James Schuyler's poetry, like Louis Simpson's, is close to prose, but it is far more playful. Whereas Mr. Simpson is almost puritanical in his desire to set down the truth devoid of ornament, Mr. Schuyler wants to be amused, and he wants his reader to be amused as well—an impulse that can result in preciosity. But "The Morning of the Poem" eventually disarmed me. It does have its moments of preciosity, when it takes the gee-whiz-isn't-it-all-amazing tone of Kenneth Koch at his worst….

But upon finishing the book, one does not remember these lapses so much as the consistent play of wit, sharp observation and brilliantly evocative language….

The title poem … is especially impressive and dominates the collection. It is cast in the form of a letter from the poet, visiting his mother in East Aurora, N.Y., to a painter in Manhattan—his friend and, one...