The poems of Samuel F. Morse available in new publication

COLLECTED POEMS OF SAMUEL FRENCH MORSE, edited by Guy Rotella, The National Poetry Foundation, University of Maine, Orono, 355 pages, $35 cloth, $19.95 paper.

In the introduction to Samuel French Morse’s first book of poetry, “Time of Year (1943),” poet Wallace Stevens wrote of Morse: “His subject is the particulars of experience. He is a realist; he tries to get at New England experience at New England past and present, at New England foxes and snow and thunderheads. When he generalizes, as in `End of a Year,’ his synthesis is essentially a New England synthesis. He writes about his own people and his own objects as closely as possible according to his own perception. This rectitude characterizes everything that he does.”

In the recently published “Collected Poems of Samuel French Morse,” editor Guy Rotella, who was Morse’s friend and colleague at Northeastern University, is more specific about Morse’s New England subject matter, as well as his style and form. “His eye for the local fact is keen: how a tree takes light or wind, the sequence of the tides or of migration on a point of land. His ear is sharp for local speech’s rise and fall, its verifying tang.”

Who was the late Sam Morse? He was a professor of English at the University of Maine (1946-49); the husband of Jane Crowell Morse of Bangor; the father of Samuel Morse Jr., now himself a professor at Amherst; and a longtime summer resident of Hancock Point. Morse also taught at Harvard, Colby, Trinity, Mount Holyoke, and finally at Northeastern (1962-85), which has established an annual poetry prize in his honor. He was an expert in the life and work of Wallace Stevens, about whom he wrote the biography, “Wallace Stevens: Poetry as Life” (1970). Morse was also a fine and enthusiastic naturalist; and the author of four books of his own poetry, two children’s books, and many critical essays.

Maine readers are probably most familiar with Morse’s Maine Indian poems, “A Poem About the Red Paint People” and “Micmac” included in the widely used anthology “Maine Speaks” (1989); and his poems in “Maine Lines” (1970), an excellent poetry anthology, edited by the late poet Richard Aldridge. In “Maine Lines,” Morse takes his place among such talented fellow New Englanders as Louise Bogan, Richard Everhart, Robert Lowell, Philip Booth, Abbie Huston Evans, Elizabeth Coatsworth and others. In the same book, Morse writes, “A poet, more likely than not, has to take his local identity for granted. If he feels he is `from away,’ he will be. If he is too much concerned about where he comes from or where he is, what he makes of the relation between himself and his part of the world will seldom sound or feel right.”

The “Collected Poems” is divided into six sections: “Time of Life” (1943), “The Scattered Causes” (1955), “The Changes” (1964), “The Sequences” (1978), “A Handful of Beach Glass and Other Poems” (unpublised until now), and “Additional Poems.” There are 174 poems in all. In his introduction, Rotella says that Morse’s book titles “feature process: patterns and dispersals, time and change, erosion and persistent repetition.”

So what would the general reader find interesting in the poetry of Morse? For one thing, a welcome respite from the cacophony of this violent century. With Morse one hears the quiet, intelligent voice of a thoughtful, reasonable man in search of the truth of existence — and providing us with insights from his careful study and passionate observation. Reading Morse is like reading a meticulous researcher seriously engaged in eking out some kind of order from our limited, earthly observation deck. Is there order to be found in nature? In the universe? For the person who is trying to make sense of this insane world, Sam Morse’s poetry often offers helpful and playful insights. Morse makes us stop and look once again at the summer light off the porch, at the winter trees in the snow, at people on a picnic, at migrant birds.

It’s hard for me to be objective about Sam Morse, since I knew him. He was the president of the Hancock Point Library when I was summer librarian there. We shared neighbors and friends, sat through events together, shared many talks. I grew up reading his poetry, knowing his works. He was a good teacher, always pointing out things to me. I can hear his voice as I’m reading him. Sam Morse encouraged me as a writer. I have a number of letters from him. I can see and hear him now as he talked about the birds and plants around Hancock Point. He knew their Latin names. Morse was very much involved as a prominent citizen of the summer community, as well as the town of Hancock itself. At the 1978 Hancock Sesquicentenniel, Morse recited by heart his poetry, including his “Poem in Praise of Hancock Point.”

My sister, Susan Springer, who worked for Sam and Jane Morse, remembers how dedicated he was to his beautiful flower garden. She remembers him as gentle and scholarly, relaxing in front of his fireplace with his books, listening to classical music. She remembers Morse in his skiff off the Hancock Point wharf; and she cherishes the memory of the night of the Sesquicentennial when Morse hugged her after her program of Maine songs which were about winding roads, the love of the coast and ocean, how boats could be like people, and the way of life of Maine folk — Morse’s subject matter, too.

In the last poem in the book, which is untitled, Morse writes of the elements of earth, water, fire and air. He says:

“Symbol, figure, emblem, sign: these four elements combine in shapes and measure here unfurled that dream the poet calls the world.”

Sanford Phippen is a writer who teaches English at Orono High School.