Anthologiesrnby George GarrettrnIn this fat book I findrnthe signature, my own, my namerndone in my same hand but different.rnI could not make it that way now.rnSummer of 1947 it would have to be.rnThe copyright is 1946—rnA Little Treasury of Modern Poetry:rnThe Best Poems of the 20th Century.rnA bit early then, wouldn’t you say?rnwith this bloody century not yet half donernto be collecting and publishing the best.rnNot at that time when everything was newrnand wonderful, when so many of these poets,rnwords on pages, pictures in the back,rnwere new names to me and even nowrnlook younger than any of us ever were.rnDay Lewis, Eberhart, George Barkerrnand John Manifold are purely and simplyrnsmiling and now are sure enough deadrnor dying. Others look deadly serious.rnAnd all but a precious few of themrnare long gone to glory or oblivion.rnDoes anyone alive still miss Gene Derwoodrnwith those wild eyes and that funny hat?rnDoes anybody else but myself and Mary LeernSettle still march to Manifold’s “Fife Tune”?rnIs anyone around to rejoice at the rhymesrnof Hildegarde Planner’s “Noon On Alameda Street”?rnThe child who believed he was a manrnand scribbled my name in the flyleaf herernwent forth like Ransom’s “Captain Carpenter”rnto read his way through the book of wounds.rnAnd this book sitting on its dark shelfrnfor years, a buried treasure of shining words,rna safe house assigned to all the dead poetsrnhe loved and cherished at first sight.rnSEPTEMBER 1993/11rnrnrn