L. E. Sissman
I read Anthony Hecht's poem "To L. E. Sissman, 1928-1976" week before last (in his Collected Later Poems, a magisterial, in both senses of the word, volume) without knowing who the dead dedicatee is, and promptly forgot the name though not the poem. On a trip to the local secondhand bookstore here in Brooklyn Heights, I picked up Sissman's first volume of poems, Dying: An Introduction , because of its beguiling use of meter. After reading and enjoying most of it, I was surprised to find the same name topping Hecht's poem to which I returned, Later . Here's a section showing how Hecht praises Sissman's poetry: Dear friend, whose poetry of Brooklyn flats And poker sharps broacasts the tin pan truths Of all our yesterdays, speaks to our youths In praise of both Wallers, Edmund and Fats, And will be ringing in some distant ear Whem the Mod-est, last immodesty fatigues, All Happenings have happened, the Little Leagues Of Pop and pop-fly poets disappear To join ...