By Anthony Hecht
THE VENETIAN VESPERS (1979)
"In its clear-eyed mercy towards human weak point, Anthony Hecht's poetry is going from energy to energy. The Venetian Vespers is straight away an severe corroboration and an abundant extension of his sophisticated, supple abilities. not anything humane is alien to him... there's a handful of brief poems which are fostered alike by means of good looks and worry. however it is the 4 lengthy poems that be certain Hecht as a poet of the widest apprehensions and comprehension, and this with no the gigantism that so haunts American poetic ambition."
--Christopher Ricks, the hot York occasions booklet Review
MILLIONS of odd SHADOWS (1977)
"The excessive artistry of Anthony Hecht has been to nurture his personal reward, and to paintings at it with the deliberateness and balance that it deserved from him... Emotional depth and formal energy have been mixed in Hecht from his beginnings... The thirty poems in hundreds of thousands of wierd Shadows are all totally written, yet a number of actually are the simplest he has released and are possibly to suffer. some of the best is 'Green: An Epistle,' that's a lesson in profound, managed subjectivity and self-revelation, a precise antithesis to the opaque squalors of 'confessional' poets. virtually both awesome is 'Coming Home,' within which the poet John Clare gets a deeper interpretation than any critic has afforded him..."
--Harold Bloom, the recent Republic
THE demanding HOURS (1968)
"Anthony Hecht's first quantity of poems, A Summoning of Stones, verified him as essentially the most complete of his super complete iteration. His paintings was once awesome adequate for its classical poise and magnificence, however it additionally had a weight which set it aside. considering the fact that then his poetry has come transparent in a path no one may have predicted...He did the main tricky factor of all: this such a lot fastidious and chic of poets shed each artifice and commenced to jot down with absolute uncooked simplicity and directness. just a poet with a huge burden of anything to claim ever goals of taking this path, and basically an encouraged artist can convey it off. the end result the following has been probably the most strong and unforgettable poems at this time being written in America,"
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Extra info for Collected Earlier Poems
There is a sleep like the long dissolve of bone into brown dirt. The nurse carries a paper cup, a syringe of that sleep . . But the chrysanthemums, and the trees outside the window, say: You are never tired enough. My second breath says it, and the room's tick, the star-tiled floor, the chalk walls through the night hours. I lie listening as though to a voice inside my voice, a lullaby deep in the throat. Now a small snowfall. Now a first blur of sun staining the window.
Before he sleeps tonight, my brother will forgive his body anythingnight sores, bad numbers, pain like a word . . Before sleep, my brother will bless himself, and lie down. <><><><><><><><><><><><> The blood in a black widow falls asleep. Near an almond branch, work ants gather their meals in the noon sun. Page 38 At the far edge of a field, a hospital is erected and torn down on the same day, the healers now working double time, now obsolete, your failed kidneys swelling from pinholes to buttonholes, buttonholes to large red sacks.
Head crooked severely, eyes fixed, doll-like, in the opposite direction, feet turned alternately inward and outward, arms flailing somehow along trajectories his head, eyes, and feet did not intersect. I liked Walter. He refused to publish a review of any paper that referred to "cone-shaped objects" and their velocity, heat-seeking ability, etc. <><><><><><><><><><><><> Page 60 In the hallway in the shunt-light of the hallway you wake a nurse comes to show you to your room but can't find it the entire wing is missing you look outside there in the gravel lot the sleet pounding its fists your white gown is walking home <><><><><><><><><><><><> Ellen takes the ice pack off my right calf and feels for a pulse at the ankle.
Collected Earlier Poems by Anthony Hecht