Lary Bloom
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Sunday, May 21, 2006
Stanley Kunitz, Remembered
Last night, I read "The Testing Tree" aloud. I'd heard Stanley Kunitz read it back when he was only 93 years old. He read it forcefully that night in the sunken garden at the Hill-Stead museum, and he spoke directly to me, it seemed -- it was a poem about my own childhood, and all that was at stake in the private games I concocted.After the news of the death of Stanley Kunitz at the age of 100, I emailed friends -- in the tradition of the way my mother called friends whenever a movie star died. I heard back from Anne Farrow, who told me that Kunitz's Passing Through was on her father's nightstand the day he died.
This week, I've been going through The Collected Poems, which Kunitz signed for me (at the request of Steve Courtney, who gave it to me as a gift). Over and over I have read the short poem titled The Portrait. I remember Kunitz reading that one, too, in the garden. How it stung me, and everyone else there.
My mother never forgave my father
for killing himself,
especially at such an awkward time
and in a public park,
that spring
when I was waiting to be born.
She locked her name
in her deepest cabinet
and would not let him out,
though I could hear him thumping.
When I came down from the attic
with the pastel portrait in my hand
of a long-lipped stranger
with the brave moustache
and deep brown level eyes,
she ripped it into shreds
without a single word
and slapped me hard.
In my sixty-fourth year
I can feel my cheek
still burning.
Posted by:Lary Bloom at 11:26 AM
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