#james schuyler

[havingapoemwithyou]

August Night by James Schuyler

[stubbornstorm]

Joan Mitchell, Daylight, 1975. Courtesy: © Estate of Joan Mitchell and Collection of Nathan Kernan

poem by James Schuyler

[firstfullmoon]

James Schuyler, “Up,” in Collected Poems

[seekingstars]

Sleep - James Schuyler

[garadinervi]

«Locus Solus» No. 2, Edited by John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, Harry Mathews, and James Schuyler, Lans-en-Vercor, 1961, Limited edition of 50 copies [Granary Books, New York, NY]

Contributors include: Aeschylus, Pedro de Aragon, John Ashbery, Basho, Michael Benedikt, Bill Berkson, Paul Blackburn, André Breton, William Burroughs, Joseph Ceravolo, Thomas Chatterton, S. T. [Samuel Taylor] Coleridge, Gregory Corso, Abraham Cowley, Richard Crashaw, John Donne, Dwight Eisenhower, Kenward Elmslie, Paul Éluard, Jane Freilicher, Uri Gagarin, Milton Gilman, Ichiei, Donald Keene, Kenneth Koch, Daniel Krakauer, Ruth Krauss, Ern Malley, Marinetti, Frank O'Hara, Benjamin Péret, John Perreault, Po Chu-I, [Arthur] Rimbaud, The Empress Sadako, Peire Salvatge, William Shakespeare, James Schuyler, Robert Southey, Sir John Suckling, Yves Tanguy, Peire Vidal, and Edmund Waller, among others

[contremineur]

This beauty that I see —the sun going down scours the entangled and lightly henna withies and the wind whips them as it would ship a cloud— is passing so swiftly into night. A moon, full and flat, and stars a freight train passing passing it is the sea and not a train. This beauty that collects dry leaves in pools and pockets and goes freezingly, just able still to swiftly flow it goes, it goes.

James Schuyler, Poem

from here

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Song

The light lies layered in the leaves. Trees, and trees, more trees. A cloud boy brings the evening paper: The Evening Sun. It sets. Not sharply or at once a stately progress down the sky (it’s gilt and pink and faintly green) above, beyond, behind the evening leaves of trees. Traffic sounds and bells resound in silver clangs the hour, a tune, my friend Pierrot. The violet hour: the grass is violent green. A weeping beech is gray, a copper beech is copper red. Tennis nets hang unused in unused stillness. A car starts up and whispers into what will soon be night. A tennis ball is served. A horsefly vanishes. A smoking cigarette. A day (so many and so few) dies down a hardened sky and leaves are lap-held notebook leaves discriminated barely in light no longer layered.

— James Schuyler, The Morning of the Poem, 1980.

[chantssecrets]

Fairfield Porter, John Ashbery and James Schuyler Writing “Nest of Ninnies”, 1967. Oil on canvas.