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Ruth Stone, US poet from Vermont, poetry professor at SUNY-Binghamton for the last 15 yrs, many awards & honors received in her last decades of life, deceased a few days ago at age 96. THE TRADE-OFF Words make the thoughts. Severe tyrants, like the scrubbers and guardians of your cells. They herd your visions down the ramp to nexus waiting with sledge hammer to knock what is the knowing without knowing into knowledge. Yes, the tight bag of grammar, syntax, the clever sidestep from babble, is a comfortable prison. A mirror of the mirror. And all that is uttered in its chains is locked out from the secret. WORDS Wallace Stevens says, "A poet looks at the world as a man looks at a woman." I can never know what a man sees when he looks at a woman. That is a sealed universe. On the outside of the bubble everything is stretched to infinity. Along the blacktop, trees are bearded as old men, like rows of nodding gray-bearded mandarins. Their secondhand beards were spun by female gypsy moths. All mandarins are trapped in their images. A poet looks at the world as a woman looks at a man. | ||
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Oh, those are nice, Bethree! Considering our discussion about prescriptiveness, I like this: I love "a comfortable prison." | |||
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