“The aim of the poet, or other
artist, is first to make something; and it's impossible to make something out
of words and not communicate.” – James Schuyler
Born in Chicago on this date in
1923, Schuyler wrote 24 books of poetry, a novel and several plays, winning the
Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for his 1980 collection The Morning of the Poem
and the Frank O’Hara Prize for his first book of poetry Freely Espousing, published in 1969. 
A central figure in the New York School of
Poetry, he was a writer for Art News
before turning to poetic writing full time.
For Saturday’s Poem, here is Schuyler’s simply titled,
A central figure in the New York School of
Poetry, he was a writer for Art News
before turning to poetic writing full time.
For Saturday’s Poem, here is Schuyler’s simply titled,
Poem
This beauty that
I see
—the sun going
down
scours the
entangled
and lightly henna
withys 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.
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