Excerpt
This nonsense is only to tell you I love your
poems in Poetry; as always, in that cutting
garden of salmon pink gladioli, they’re as
fresh as a Norway spruce. Your passion always
makes me feel like a cloud the wind detaches
(At last) from a mountain so I can finally
go sailing over all those valleys with their
crazy farms and towns. I always start bounc-
ing up and down in my chair when I read a
poem of yours like “Radio,” where you seem to
say, “I know you won’t think this is much of a
subject for a poem but I just can’t help it:
I feel like this,” so that in the end you seem
to be the only one who knows what the subject
for a poem is. James Schuyler to Frank O’Hara,
March 27, 1956
