Remembering Stanley Kunitz

by Montgomery Maxton
Stanley, he grew his garden with dirt and words. He watered it with his own sweat, spit, and tears. Poetry is immortal and Stanley Kunitz, after a century plus almost one, was almost as well. But who says his ghost isn't already gracing the Poet's House, his garden? I just opened the Collected Poems and saw him, reminding me of “The Scene”: you die. You're born again. . . . He's immortal after all.
Originally Published: June 23, 2006


On October 25, 2008 at 4:18am liza cruz wrote:
heard my grandmothers ghost over

the radio.thought appropriate for granddaughter. don't know author can you help find?

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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