Freely Espousing by James Schuyler. 1969. 1979.

I actually found a poem in here I don't ever remember reading. "Royals." It is very strange, with lines like this

"Unable to talk to us,
they know about us and argue about the facts
and the motives we might not know ourselves.
Their argument might be clarifying
to those who know them whom they do not know
as they know us who do not know them."

Is this a schizofrenic's poem?

Why do I need my poets to have a keen sense of language? It is axiomatic for me, yet not for other readers. Sure, the language in the poem quoted above seems deliberately dull, in contrast to Schuyler's usual style. So that makes me curious about what is going on here. That string of confusing monosyllables in the last two lines I quoted...