Leslie Fiedler

(1917-2003)

There was something of
An attacking lion in him
He would take issues
To their precarious conclusions,
Till they were tamed or devoured.

When he closed his eyes
His memory circled
Like an eagle in the clouds
Wrenching details from a vast repertoire
To support his argument.

Sentences flowed from his mouth
Just as they did from his pen
But he was a stickler for details,
He just had to revise everything
No less than seven to eight times.

A hard man to work with
But if you were patient,
Willing to learn and
Did not give up half-way,
He could teach you things
That perhaps no man could.

His pugnacity and prowess
Was stranger than fiction
He was always making bold plans
To cross the border, close the gap,
Scrupulously surveying the terra incognita
Like a lion, eagle or a mahatma.

April 2006, Tokyo