[Tim Murphy]

In June Mr. Hecht published a book, The Darkness and the Light, which has been slammed by idiots like Wm. Logan, but which has astonished many of his fans. Hecht has long been among America's best poets, but I think that in this volume he's really gone beyond his previous level and laid claim to Alicia's capital G. Here's:

Sarabande on Attaining the Age of Seventy-seven

...."The harbingers are come. See, see their mark,
....White is their colour, and behold my head."

Long gone the smoke and pepper childhood smell
Of the smouldering immolation of the year,
Leaf-strewn in scattered grandeur where it fell,
Golden and poxed with frost, tarnished and sere.

And I myself have whitened as the weathers
Of heaped-up Januarys as they bequeath
The annual rings and wrongs that wring my withers,
Sober my thoughts and undermine my teeth.

The dramatis personae of our lives
Dwindle and wizen; familiar boyhood shames,
The tribulations one somehow survives,
Rise smokily from propitiatory flames

Of our forgetfulness until we find
It becomes strangely easy to forgive
Even ourselves with this clouding of the mind,
This cinerous blur and smudge in which we live.

A turn, a glide, a quarter-turn and bow,
The stately dance advances; these are airs
Bone-deep and numbing I should know by now,
Diminishing the cast, like musical chairs.


If you folks like this as much as I, I'd be happy to type in a few more favorites from this remarkable new book.

[nyctom]

Yes, I would like to see more of his work. Hard to get a sense of his writing from just one poem.

Thanks!

nyctom

[Golias]

Hi Tim,

As one about to turn 73, this poem of Hecht's wrings all too true, and wonderfully so.

Don't know about capital G (if it means Great) as I am, so far, unwilling to allow that to any English-language poet alive since Frost. How about capital VVG (Very, Very Good)?

Do please post more of Hecht that you particularly like.

G.

[Tim Murphy]

Glad you fellows liked the Sarabande. Here's the title poem, which Professor Hecht sent me a few days after my father died last fall.

"The Darkness and the Light
Are Both Alike to Thee"

--Psalms 139:12

Like trailing silks, the light
Hangs in the olive trees
As the pale wine of day
Drains to its very lees:
Huge presences of gray
Rise up, and then it's night.

Distantly lights go on.
Scattered like fallen sparks
Bedded in peat, they seem
Set in the plushest darks
Until a timid gleam
Of matins turns them wan,

Like the elderly and frail
Who've lasted through the night,
Cold brows and silent lips,
For whom the rising light
Entails their own eclipse,
Brightening as they fail.

[Caleb Murdock]

I like both these poems -- the second one is more accessible than the first. However, his sentence structure is sometimes wobbly. The final stanza of The Darkness and the Light isn't a properly constructed sentence -- no discernable subject/verb. That's something that always makes me uncomfortable.

[Tim Murphy]

Caleb, Welcome back. The second stanza ends with a comma, not a period. So the final stanza is an elegant simile appended to the subject and verb in the previous stanza "they seem/ Set in the plushest darks." The elderly and frail grow wan and die in the morning light, just as my father did. Just as the bright lights in the night grow wan in the light of dawn. There is nothing clumsy or ungrammatical, only extraordinary syntactical intricacy. Or shall we call it Mastery? For decades I have assaulted the ramparts of iambic trimeter, and Tony's performance in constructing so elaborate a metaphor, in so extended a sentence, boggles my mind. And reminds me anew how much I have to learn about the wielding of our language.

This is the poem of an old man who has sat at death's bed side, and seen what I saw last fall, the light that invests the faces of the dying. A man who walks with the aid of a stick and has suffered invasive surgery on heart and lungs. In his infirmity he has given us this book of which this poem is the capstone--but it must be appreciated in the context of the whole book, which it ends and lends its title to. When I first read TD&tL, I carefully reread all of Hecht. And I cannot tell you much I profited by my reading.

As Shakespeare says at the end of Lear, "We who are young/ Shall never see so much nor live so long." Tonight I'll post more Hecht.

[Caleb Murdock]

My goodness, I can't believe that I didn't see that comma -- I was certain I saw a period at the end of the second stanza! I must have not had my glasses on. That being the case, I am certainly wrong in what I said.

Hecht is a poet I would like to have for my site, but I haven't approached him because I assumed I wouldn't be able to get his poems without reprint fees. But if he is old and frail, perhaps I should approach him now while I still have the chance.

------------------
Caleb
www.poemtree.com

[A. E. Stallings]

Thanks, Tim, for posting these. Hecht is one of those poets I keep meaning to read more of and get to know better. I have only one book, believe it or not, the Venetian Vespers. So I'll definitely put The Darkness and the Light on my list of books to buy next time am Stateside. In the past, I must confess, the Hecht poems I have run across have tended to spark admiration in me for their craftsmanship--but from a cool distance, as a polished marble monument. But I am always willing to be converted. How bout one more?

[conny]

Mr. Hecht is right up my street. That trimeter piece
is fantastico.

DC

P.S.
And one more please...


[This message has been edited by conny (edited November 06, 2001).]

[Tim Murphy]

Alicia, Here's an exercise in slant rhyme. Hecht fought his way across Europe in the infantry and, a Jew, was present at the liberation of one of the concentration camps.

Haman

I am Haman the hangman, the engineer
And chief designer of that noble structure,
The Gallows. Let the Jews tremble and beware:
I have made preparations for their capture
And extirpation in a holy war
Against their foolish faith, their hateful culture,
An ethnic cleansing which will leave us pure,
Ridding the world of this revolting creature.
I shall have camps, 'Arbeit Macht Frei,' the lure
Of hope, the chastening penalty of torture,
And other entertainments of despair,
The which I hanker after like a lecher.
And best of all the gibbet, my friend, my poor
One-armed assistant, in stiff, obedient posture,
Like a young officer's salute, but more
Rigid, and more instructive than a lecture,
Saying "I can teach you to tread on air
And add another cubit to your stature."

I wrote Tony last night and told him we were discussing his work, and he has graciously assented to field our questions on the Lariat Board this weekend. He doesn't use a computer, but he has a fax for swift response. This is an outstanding opportunity to query one of best poets of the century, so go ahead and post questions (after you get his books from any library or bookstore). So, post away, and early next week I shall type in his responses. I'll also post a brief review of Darkness and Light on Richard's Discerning Eye board. And I'll post more poems as this discussion evolves.