Richard WilburBy Mrs. Rabideau

The Life of a Poet

• Richard Wilbur was born in NYC on March 21st, 1921.

• He studied at Amherst college before serving in the army in WWII.

• He later attended Harvard University.

His life continued…• His first book of poems was published in 1947

– The Beautiful Changes and Other Poems• He has translated numerous French plays as

well as poetry.• He was admired by Robert Frost and Wallace

Stevens. They even became good friends.

• “Since then, Wilbur has received nearly every award and honor available to an American poet, including two Pulitzers, two Bollingen Prizes, a National Book Award, and the office of the U.S. Poet Laureate.” - http://www.kwls.org/littoral/the_world_is_fundamentally_a_g/

Richard Wilbur

• In 2009, he taught a poetry class at Amherst. This class was focused on his writing contemporaries such as Sylvia Plath, Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell.

• He is currently alive and well at the ripe age of 92!

“A poem comes looking for me rather than I hunting after it.”

The WriterAnd retreated, not to affright it;And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,We watched the sleek, wild, dark

And iridescent creatureBatter against the brilliance, drop like a gloveTo the hard floor, or the desk-top, And wait then, humped and bloody,For the wits to try it again; and how our spiritsRose when, suddenly sure, It lifted off from a chair-back,Beating a smooth course for the right windowAnd clearing the sill of the world. It is always a matter, my darling,Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wishWhat I wished you before, but harder.

In her room at the prow of the houseWhere light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearingFrom her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keysLike a chain hauled over a gunwale. Young as she is, the stuffOf her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:I wish her a lucky passage. But now it is she who pauses,As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.A stillness greatens, in which

The whole house seems to be thinking,And then she is at it again with a bunched clamorOf strokes, and again is silent. I remember the dazed starlingWhich was trapped in that very room, two years ago;How we stole in, lifted a sash

Works Cited• www.poets.org• http://www.kwls.org/littoral/

the_world_is_fundamentally_a_g/