A poem ought to be interesting. Sometimes it might even be expected to tell us something, or amuse us, or move us, or, at the form's best, make more real the connection between ourselves and the world. But first of all it ought to be interesting, so that we want to read it. In simplest terms we have a right to expect that a poem, which can tell us more about the universe than any other form of art, tell us at least as much as a story, a novel, a newspaper article. And that it do this with a fidelity to craft that allows the language to sing—which is what those other things cannot do. (p. 44)

When poems that have nothing to say are praised and honored the gulf between poetry and its audience is made wider.

These reflections are prompted by Anthony Hecht's new collection...