Poetry and Stanley Kunitz
Stanley Kunitz died this past year at 100 and still producing poetry, enjoying New York City and his beloved garden in Provincetown. I paricularly like his childhood poems, the joy in the world in spite of his father's sucide. He knew you could always be looking to improve one's poetry because, "Our poems can never satisfy us, since they are at best a diminished echo of a song that maybe once or twice in a life time we've heard and keep trying to recall."
But he kept at it his entire life because he, "...wanted to write poems that are natural, luminous, deep, spare. I dream of an art so transparent that you can look throught and see the world." My poems are not views in to the world with the clarity of Kunitz, but I keep chasing the idea and the words.
But he kept at it his entire life because he, "...wanted to write poems that are natural, luminous, deep, spare. I dream of an art so transparent that you can look throught and see the world." My poems are not views in to the world with the clarity of Kunitz, but I keep chasing the idea and the words.