Passing Through: The Later Poems, New and Selected

by Stanley Kunitz

Book Overview

In "Touch Me," the last poem in the collection, Kunitz propounds a question, "What makes the engine go?" and gives us his answer: "Desire, desire, desire." These poems fairly hum with the energy, the... This description may be from another edition of this product.

• Format: Hardcover
• Language: English
• ISBN: 039303870X
• ISBN13: 9780393038705
• Release Date: October 1995
• Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
• Length: 175 Pages
• Weight: 0.94 lbs.
• Dimensions: 0.7" x 6.0" x 8.6"

Customer Reviews

Easy to read, better to savor

It says a great deal about Stanley Kunitz that he was 95 when he was named Poet Laureate for the second time. First, it reminds us that he lived to a great age --- he died, in 2006, at 100 --- and was a vital talent right to the end. And, even more, it underscores that his career was more of a marathon than a sprint. W.H. Auden got it exactly: ""It's strange, but give him time. A hundred years or so. He's a patient man. He won't mind waiting." The really fascinating news, though, is that Stanley Kunitz continually improved as a poet. "Passing Through: The Later Poems" --- almost universally considered the best of his ten books --- was published when he was 95. And, for once, "best" and "most accessible" belong in the same sentence. For as he aged, Kunitz said, "I've learned to strip the water out of my poems." The result is a clarity and directness that makes Kunitz an ideal poet both for people who only sort of like poetry and for those who like to dig into the poem and explore the layers. Digging in: That's the right phrase to describe the pleasure of a Kunitz poem. He was a lifelong gardener, and as soon as he arrived at his summer home on Cape Cod he was with his plants: tending, pruning, marveling. (His final book, published in 2007, is a gardening chronicle.) This connection with growing things is closely connected to the key issue of Kunitz's life and work --- parenting. An odd connection? Consider the biography. A few weeks before he was born, his father drank carbolic acid and died. His mother, a tough-minded immigrant, raised two daughters and Stanley for eight years, then married a charming, loving man who was like a father to the boy. Alas, he had a fatal heart attack four years later. Kunitz might have found "the lost father" at Harvard, but after graduating summa cum laude he was told there was no teaching opportunity there --- the Christian students might resent a literature instructor who was a Jew. He gigged around, committed himself to poetry and began a seventy-five year career as a poet. The poems in "Passing Through" touch all the bases. Right off, we get the primary wound (which Kunitz repeated by leaving his first wife and young daughter): "You say you had a father once/his name was absence." He has a healthy interest in women: "I think I'd rather sleep forever/than wake up cold/in a country without women." He has a loving father's appreciation for his daughter: "I like the sound of your voice/even when you phone from school/asking for money." And on the biggest topic of all: Peace! Peace! To be rocked by the Infinite! As if it didn't matter which way was home; as if he didn't know he loved the earth so much he wanted to stay forever.

Touching

Stanley Kunitz not only looks into our hearts, he finds rainbows there.

No need for reviews

Stanley Kunitz veritably sparkles, both in person and on the page. Those who have had the good fortune to hear him read know that his voice imbues his work with life, dancing with his lines in a crisp wry way possible only for someone of his age and sensitivity. If you can't hear him read, however, this book is a stunner, a gift. Each poem literally seizes one's breath, stopping life for the split second it takes to renew it. The poems make their own review. Alyssa A. Lappen

The soul of the poet doesn't age

Pulitzer Prize winner Stanley Kunitz proves that you're never too old to be an artist with this volume of work. His poetry still reflects a passion for life. A good example of this vital spirit is found in 'Touch me'; "Summer is late, my heart./ Words plucked out of the air/ some forty years ago/ when I was wild with love ... Darling, do you remember/ the man you married? Touch me/ remind me who I am." I was also moved by 'The Portrait', which opens with "My mother never forgave my father/ for killing himself, ..." The book contains an bibliography of each poem, and a foreward which the author titles "Instead of a foreward."