The Journey Of A Poem Compared To All The Sad Variety Of Travel
Delmore Schwartz
A poem moves forward,
Like the passages and percussions of trains in progress
A pattern of recurrence, a hammer of repetetiveoccurrence
a slow less and less heard
low thunder under all passengers
Steel sounds tripping and tripled and
Grinding, revolving, gripping, turning, and returning
as the flung carpet of the wide countryside spreads out on
each side in billows
And in isolation, rolled out, white house, red barn, squat silo,
Pasture, hill, meadow and woodland pasture
And the striped poles step fast past the train windows
Second after second takes snapshots, clicking,
Into the dangled boxes of glinting windows
Snapshots and selections, rejections, at angles, of shadows
A small town: a shop's sign?-GARAGE, and then white gates
Where waiting cars wait with the unrest of trembling
Breathing hard and idling, until the slow-descent
Of the red cones of sunset: a dead march: a slow tread and heavy
Of the slowed horses of Apollo
?-Until the slowed horses of Apollo go over the horizon
And all things are parked, slowly or willingly,
into the customary or at random places.
Philology Recapitulates Ontology, Poetry Is Ontology
Delmore Schwartz
Faithful to your commandments, o consciousness, o
Holy bird of words soaring ever whether to nothingness or
to inconceivable fulfillment slowly:
And still I follow you, awkward as that dandy of ontology
and as awkward as his albatross and as
another dandy of ontology before him, another shepherd
and watchdog of being, the one who
Talked forever of forever as if forever of having been
and being an ancient mariner,
Hesitant forever as if forever were the albatross
Hung round his neck by the seven seas of the seven muses,
and with as little conclusion, since being never concludes,
Studying the sibilance and the splashing of the seas and of
seeing and of being's infinite seas,
Staring at the ever-blue and the far small stars and
the faint white endless curtain of the
twinkling play's endless seasons.
Sonnet: The Ghosts Of James And Peirce In Harvard Yard
Delmore Schwartz
In memory of D. W. Prall
The ghosts of James and Peirce in Harvard Yard
At star-pierced midnight, after the chapel bell
(Episcopalian! palian! the ringing soared!)
Stare at me now as if they wish me well.
In the waking dream amid the trees which fall,
Bar and bough of shadow, by my shadow crossed,
They have not slept for long and they know all,
Know time's exhaustion and the spirit's cost.
"We studied the radiant sun, the star's pure seed:
Darkness is infinite! The blind can see
Hatred's necessity and love's grave need
Now that the poor are murdered across the sea,
And you are ignorant, who hear the bell;
Ignorant, you walk between heaven and hell."
