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In an Iridiscent time
Ruth Stone's first book of poems
55 pages, Hardcover
Published January 1, 1959
7 people want to read
About the author
Ruth Stone
37 books68 followersRuth Stone was an American poet and author of thirteen books of poetry. She received the 2002 National Book Award (for her collection In the Next Galaxy), the 2002 Wallace Stevens Award, the National Book Critics Circle Award, the Eric Mathieu King Award from The Academy of American Poets, a Whiting Award, two Guggenheim Fellowships, the Delmore Schwartz Award, the Cerf Lifetime Achievement Award from the state of Vermont, and the Shelley Memorial Award. In July 2007, she was named poet laureate of Vermont.
After her husband committed suicide in 1959, Stone was forced to raise her three daughters alone as she traveled the US, teaching creative writing at many universities, including the University of Illinois, University of Wisconsin, Indiana University, University of California Davis, Brandeis, and finally settling at State University of New York Binghamton.
She died at her home in Ripton, Vermont, in 2011. She was 96 years old.
After her husband committed suicide in 1959, Stone was forced to raise her three daughters alone as she traveled the US, teaching creative writing at many universities, including the University of Illinois, University of Wisconsin, Indiana University, University of California Davis, Brandeis, and finally settling at State University of New York Binghamton.
She died at her home in Ripton, Vermont, in 2011. She was 96 years old.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
November 2, 2017
One of Ruth Stone’s later poems, "That Day,” is an evocation of bittersweet memories that hurt a little when they make us smile.
Recently I dipped into her first volume of poems, In An Iridescent Time (1959).
Her early work is literate, finely tooled, disciplined, even lyrical. Her themes are explicit.
She elevates the commonplace to a plane of more potent interest.
Yet, I say, yet, these poems excite my expectation for something more, for completion…
Stone consistently writes in what seems to me to be an exploratory mode. She exposes her theme, nibbles at it, perhaps takes a bite, or even two, and, on page after page, creates a tempting void that begs to be filled with words.
I imagine that her poems can talk. I imagine her poems saying “…I can be more.”
I think Ruth Stone owes me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure that Ruth Stone is a poet. Here are some snippets from In An Iridescent Time:
“…the mild melancholy of regret…”
from “As Real as Life”
“…Nor romp my body in the wake of the mind’s play.”
from “In The Interstices”
“…A queen who burned and charged the sun,
Charged comet with a tail of drones…”
from “The Matriarch,” a poem about a queen bee
“…When he dances me I seem to be cut loose
And out of madness leap in my dancing tights,
And I think my wooden throat might scream.”
from “The Captive,” a poem about a puppet talking to the master puppeteer
Read more of my reviews and poems here:
http://richardsubber.com/
Recently I dipped into her first volume of poems, In An Iridescent Time (1959).
Her early work is literate, finely tooled, disciplined, even lyrical. Her themes are explicit.
She elevates the commonplace to a plane of more potent interest.
Yet, I say, yet, these poems excite my expectation for something more, for completion…
Stone consistently writes in what seems to me to be an exploratory mode. She exposes her theme, nibbles at it, perhaps takes a bite, or even two, and, on page after page, creates a tempting void that begs to be filled with words.
I imagine that her poems can talk. I imagine her poems saying “…I can be more.”
I think Ruth Stone owes me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure that Ruth Stone is a poet. Here are some snippets from In An Iridescent Time:
“…the mild melancholy of regret…”
from “As Real as Life”
“…Nor romp my body in the wake of the mind’s play.”
from “In The Interstices”
“…A queen who burned and charged the sun,
Charged comet with a tail of drones…”
from “The Matriarch,” a poem about a queen bee
“…When he dances me I seem to be cut loose
And out of madness leap in my dancing tights,
And I think my wooden throat might scream.”
from “The Captive,” a poem about a puppet talking to the master puppeteer
Read more of my reviews and poems here:
http://richardsubber.com/
June 22, 2017
Recently I dipped into her first volume of poems, In An Iridescent Time.
Her early work is literate, finely tooled, disciplined, even lyrical. Her themes are explicit.
She elevates the commonplace to a plane of more potent interest.
Yet, I say, yet, these poems excite my expectation for something more, for completion…
Stone consistently writes in what seems to me to be an exploratory mode. She exposes her theme, nibbles at it, perhaps take a bite, or even two, and, on page after page, creates a tempting void that begs to be filled with words.
I imagine that her poems can talk. I imagine her poems saying “…I can be more.”
I think Ruth Stone owes me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure that Ruth Stone is a poet. Here are some snippets from In An Iridescent Time:
“…the mild melancholy of regret…”
from “As Real as Life”
“…Nor romp my body in the wake of the mind’s play.”
from “In The Interstices”
“…A queen who burned and charged the sun,
Charged comet with a tail of drones…”
from “The Matriarch,” a poem about a queen bee
“…When he dances me I seem to be cut loose
And out of madness leap in my dancing tights,
And I think my wooden throat might scream.”
from “The Captive,” a poem about a puppet talking to the master puppeteer
Read more of my book reviews on my website: http://richardsubber.com/
Her early work is literate, finely tooled, disciplined, even lyrical. Her themes are explicit.
She elevates the commonplace to a plane of more potent interest.
Yet, I say, yet, these poems excite my expectation for something more, for completion…
Stone consistently writes in what seems to me to be an exploratory mode. She exposes her theme, nibbles at it, perhaps take a bite, or even two, and, on page after page, creates a tempting void that begs to be filled with words.
I imagine that her poems can talk. I imagine her poems saying “…I can be more.”
I think Ruth Stone owes me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure that Ruth Stone is a poet. Here are some snippets from In An Iridescent Time:
“…the mild melancholy of regret…”
from “As Real as Life”
“…Nor romp my body in the wake of the mind’s play.”
from “In The Interstices”
“…A queen who burned and charged the sun,
Charged comet with a tail of drones…”
from “The Matriarch,” a poem about a queen bee
“…When he dances me I seem to be cut loose
And out of madness leap in my dancing tights,
And I think my wooden throat might scream.”
from “The Captive,” a poem about a puppet talking to the master puppeteer
Read more of my book reviews on my website: http://richardsubber.com/
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews