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Poem (The day gets slowly started)
by James Schuyler
The day gets slowly started.
A rap at the bedroom door,
bitter coffee, hot cereal, juice
the color of sun which
isn’t out this morning. A
cool shower, a shave, soothing
Noxzema for razor burn. A bed
is made. The paper doesn’t come
until twelve or one. A gray shine
out the windows. “No one
leaves the building until
those scissors are returned.”
It’s that kind of a place.
Nonetheless, I’ve seen worse.
The worried gray is melting
into sunlight. I wish I’d
brought my book of enlightening
literary essays. I wish it
were lunch time. I wish I had
an appetite. The day agrees
with me better than it did, or,
better, I agree with it. I’ll
slide down a sunslip yet, this
crass September morning.
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so present and delicate--revs up your five senses...
ReplyDeletewonderful conclusion.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great poem.
ReplyDeleteClearly a talent. The depth of his contemplative writing is evident. I like the piece and am inclined to become a fan.
ReplyDeleteThank you all for your comments. Schuyler is a formidable talent. 5 or 6 of his poems are featured in the current issue of Paris Review...
ReplyDeleteIt took five readings before I loved the poem, all the more lovable because it took five readings before I loved the poem. Thank you for posting it.
ReplyDelete