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Another amazing poem. To see "the man" and not just the public works of the man. The process of age and disease are slowly introduced, and Oliver manages to pay respects (I guess to someone she knew and cared about) in the most beautiful manner. I read that Kunitz had a 100 acre herb farm in Connecticut, which was destroyed when a tornado blew through it. The same article quoted him as saying, "one of the rituals of working the land is that I am celebrating a ritual of death and resurrection. Every spring I feel that. I am never closer to the miraculous than when I am grubbing in the soil."
dallas from United States