Bianca Stone
@biancastone
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Poet raiding the inarticulate w shabby equipment. Philosophy, Psychoanalysis, VT Poet laureate, Author @Tin_House , Founder of @RuthStoneHouse & @OdeAndPsyche
Vermont
Joined July 2009
I have a new poem in The New Yorker--.I'm thinking how Derrida said that to say what poetry "is" would be to renounce knowledge. The beautiful thing about poetry is its event of knowledge, never settling, always unfolding, IN the poem, between people:.
newyorker.com
“Poets play the winter tarantella, / making love in the midnight hours / on a white iron bed like a dog skeleton.”
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distracting myself from work means saying: AND NOW I'LL FINISH MY ALBUM.
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Blazing-fast image creation – using just your voice. Try Grok Imagine.
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RT @schumisnoopy: when your circle is small but you’re all connected to the unknown and have prophetic dreams
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Herzog is so good. Responding to what trash tv he watches, like wrestle mania & the interrupting commercials, he says:. "the poet must not close his eyes--avert his eyes--you have to know what worlds you are living in." . & admits to liking honey boo boo.
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RT @VWC_Writes: "Certain events of love .drew my body nearer to meaning.". Love this poem 'The Anxiety of Meaning' by @biancastone in The G….
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RT @deronworld: i just saw the movie ‘clue’ for the first time and i am obsessed with this diva.
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The poem wants to reach the Other, it needs this Other, it needs a vis a' vis. It searches it out and addresses it. Paul Celan "the meridian"
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To stand-for-no-one-and-nothing. Unrecognized,.for you .alone. Celan
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Nothing can trouble the dominance of.the true image. Whether from graves or from rooms. Rilke . (Mitchell)
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Poetry means nothing without the commentary through which that meaning is brought into being, and, therefore, commentary on poetry by both poets and readers is an essential intervention in poetry rather than a secondary appendage to it." . --Joseph Acquisto
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"It is understandable .to despise narrative . As much as it is, understandable to love it and be drawn along in its wake'. Talking today at the film festival about narrative, story, poetry, and film. Immediately thought of one of my favorite poems by Dara Barrois/Dixon.
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A tree rising. What a pure growing! .Orpheus is singing! A tree inside the ear! .Silence, silence. Yet new buildings, .Signals, and changes went on in the silence. Rilke (trans. Bly). Maybe it's bc I know he had this book, but this poem feels very Lynchian. "Silencio!" 👂
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