“Edward Field, one of the most accomplished American poets of the postwar era, whose award-winning work—characterized by everyday language and an openly gay landscape—was forged by nearly a century of living in bohemian New York, died on [Sept. 6] at his home in the West Village. … A longtime resident of Westbeth Artists Housing, a community for artists and arts organizations in Greenwich Village, Mr. Field continued to write and publish throughout his ninth decade.”
–Rebecca Chace, New York Times, Sept. 6, 2026

Ed Field’s poems are wonderful. They are vividly about life of any and all sorts, ranging from catching mice, to death, with stops here and there for subjects like “How to Speak Dutch” or “A Man and His Penis.” Ed Field’s poems are direct. The language is marvelously alive, both conversational and with a great deal of not-necessarily-obvious art. And finally, Ed Field’s poems hold nothing back. He speaks forthrightly of anything, whether possibly shocking, or embarrassing, not to mention a real pleasure.
–David Alexander, artist and friend