#stanley kunitz
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Anna Akhmatova, translated by Stanley Kunitz, from Poems of Akhmatova; "Crucifixion,"
#lit#anna akhmatova#poetry#quote#words#stanley kunitz#poetry in translation#selections#fragments#excerpts#writings#p
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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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A poem by Stanley Kunitz
The Layers
I have walked through many lives, some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
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.
Stanley Kunitz
(1905-2006)
Stanley Kunitz introduces and reads his poem
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I have walked through many lives, some of them my own
— Stanley Kunitz, 'The Layers'
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"I can scarcely wait till tomorrow
when a new life begins for me,
as it does each day,
as it does each day."
-Stanley Kunitz, "The Round" (1985)
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You must be careful not to deprive the poem of its wild origin.
Stanley Kunitz
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Touch Me
by Stanley Kunitz
Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it's done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am.
from Passing Through: The Later Poems, New and Selected by Stanley Kunitz
(W. W. Norton, 1995)
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Stanley Kunitz
#Stanley Kunitz#Kunitz#poetry#poet#USA#US#United States#American#America#1900's#1905#2006#2000's#New York#NY#Manhattan#Worcester#massachusetts
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Poetry is ultimately mythology, the telling of the soul's passage through the valley of this life, its adventure in time, in history.
Stanley Kunitz
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If we want to know what if felt like to be alive at any given moment in the long history of the race, it is to poetry we must turn. The moment is dear to us, precisely because it is so fugitive, and it is somewhat of a paradox that poets should spend a lifetime hunting for the magic that will make the moment stay. Art is the chalice into which we pour the wine of transcendence. What is imagination but a reflection of our yearning to eternity as well as to time?
...
The craft that I admire most manifests itself not as an aggregate of linguistic or prosodic skills, but as a form of spiritual testimony, the sign of the inviolable self consolidated against the enemies within and without that would corrupt or destroy human pride and dignity. It disturbs me that twentieth century American poets seem largely reconciled to being relegated to the classroom--practically the only habitat in which most of us are conditioned to feel secure. It would be healthier if we could locate ourselves in the thick of life, at ever intersection where values and meanings cross, caught in the dangerous traffic between self and universe.
-Stanley Kunitz, Passing Through - The Later Poems, New and Selected (1995)
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Stanley Kunitz, from Gods & Mortals: Modern Poems on Classics; "The Approach to Thebes,"
#lit#stanley kunitz#poetry#the approach to thebes#writings#selections#fragments#excerpts#quotes#gods & mortals: modern poems on classics#p
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"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝.
𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝.
𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭
𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮,
𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝
𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠,
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞
𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲.
𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞
𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧,
𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬,
𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝,
𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝
𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤.
𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙨
𝙨𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙣 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙚
𝙎𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘽𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙈𝙖g𝙚𝙚 𝙈𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙬.
𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.
𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞
𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥
𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲."
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William Lionel Wyllie
RAF Monument on the Thames
By W.L.Wyllie RA RI RE (1851-1931)
* * * *
We have to learn how to live with our frailties. The best people I know are inadequate and unashamed.
[ - Stanley Kunitz]
[via “alive on all channels”]
#RAF Monument on the Thames#Stanley Kunitz#quotes#Alive On All Channels#my favorites#black and white
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Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound.
I could never have borne it. So take the thing
that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground.
Whisk the lamps away . . .
Night.
Anna Akhmatova (1889--1966), tr. from Russian by Stanley Kunitz and Max Hayward, text from Sean Singer’s daily email, The Sharpener
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Stanley Kunitz – Cometa de Halley
A srta. Murphy, da primeira série, / escreveu o nome dele no quadro negro / com giz e nos contou que ele / viajava rugindo pelas trajetórias de tempestades / da Via Láctea a uma velocidade aterrorizante, (...)
A srta. Murphy, da primeira série,escreveu o nome dele no quadro negrocom giz e nos contou que eleviajava rugindo pelas trajetórias de tempestadesda Via Láctea a uma velocidade aterrorizante,e que se ele desviasse do seu curso e colidisse com a terranão haveria aula no dia seguinte.Um pregador das colinas, de barba ruivae com uma expressão selvagem nos olhosestava na praça pública,perto do…
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