or puppies—you know everyone else likes it, too, but the appreciation’s no less personal for the awareness that it’s shared with many others. The trick has something to do with Schuyler’s way of turning familiar domestic enjoyments into occasions for perceiving the mind’s syntax at work in organizing data into feeling, like letters or diary entries but with an understated finish and light application of “elevated” language that gives them a more self-consciously meditative turn. The effect’s so rich that it’s better I think in small doses, so I prefer this late great collection to the Collected.
December 22, 2022
i think he's maybe the least inventive // formally interesting of the New York School but Schulyer is easily the most accessibly likeable imo. the titular epic doesn't hit the highs of like, Mayer's Midwinter Day (also need to re-read that soon), but it does the trick and Schulyer gets some real good lines off
October 2, 2018
Read a third time. Feel the same.
I first read this a few years ago, and it remains one of a very few books of poetry I've read in the last ten years. Schuyler is always more coherent than Ashbery, though in the shorter pieces in this collection, Schuyler fails to make the strong, though random, impressions that Ashbery makes at his best.
However, the long poem Morning of the Poem which reads more like a story, the calmed ravings of a superficial man far past his prime, living in a trance of memory in western New York, is magnificent in a dull, soft-toned manner, perfect for rainy day reading, squinting through a hangover. He loves his clothing and his Atlantic Ocean and his fancy friends and good food and drink, and hung dudes, and its a joy to read his pleasant memories.
I first read this a few years ago, and it remains one of a very few books of poetry I've read in the last ten years. Schuyler is always more coherent than Ashbery, though in the shorter pieces in this collection, Schuyler fails to make the strong, though random, impressions that Ashbery makes at his best.
However, the long poem Morning of the Poem which reads more like a story, the calmed ravings of a superficial man far past his prime, living in a trance of memory in western New York, is magnificent in a dull, soft-toned manner, perfect for rainy day reading, squinting through a hangover. He loves his clothing and his Atlantic Ocean and his fancy friends and good food and drink, and hung dudes, and its a joy to read his pleasant memories.
December 3, 2018
Not my kind of poet,
Not my kind of poem,
But every now and then,
A clump of grass with a flower in it
That someone mowed around.
Not my kind of poem,
But every now and then,
A clump of grass with a flower in it
That someone mowed around.
January 18, 2022
The Morning of the Poem may be Schuyler's most acclaimed collection (awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1981) but it's my least favourite of the collections I've read (including The Crystal Lithium and Hymn to Life).
The collection is broken into three parts: "New Poems", "The Payne Whitney Poems", and "The Morning of the Poem". There are many similarities between the first and second part, being the accumulation of shorter poems, whereas the third part consists entirely of one longer poem.
Among the similarities in the first and second part are the poems named for dates (such as "June 30, 1974"; "December 29, 1974"; and "February 13, 1975"). In fact there seems to be a general fixation with dates (as in "Sleep" and "The Morning of the Poem")...
Another similarity between the first and second part is the poet's incorporation of the title into the poem. Indeed, the title is often the first word or the first line of the poem (as in "The Snow" and "We Walk")...
Noteworthy is the poet's references to other poets. Whether the other poets were friends or influences, the collection is populated by many significant figures (such as W. H. Auden, Bertolt Brecht, and T. S. Eliot in "Wystan Auden"; Douglas Crase, John Ashbery, and Frank Polach in "Dining Out with Doug and Frank")...
In fact, the poem "Wystan Auden" is a touching tribute to the poet W. H. Auden, who died in 1973...
To my dismay, the poet seems to have lost his sense of humour. Although he may have won the Pulitzer Prize for the same reason. After all, literary prizes are commonly awarded to those who ascribe to or aspire to "high seriousness". Schuyler himself refers to the critical response to his new poems, referring not to their "seriousness" but to their "openness" (in "Dec 28, 1974"). The perception is that a poet should grow from humorous to serious. But I would sooner call it a regression, an estrangement from what is unique about the poet. He is, however, dismissive of the label...
The "seriousness" that I detect in this collection is primarily derived from a poem that deals, with the seriousness of the confessional poets, with Schuyler's illness and convalescence. It is no wonder to me that this is Schuyler's most critically acclaimed collection, considering the generally accepted (or encouraged) modern archetype of the poet as outsider, doomed to suffer. The poet's worth is therefore measured by the amount they suffer. Schuyler, perhaps anticipating the public reaction, writes candidly about his suffering (if anyone ever asked "What do you have to do to win the Pulitzer?" the answer is here)...
The third part, the longer poem "The Morning of the Poem", is spoiled by one line...
I'm irked by the poet's insensitivity. The line in question is blatant racist, and blatantly offensive (it serves no other purpose). Perhaps for this reason I didn't give the longer poem a chance. Or perhaps it enabled me to read the longer poem more critically. In any case, I found the poem long-winded and rambling. Granted, I once counted Schuyler's rambling style to be among his virtues. But here I found it overindulgent and unfocused.
Moreover, in the longer poem, as in other poems, the poet is preoccupied with the everyday, with the mundane. In previous collections, the mundane was enhanced by the poet's humorous outlook. But, as I stated earlier, the poet seems to have lost his sense of humour. The mundane that was elevated by the poet's humour is here restored to the mundane. The poet seems merely to be passing the time...
The collection is broken into three parts: "New Poems", "The Payne Whitney Poems", and "The Morning of the Poem". There are many similarities between the first and second part, being the accumulation of shorter poems, whereas the third part consists entirely of one longer poem.
Among the similarities in the first and second part are the poems named for dates (such as "June 30, 1974"; "December 29, 1974"; and "February 13, 1975"). In fact there seems to be a general fixation with dates (as in "Sleep" and "The Morning of the Poem")...
Let me tell you
that this weekend Sunday
morning in the country
fills my soul
with tranquil joy
- June 30, 1974 (pg. 5)
The plants against the light
which shines in (it's four o'clock)
right on my chair: I'm in my chair:
are silhouettes, barely green,
growing black as my eyes move right,
right to where the sun is.
- Dec 29, 1974 (pg. 13)
Tomorrow is St. Valentine's:
tomorrow I'll think about
that. Always nervous, even
after a good sleep I'd like
to climb back into....
- February 13, 1975 (pg. 50)
A day in February: heart-
shaped cookies on St. Valentine's.
- Sleep (pg. 51)
July 8 or July 9 the eighth surely, certainly
1976 that I know
- The Morning of the Poem (pg. 57)
Another similarity between the first and second part is the poet's incorporation of the title into the poem. Indeed, the title is often the first word or the first line of the poem (as in "The Snow" and "We Walk")...
that fell and iced
the walks and streets
is melted off...
- The Snow (pg. 27)
in the garden. Sun
on the river
flashing past....
- We Walk (pg. 44)
Noteworthy is the poet's references to other poets. Whether the other poets were friends or influences, the collection is populated by many significant figures (such as W. H. Auden, Bertolt Brecht, and T. S. Eliot in "Wystan Auden"; Douglas Crase, John Ashbery, and Frank Polach in "Dining Out with Doug and Frank")...
...It was in
that apartment I just missed
meeting Brecht and T. S. Eliot.
I remember Chester so often saying
"Oh Wystan!" while Wystan looked
pleased at having stirred him up.
- Wystan Auden (pg. 28)
Doug (Douglas Chase, the poet)
had to work (he makes his bread
writing speeches)...
- Dining Out with Doug and Frank, II (pg. 32)
By the by did you know
that John Ashbery's grandfather
was offered an investment-in
when George Eastman founded his
great corporation? He turned it
down....
- Dining Out with Doug and Frank, II (pg. 32)
so I went with Frank (the poet,
he makes his dough as a librarian,
botanical librarian at Rutgers
and as a worker he's a beaver...
- Dining Out with Doug and Frank, II (pg. 32)
In fact, the poem "Wystan Auden" is a touching tribute to the poet W. H. Auden, who died in 1973...
I always thought he would live
to a great age. He did not.
Wystan, kind man and great poet,
goodbye.
- Wystan Auden (pg. 30)
To my dismay, the poet seems to have lost his sense of humour. Although he may have won the Pulitzer Prize for the same reason. After all, literary prizes are commonly awarded to those who ascribe to or aspire to "high seriousness". Schuyler himself refers to the critical response to his new poems, referring not to their "seriousness" but to their "openness" (in "Dec 28, 1974"). The perception is that a poet should grow from humorous to serious. But I would sooner call it a regression, an estrangement from what is unique about the poet. He is, however, dismissive of the label...
..."Your poems,"
a clunkhead said, "have grown
more open." I don't want to be open,
merely to say, to see and say, things
as they are. That at my elbow
there is a wicker table....
- Dec 29, 1974 (pg. 13)
The "seriousness" that I detect in this collection is primarily derived from a poem that deals, with the seriousness of the confessional poets, with Schuyler's illness and convalescence. It is no wonder to me that this is Schuyler's most critically acclaimed collection, considering the generally accepted (or encouraged) modern archetype of the poet as outsider, doomed to suffer. The poet's worth is therefore measured by the amount they suffer. Schuyler, perhaps anticipating the public reaction, writes candidly about his suffering (if anyone ever asked "What do you have to do to win the Pulitzer?" the answer is here)...
The past ten months
were something else:
pneumonia, diabetes, a
fire in bed (extase, cauchemar,
sommeil dans un nid de flammes)
months getting skin
grafts for third-degree
burns (for laughs, try
sleeping in an airplane
splint) and getting
poisoned by the side
effects of a potent
tranquilizer: it took
two more months to
learn to walk again
and when I came out
feeling great wham
a nervous breakdown: four
weeks in another hospital.
- Afterward (pg. 22-23)
The third part, the longer poem "The Morning of the Poem", is spoiled by one line...
"Strange business" the chinky Chinaman said...
- The Morning of the Poem (pg. 57)
I'm irked by the poet's insensitivity. The line in question is blatant racist, and blatantly offensive (it serves no other purpose). Perhaps for this reason I didn't give the longer poem a chance. Or perhaps it enabled me to read the longer poem more critically. In any case, I found the poem long-winded and rambling. Granted, I once counted Schuyler's rambling style to be among his virtues. But here I found it overindulgent and unfocused.
Moreover, in the longer poem, as in other poems, the poet is preoccupied with the everyday, with the mundane. In previous collections, the mundane was enhanced by the poet's humorous outlook. But, as I stated earlier, the poet seems to have lost his sense of humour. The mundane that was elevated by the poet's humour is here restored to the mundane. The poet seems merely to be passing the time...
I pick up a loaded pen and twiddle it.
After the blizzard
cold days of shrinking snow.
At visiting hours the cars
below my window form up
in a traffic jam. A fast-
moving man is in charge,
herding the big machines
like cattle. Weirdly, it all
keeps moving somehow. I read
a dumb detective story. I
clip my nails: they are as hard
as iron or glass. The clippers
keep sliding off them. Today
I'm shaky. A shave, a bath.
Chat. The morning paper.
Sitting. Staring. Thinking blankly.
TV. A desert kind of life.
- Pastime (pg. 52)
September 20, 2024
Sadly my attention-poor brain don't have the patience to take much from Schuyler's long-form poems (The titular poem, Morning of the Poem is 60 pages long...) but I absolutely love his short-form verse. Schuyler's poetic world is filled with meaning; it is wistful and dreamy and contemplative. Schuyler cherishes the small, ephemeral details, like color and light and daily weather and names and passings-by, that color a life. Reading his poetry helps me cherish those things in my own life and story - it makes me more present, my life more colored, the meaning of things around me more clear. What a blessing.
May 2, 2025
For years I have misremembered a Schuyler line. I think I must have first read it in Maggie Nelson's book on the New York School. And for years I remembered this line as: "September day / how shall I color you?" I loved it so much as to write it down on post its and put it on my wall, attributing it to Schuyler, though I could never track down the poem with the line. Reading The Morning of the Poem, and I've found it: "Silver day / how shall I polish you?" Silver to September, color to polish. I like the line both ways. Either way, how should I write?
May 27, 2024
I spent the entire day in this book. I wish I had read this twenty years ago. I wish I had never read this. I want to read this all over again. This is how one writes.
November 16, 2017
They tell us that the author has long since bought the farm (so to speak). But James Schuyler makes it difficult to put that principle into practice. This is because The Morning of the Poem occupies a middle ground between poetry and diary entry, which means that it makes just about as much sense to read these poems without an eye to Schuyler's biography as it would to read someone's journal qua an (inter)textual object devoid of any authorial/psychological intent.
Indeed, Schuyler's knack for metaphor and imagery notwithstanding, what's truly fascinating about these works is how they all serve to describe (albeit in a fragmented, piecemeal fashion) a narrative that lies beyond the written page—that is, how they describe a life. Hence, it doesn't seem critically presumptuous to ask questions like whether or not the Jesuit priests favourably mentioned in both "I Sit Down to Type" ("a Jesuit priest I will / call 'Father Bill' is / going to heaven") and "The Morning of the Poem" ("except for Father Lynch, I can / Live without Jesuits") are in fact one and the same person. Nor to claim that "The Payne Whitney Poems" are all united by Schuyler's real-life stint in a mental institution—a biographical tidbit that embues these eleven short pieces with a hightened sense of psychological urgency.
Two further results of the extra-textual (i.e., biographical) nature of these poems: 1) they work better as a set than individually, and 2) because if its length, "The Morning of the Poem" is by and large the strongest of the bunch.* For like the diaries of Samuel Pepys, the more you read of Schuyler's poetry the better it gets.
*As in, literally large.
Indeed, Schuyler's knack for metaphor and imagery notwithstanding, what's truly fascinating about these works is how they all serve to describe (albeit in a fragmented, piecemeal fashion) a narrative that lies beyond the written page—that is, how they describe a life. Hence, it doesn't seem critically presumptuous to ask questions like whether or not the Jesuit priests favourably mentioned in both "I Sit Down to Type" ("a Jesuit priest I will / call 'Father Bill' is / going to heaven") and "The Morning of the Poem" ("except for Father Lynch, I can / Live without Jesuits") are in fact one and the same person. Nor to claim that "The Payne Whitney Poems" are all united by Schuyler's real-life stint in a mental institution—a biographical tidbit that embues these eleven short pieces with a hightened sense of psychological urgency.
Two further results of the extra-textual (i.e., biographical) nature of these poems: 1) they work better as a set than individually, and 2) because if its length, "The Morning of the Poem" is by and large the strongest of the bunch.* For like the diaries of Samuel Pepys, the more you read of Schuyler's poetry the better it gets.
*As in, literally large.
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August 13, 2010So many lousy poets
So few good ones
What's the problem?
No innate love of
Words, no sense of
How the thing said
Is in the words, how
The words are themselves
The thing said: love,
Mistake, promise, auto
Crack-up, color, petal
The color in the petal
Is merely light
And that's refraction:
A word, that's the poem.
A blackish-red nasturtium.
So few good ones
What's the problem?
No innate love of
Words, no sense of
How the thing said
Is in the words, how
The words are themselves
The thing said: love,
Mistake, promise, auto
Crack-up, color, petal
The color in the petal
Is merely light
And that's refraction:
A word, that's the poem.
A blackish-red nasturtium.
November 5, 2025
Schuyler's poetry is like reading someone's diary while riding a bus through a city where you're constantly distracted by the rolling scenery out the window. It seemed to take me forever to read the long (60-page) title poem but it was still fun. I preferred the shorter poems, which managed to be precise but still free-floating. Pretty cool.
January 30, 2020
Some very beautiful, shiny moments in these poems - Schuyler is a very tender noticer of the world, and of humans. The chatty, conversational style isn't my favorite, so I particularly like his short little poems, but here is a lot of beauty here, even in the chattiness.
May 10, 2017
rambling on going poems, atrocious poetic form
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January 18, 2023So, so special — thank you, Zayzay 💕. An ancestor for sure.
May 31, 2007
This book is incredible. You'll fall in love with Schuyler and want to sit quietly with him, not asking him anything, not begging to be inspired, just to sit quietly with him looking out the window watching the world, your hungers, your thirsts, and your desires, go by.
September 1, 2019
Read my review of this & other books at http://miscmss.blogspot.ca/2013/09/ju...
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For reviews of this & other books, please visit:
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January 18, 2014
I love his casual yet precise, start in the middle and off and running, tender, thoughtful poems. This collection has the long Morning of the Poem which is so full and layered, poignant and sweet - it is the best. His works are a treasure.
December 26, 2007
One of the the most deserved Pulitzers ever awarded.
June 18, 2009
The title poem is engrossing and memorable, the rest are kind of 'meh.' But so worth it for the title poem, and it's most of the book.
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March 22, 2013811.54 S397m 1980
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April 27, 2014BUY IT
October 20, 2015
Gah! These poems are fucking amazing.
May 11, 2016
Nice and personal.
April 2, 2017
Pernod is murder
Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews