Galway Kinnell is an American poet. He was Poet Laureate of Vermont from 1989 to 1993. An admitted follower of Walt Whitman , Kinnell rejects the idea of seeking fulfillment by escaping into the imaginary world. His best-loved and most anthologized poems are "St. Francis and the Sow" and "After Making Love We Hear Footsteps".
Born in Providence, Rhode Island, Kinnell said that as a youth he was turned on to poetry by Edgar Allan Poe and Emily Dickinson, drawn to both the musical appeal of their poetry and the idea that they led solitary lives. The allure of the language spoke to what he describes as the homogeneous feel of his hometown, ... more »
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Galway Kinnell Poems
Wait, for now. Distrust everything, if you have to. But trust the hours. Haven't they carried you everywhere, up to now?
I love to go out in late September among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries to eat blackberries for breakfast, the stalks very prickly, a penalty
After Making Love We Hear Footsteps
For I can snore like a bullhorn or play loud music or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman and Fergus will only sink deeper
I eat oatmeal for breakfast. I make it on the hot plate and put skimmed milk on it. I eat it alone. I am aware it is not good to eat oatmeal alone.
On the tidal mud, just before sunset, dozens of starfishes were creeping. It was as though the mud were a sky
At intermission I find her backstage still practicing the piece coming up next. She calls it the "solo in high dreary." Her bow niggles at the string like a hand
St. Francis And The Sow
The bud stands for all things, even those things that don't flower, for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
I The stars were wild that summer evening As on the low lake shore stood you and I
Poem Of Night
1 I move my hand over slopes, falls, lumps of sight,
How Could You Not
-- for Jane kenyon It is a day after many days of storms.
Telephoning In Mexican Sunlight
Talking with my beloved in New York I stood at the outdoor public telephone in Mexican sunlight, in my purple shirt. Someone had called it a man/woman
There is a fork in a branch of an ancient, enormous maple, one of a grove of such trees, where I climb sometimes and sit and look out
Vapor Train Reflected in the Frog Pond
The old watch: their thick eyes puff and foreclose by the moon.The young, heads trailed by the beginnings of necks,
He climbed to the top of one of those million white pines set out across the emptying pastures of the fifties - some program to enrich the rich
Comments about Galway Kinnell
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness...