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Deftly they opened the brain of a child, and it was full of flying dreams.

Stanley Kunitz

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Stanley Kunitz
Age: 100 †
Born: 1905
Born: July 29
Died: 2006
Died: May 14
Linguist
Poet
Translator
Writer
Worcester
Massachusetts
Stanley Jasspon Kunitz
Flying
Dreams
Full
Brain
Child
Deftly
Dream
Aviation
Children
Opened
Flight

More quotes by Stanley Kunitz

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The heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking it is necessary to go through dark and deeper dark and not to turn
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How shall the heart be reconciled / To its feast of losses?
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To conquer a piece of earth and make it as beautiful as one can dream of it being: That is art, too. A man cannot be separated from the earth. I come out of the garden every day feeling, oh, inspired in a way that one needs in order to convert the daily-ness of the life into something greater than that little life itself.
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An old poet ought never to be caught with his technique showing.
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A poet needs to keep his wilderness alive inside him. To remain a poet after forty requires an awareness of your darkest Africa, that part of yourself that will never be tamed.
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The ear writes my poems, not the mind.
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...few young poets [are] testing their poems against the ear. They're writing for the page, and the page, let me tell you, is a cold bed.
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Some poems present themselves as cliffs that need to be climbed. Others are so defensive that when you approach their enclosure you half expect to be met by a snarling dog at the gate. Still others want to smother you with their sticky charms.
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Not that you need to be a saint to have visions worth talking about. The most effective prescription, I suspect, is to be a disciplined sinner. Perfection, as Valery noted, is work.
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Live in the layers, not on the litter.
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Rhythm to me is essentially what Hopkins called the taste of self. I taste myself as rhythm.
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I want to write poems that are natural, luminous, deep, spare. I dream of an art so transparent that you can look through and see the world.
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In every house of marriage there's room for an interpreter.
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Poetry is ultimately mythology, the telling of stories of the soul. The old myths, the old gods, the old heroes have never died. They are only sleeping at the bottom of our minds, waiting for our call. We have need of them, for in their sum they epitomize the wisdom and experience of the race.
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Poetry today is easier to write but harder to remember.
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End with an image and don't explain.
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Poetry is the enemy of the poem.
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It is my heart that's late, it is my song that's flown.
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I can hardly wait for tomorrow, it means a new life for me each and every day.
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Memory is each man's poet-in-residence.
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