Unlike Tom Paulin and the poet laureate, Anthony Hecht is a real poet. This morning’s New York Times has an interesting profile of the poet at 80, and quotes the following in conclusion, the poem’s ending inspired by a Psalm:
Like trailing silks, the light
Hangs in the olive trees
As the pale wine of day
Drains to the very lees.
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.
The best I can find in print this morning is the profile of Hecht: “Distilling the music of poetry.”
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