Word: poetes
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DIED. Stanley Kunitz, 100, acclaimed poet whose stark language and metaphysical bent earned him a Pulitzer Prize, a National Book Award and two terms as U.S. poet laureate; in New York City. He produced a dozen books over 75 years, culminating with last year's The Wild Braid, an homage to his lifelong passion of gardening. The longtime Columbia University professor hammered out dense, restrained gems on a manual typewriter, tackling both the personal (his father's suicide) and the universal (life, death, rebirth). "The deepest thing I know is that I am living and dying at once," he said...
...Savitsky ’07 has the habit of saying “lovely”: Thursday morning is “lovely,” as well as Jack Megan, the director of the Office for the Arts at Harvard (OFA). So is poet and Professor of English and American Literature and Languages Peter Sacks, who briefly interrupts our interview. Such a gentle staple phrase might be thought of as at odds with a young woman who has played such a forceful role in dramatic arts on campus. Savitsky has been involved in 16 productions, is the historian...
...that are simply not available in straight narrative discourse,” says Preceptor in Expository Writing Kate Chadbourne. Though Chadbourne’s affiliation with Harvard is primarily that of an Expos teacher, her work extends into numerous other fields. She is a teacher of modern Irish, a poet, a folklorist, a musician who plays the piano, the flute, and the harp, and, most of all, a storyteller—a medium in which all of her other interests and talents come to fruition. Born in Saco, Maine to a nurse and a fisherman, Chadbourne always loved...
...this is a dangerous vision for a poet. Wright forgets that poetry’s virtue—its saving grace—is particularity. Readers can access poetry’s meaning only through the nuances of the text, through the heft and rhythm of a single word...
...poem about writing, “Publication Date,” is full of slapstick desperation. The pacing poet is waiting for his latest book to come out, and he expects the worst. The narrator declares early on that it’s “National I Hate Myself and Want to Die Day,” a phrase that is very funny in the context of the poem, although it jars with the serious preoccupations of the rest of the volume...