Delmore Schwartz (1913–1966)

Schwartz has always been a shadowy figure venerated in certain circles I have been peripheral to, so this New Directions pocket edition seemed a good place to start. It's interesting finally to see what the fuss was about: the troubled Schwartz was a gifted poet who managed somehow to combine romanticist lyricism with a skeptical, metaphysical slant on perception and art (he studied philosophy with AN Whitehead at Harvard). The title story and the justly famous "In Dreams Begin Responsiblities," meanwhile, are harrowing urban fables related in a dry yet distinctive tone. With a brief, sturdy 2002 introduction by Cynthia Ozick.… (más)

*Partial spoilers ahead*

It was the title story that won fame for Delmore Schwartz in 1937, and it is the title story for which he is still lauded today. "In Dreams Begin Responsibilities" is a lovely, exquisitely polished piece of writing, and it's the first story you should read if you're new to Schwartz's work. But, in my own humble estimation, he was at his best when tackling longer pieces like "The World Is a Wedding". These stories are of two distinct types: the former of the type that is appreciated for its novelty (in his afterword, Irving Howe says of the titular tale that "it was the invention--the sheer cleverness of it--that one noticed first"), the latter of the type that impresses with its solidity and singleness of purpose. It is this variety which Barrett H. Clark and Maxim Lieber, editors of Great Short Stories of the World, described thusly when referring to Stephen Crane: "He was not a trick-story writer; he was neither facile nor clever; his work at its best is the sound product of an honest artist." Certainly, Delmore Schwartz could pull off a dazzling technical flourish on occasion, but his soundest product emerged when he delineated, often with painful directness, the foibles and insecurities of the people he was writing about.

Schwartz's star pupil at Syracuse University, legendary rock musician Lou Reed, learned much from his mentor in this regard. When an interviewer queried Reed about the lyrics of his masterpiece "Street Hassle," Reed said: "You know, every time I'm doing that song, when it gets to that awful last line I never know just how it's going to come across. 'So the first thing they see that allows them the right to be, they follow it / You know what it's called?' And here comes that line, and it should punch like a bullet: 'Bad luck.'" It's tempting to think that Reed, when writing that line, had the devastating final paragraph of "The World Is a Wedding" in mind. Laura Bell, the unhappy maiden sister of Rudyard Bell, not even remotely impressed by their friend Jacob Cohen's efforts to convince her that life "is a wedding, the most important kind of party, full of joy, fear, hope and ignorance" (like a Pieter Breughel painting), says flatly: "You can't fool me, the world is a funeral. We are all going to the grave no matter what you say. Let me give all of you one good piece of advice: Let your conscience be your bride."

The authors of the foreword and afterword to this collection make much of the Jewishness of Delmore Schwartz's work, underscoring this quality so frequently that it almost begins to constitute (deliberately or not) a warning: If you didn't grow up in a Depression-era Jewish family, stay away! These stories will only baffle you! This is unfortunate. While Schwartz obviously was writing about Jews in the New York City of the 1930s and '40s, his work is universally relatable. I defy any serious reader not to recognize himself and the people he cares about in the group of friends who populate "The World Is a Wedding," or the Hart family in "The Child Is the Meaning of This Life". There's even an overtly sentimental tale, "SCREENO," which makes for an interesting comparison with William S. Burroughs's lone sentimental effort "The Junky's Christmas". (I would imagine that Burroughs probably didn't think much of Schwartz as a writer--and vice versa--but Lou Reed, ever perceptive, was a great admirer of them both.)… (más)