Who was Stanley Kunitz?
Here’s a personal note: I once saw a photograph of Stanley as a very young boy, taken at the funeral of his stepfather, a generous, kindly man who married a widow with three children and cared for them until his sudden, untimely death of a stroke. Stanley Kunitz’s father killed himself in a public park, six weeks before the poet was born. The mother never forgave that abandonment, and in her rage at all anniversaries, in response to the anniversary of that violence, she forbade the observation of birthdays. In the poem “Portrait” she tears up a photograph of the dead man, discovered by his son in the attic. Then having torn the portrait to shreds, she slaps the boy’s face. In that photograph I saw of young Kunitz, the child in his ill-fitting shirt and awkward necktie stands as straight as a guardsman. His face is solemn and fierce with determination. In my mind, that courageous, even defiant moment of grief defines Kunitz: He was determined to live, to fight death to the last millimet
