“Only poetry in this larger sense-only the art of language -makes possible a full understanding of an art work’s ‘world.’ Language, the distinctively human possession, was what allows” stone, plant and animal” to be fully perceived, in a way that they can’t perceive themselves. “Where there is no language…there is also openness of what is, “ ( Read more... )

I read poetry at Fantasia, a local coffee house on Monday nights. This was read this week ( Read more... )

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 ( Read more... )