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How shall the heart be reconciled / To its feast of losses?

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
Heart
Reconciled
Feast
Losses
Loss
Shall

More quotes by Stanley Kunitz

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Poetry is the enemy of the poem.
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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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In every house of marriage there's room for an interpreter.
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Poetry today is easier to write but harder to remember.
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We have all been expelled from the Garden, but the ones who suffer most in exile are those who are still permitted to dream of perfection.
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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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Live in the layers, not on the litter.
Stanley Kunitz
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In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: Live in the layers, not on the litter. Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes.
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Certainly the modern poets I cherish most are disturbing spirits they do not come to coo.
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I dance/for the joy of surviving, at the edge of the road.
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I dropped my hoe and ran into the house and started to write this poem, 'End of Summer.’ It began as a celebration of wild geese. Eventually the geese flew out of the poem, but I like to think they left behind the sound of their beating wings.
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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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End with an image and don't explain.
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The poem comes in the form of a blessing, like rapture breaking on the mind.
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Darling, do you remember the man you married? Touch me, remind me who I am.
Stanley Kunitz
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The first task of the poet is to create the person who will write the poems.
Stanley Kunitz
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Poetry is language surprised in the act of changing into meaning.
Stanley Kunitz
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My mother never forgave my father
Stanley Kunitz
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We have to learn how to live with our frailties. The best people I know are inadequate and unashamed.
Stanley Kunitz
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Forward my mail to Mars.
Stanley Kunitz