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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
Losses
Loss
Shall
Heart
Reconciled
Feast

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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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End with an image and don't explain.
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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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I like an ending that's both a door and a window.
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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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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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An old poet ought never to be caught with his technique showing.
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Darling, do you remember the man you married? Touch me, remind me who I am.
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Poetry is language surprised in the act of changing into meaning.
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The supreme morality of art is to endure.
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We have to learn how to live with our frailties. The best people I know are inadequate and unashamed.
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Memory is each man's poet-in-residence.
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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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Deftly they opened the brain of a child, and it was full of flying dreams.
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Live in the layers, not on the litter.
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A poem has secrets that the poet knows nothing of.
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Poetry today is easier to write but harder to remember.
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Poetry is the enemy of the poem.
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Forward my mail to Mars.
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The first task of the poet is to create the person who will write the poems.
Stanley Kunitz