Jan 23, 2020 01:27 PM
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These are wonderful poems. Probing poems into a life and life itself. They open Kunitz to the reader and the reader to intimacy, to pain, struggle, living, in rich detail. The newer poems, written late in his life astound. Taught. Spare. Rich. "Summer is late, my heart." Words stolen from his youth work magic to open our eyes to his, and our, later years.
