"Art is the chalice into which we pour the wine of transcendence."
Stanley Kunitz
The American poet laureate Stanley Kunitz passed away a few days ago at the ripe old age of one hundred, and this morning, I would like to honour his magnificent poetry and his thoughtful if tumultuous journey through life. He was a passionate gardener, a lover of beauty and a devotee of the natural world as well as a supremely gifted poet — I like to think that he is tending a garden somewhere beyond the fields we know.
His published poetry spanned eighty years, and it was sublime stuff - almost out of this world in fact, but at the same time it was chthonic and earthy, possessing deep roots and a firm sense of connection — his work was very much in this world too. On summer days, I sometimes carried his book Passing Through to the woods and read it slowly while sitting on a big rock with sunlight dappling the grove around me. Stanley was a fine companion for the journey, for those leafy green hollows and golden afternoons — for afternoons of any sort whatsoever.
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, The Layers
6 comments:
I love Stanley Kunitz's writing--always have. His death this week will be a true loss to the poetry world...he was producing new work up to the end of his life. Writing and gardening--two passions we shared. Thank you for crafting this lovely reflection on his poetry.
I love Stanley Kunitz's writing--always have. His death this week will be a true loss to the poetry world...he was producing new work up to the end of his life. Writing and gardening--two passions we shared. Thank you for crafting this lovely reflection on his poetry.
Dear Cate,
This photo reminds me of a pheasants tail in full bloom on this spring day. May all this beautiful rain make everything bloom even if these are Dandelions. These sweet and delicious leaves we adore.
Louise
I am so glad you posted this poem... I read it for the first time a few days ago and thought how very much it applies to my own life. We go on trying to live in the layers.
In my case there may not be "will intact to go". But I often find my legs moving, propelling me forward through the land.
I love that bird bath, Cate. Do you remember where you got it? I've been looking for one like that for years and years...loved the poem too. :-)
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