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    Essential Ruth Stone
    Essential Ruth Stone
    Essential Ruth Stone
    Ebook203 pages1 hour

    Essential Ruth Stone

    By Ruth Stone

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    About this ebook

    Expertly and sensitively selected by her granddaughter Bianca, The Essential Ruth Stone bears witness to a vivid fifty-year career of one of America’s most influential and pioneering poets. Distilling twelve books into a single volume―from the wild formalism of her early work to the science-filled cosmic intellect of her final collection―The Essential Ruth Stone shows a visionary poet with a physical grasp on language. Dazzling, humorous and grief-stricken poems explore the continuity of loss and love, in the spectral appearances of the dead husband, to portraits of an American childhood, life during wartime, and complex metaphysical inquiries into consciousness itself. Ruth Stone’s feminism, mysticism and overall fierceness shine through her wit and passion. Moving gracefully between the loneliness of grief and loss to the fullness of life and love, Stone approaches all her subjects with a profound humanity, an understanding born from her own lived experiences.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopper Canyon Press
    Release dateSep 29, 2020
    ISBN9781619322295
    Essential Ruth Stone
    Author

    Ruth Stone

    Ruth Stone has always been interested in writing that is both entertaining and instructional. As a young mother she would read to her newborns who then developed that same love. She then started writing stories and poems to and about people she met in life. Ruth got a few published in contests. However, her main interest was in helping young readers learn life lessons. That is why she got the idea of “The Cloud Chronicles”. This series combines insightful verse, action, and colorful pictures to appeal to young readers. In her travels she has met many people who have influenced her and now she hopes to do the same.

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      Book preview

      Essential Ruth Stone - Ruth Stone

      In an Iridescent Time

      1959

      Snow

      Plentiful snow deepens the path to the woods.

      Jay, hawing, shakes the juniper,

      Gray squirrel and titmouse trick in hectic moods,

      Fluff buffeters of down and fur.

      Jay skates on ice-blue air with bluer flight,

      Dives in down-soft whirl and comes up light.

      The dried and dead hackberry dangles white,

      Tall trees droop down while ground grows up,

      And the powder-white snuff blows from the wind’s lip,

      Sneezing the world; still the old lady shakes her puff

      In the well of the wind, and feathers fly from the rip.

      The Magnet

      I loved my lord, my black-haired lord, my young love

      Thin faced, pointed like a fox,

      And he, singing and sighing, with the bawdy went crying

      Up the hounds, through thicket he leaped, through bramble,

      And crossed the river on rocks.

      And there alongside the sheep and among the ewes and lambs,

      With terrible sleep he cunningly laid his hoax.

      Ah fey, and ill-gotten, and wicked his tender heart,

      Even as they with their bahs and their niggles, rumped up the thistle

      and bit

      With their delicate teeth the flowers and the seeds and the leaf,

      He leaped with a cry as coarse as the herders, "Come, I will start,

      Come now, my pretties, and dance to the hunting horn and the slit

      Of your throbbing throats, and make me a coat out of grief."

      And they danced, he was fey, and they danced, and the coat they made

      Turned all of an innocent mind, and a single love, into beasts afraid.

      Was it I called him back? was it hunger? was it the world?

      Not my tears, not those cries of the murdered, but ’twas the fox

      Hid in the woods who called, and the smell of the fox, burned in

      his mind,

      The fox in his den, smiling, around his red body his fine plume curled,

      Out of the valley and across the river, leaving his sheep’s hair, he left

      the maligned flocks,

      I heard him coming through brambles, through narrow forests, I bid my

      nights unwind,

      I bid my days turn back, I broke my windows, I unsealed my locks.

      In an Iridescent Time

      My mother, when young, scrubbed laundry in a tub,

      She and her sisters on an old brick walk

      Under the apple trees, sweet rub-a-dub.

      The bees came round their heads, the wrens made talk.

      Four young ladies each with a rainbow board

      Honed their knuckles, wrung their wrists to red,

      Tossed back their braids and wiped their aprons wet.

      The Jersey calf beyond the back fence roared;

      And all the soft day, swarms about their pet

      Buzzed at his big brown eyes and bullish head.

      Four times they rinsed, they said. Some things they starched,

      Then shook them from the baskets two by two,

      And pinned the fluttering intimacies of life

      Between the lilac bushes and the

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