Anthony Evan Hecht (16 January 1923 - 20 October 2004 / New York)
How simple the pleasures of those childhood days,
Simple but filled with exquisite satisfactions.
The iridescent labyrinth of the spider,
Its tethered tensor nest of polygons
Puffed by the breeze to a little bellying sail --
Merely observing this gave infinite pleasure.
The sound of rain. The gentle graphite veil
Of rain that makes of the world a steel engraving,
Full of soft fadings and faint distances.
The self-congratulations of a fly,
Rubbing its hands. The brown bicameral brain
Of a walnut. The smell of wax. The feel
Of sugar to the tongue: a delicious sand.
One understands immediately how Proust
Might cherish all such postage-stamp details.
Who can resist the charms of retrospection?
Poet Other Poems
- A Hill
- A Letter
- After The Rain [for W. D. Snodgrass]
- An Old Malediction
- Birdwatchers Of America
- Chorus From Oedipus At Colonos
- Clair de Lune
- Curriculum Vitae
- Death The Mexican Revolutionary
- Eclogue Of The Shepherd And The Townie
- It Out-Herods Herod. Pray You, Avoid It.
- Late Afternoon: The Onslaught Of Love
- Lizards And Snakes
- Lot's Wife
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Lot's Wife by Anthony Evan Hecht )
People who read Anthony Evan Hecht also read
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley