James Matthew Wilson

The Whole Harmonium: The Life of Wallace Stevensby paul marianisimon & schuster, 496 pages, $30 It was the first great American poem of modern atheism. Wallace Stevens’s “Sunday Morning” (1915) opens with a woman in a peignoir, relaxing in the morning sun with her coffee and oranges. Her . . . . Continue Reading »

You who wait, stood as candles round the shrouded bed,And flicker with the last stir of her breath,See, now, at once, she lies no more beneathYour watch, but stands in light, a crown upon her head.—James Matthew . . . . Continue Reading »

By practice skill is got, by practice wit is won.—George Turberville On being asked by a young friend of mineThe surest way to make himself an author,I said he ought to read line after lineOf dense and brilliant books; taking the “bother”To memorize their tricks and ticks, the waysMeaning . . . . Continue Reading »

The following essay is adapted from Chapter 3 of “The Fortunes of Poetry in an Age of Unmaking.” Those who love literature, or at any rate have a vested interest in making sure great works of literature are taught at universities and that radical politics are not, could only find the conquest . . . . Continue Reading »

There, in the hay’s warmth and the steaming sty,The Word born to the frailty of fleshCracks our mortality with a weak cryAnd seals our life within his endlessness. The Word born to the frailty of flesh,He lies wrapped in the cloths of mystery,And seals our life within his endlessness,In infant . . . . Continue Reading »

Sad news from last week: Wheaton College mourns the death of Professor Brett Foster, who has been a good, true friend to his students and colleagues on campus,” said Wheaton College President Dr. Philip G. Ryken. “Dr. Foster’s exceptional poems will be a lasting treasure for all who read them, . . . . Continue Reading »

If T. S. Eliot were our exact contemporary, he would, as a critic of literature and culture, find much of his labor in need of being done again. Or, rather, he would see it continued in the remarkable, growing achievement found in the essays of Adam Kirsch. In Kirsch’s new collection, Rocket and . . . . Continue Reading »

The swift perched, tweeting like a petty tyrant,     Ruffling the feathers of self-love and power, And dropped his siftings on a fire hydrant . . . . Continue Reading »

VI. Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus He stopped a moment, when her eyesMet his and grieved to recognize The mark of suffering in his face. With a slow hand, she drew her veil,Revealed herself, ashamed and pale, As if awaiting his embrace. . . . . Continue Reading »

XI. Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross For boys who pull the wings off beetlesOr prick their sisters’ backs with needles,     They spread his hand to take the . . . . Continue Reading »