Anthony Evan Hecht

(16 January 1923 - 20 October 2004 / New York)

Anthony Evan Hecht Poems

1. The Feast Of Stephen 4/22/2010
2. The Ghost In The Martini 4/22/2010
3. Eclogue Of The Shepherd And The Townie 4/22/2010
4. Birdwatchers Of America 4/22/2010
5. Peekaboo: Three Songs For The Nursery 4/22/2010
6. Peripeteia 4/22/2010
7. The Transparent Man 1/13/2003
8. An Old Malediction 4/22/2010
9. The Deodand 4/22/2010
10. Tarantula, Or The Dance Of Death 4/22/2010
11. Death The Mexican Revolutionary 4/22/2010
12. It Out-Herods Herod. Pray You, Avoid It. 4/22/2010
13. Witness 1/13/2003
14. Clair De Lune 4/22/2010
15. After The Rain [for W. D. Snodgrass] 4/22/2010
16. Third Avenue In Sunlight 1/13/2003
17. Chorus From Oedipus At Colonos 1/13/2003
18. Paradise Lost Book 5: An Epitome 1/13/2003
19. Curriculum Vitae 1/13/2003
20. Lizards And Snakes 1/13/2003
21. Samuel Sewall 1/13/2003
22. Prospects 1/13/2003
23. A Hill 1/13/2003
24. Saul And David 1/13/2003
25. The Dover Bitch: A Criticism Of Life 1/13/2003
26. Late Afternoon: The Onslaught Of Love 1/13/2003
27. Lot's Wife 1/13/2003
28. Sarabande On Attaining The Age Of Seventy-Seven 1/13/2003
29. A Letter 1/13/2003
30. The End Of The Weekend 1/13/2003
31. More Light! More Light! 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Anthony Evan Hecht

More Light! More Light!

For Heinrich Blucher and Hannah Arendt
Composed in the Tower before his execution
These moving verses, and being brought at that time
Painfully to the stake, submitted, declaring thus:
"I implore my God to witness that I have made no crime."

Nor was he forsaken of courage, but the death was horrible,
The sack of gunpowder failing to ignite.
His legs were blistered sticks on which the black sap
Bubbled and burst as he howled for the Kindly Light.

And that was but one, and by no means one of he worst;
Permitted at least his pitiful dignity;
And such as ...

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A Hill

In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur,
I had a vision once - though you understand
It was nothing at all like Dante's, or the visions of saints,
And perhaps not a vision at all. I was with some friends,
Picking my way through a warm sunlit piazza
In the early morning. A clear fretwork of shadows
From huge umbrellas littered the pavement and made
A sort of lucent shallows in which was moored
A small navy of carts. Books, coins, old maps,

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