The first thing you notice about Anthony Hecht’s poetry is how old school it is. It rhymes! It scans! It’s witty! Oh, alright, not ha-ha witty, but witty in the involved and metaphysical manner of a degenerate Cavalier (and I mean that in a nice way). Here are a couple of specimen stanzas from a poem called “The Riddle”:

Where the wind listeth, there the sailboats list,
Water is touched with a light case of hives
Or wandering gooseflesh. The More...