The poetry community suffered a great lost with the passing of Stanley Kunitz.
When I lived in New York, I had the opportunity to hear him read many times, in particular at his 90th birthday celebration.
Here is one of his most famous poems, and one of my favorites:
My mother never forgave my father
for killing himself,
especially at such an awkward time
and in a public park,
when I was waiting to be born.
She locked his 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 a 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
Also, you can hear him read the poem at poets.org.