Anne Tardos is a poet, visual artist, and composer born in Cannes, France. She lived as a small child in German-occupied Paris, then after the war moved with her parents to Budapest, where she learned Hungarian. The Hungarian revolution resulted in her having then to move to Vienna, where she learned German and attended a French high school. After completing high school, she spent two years in Paris. In 1966 she moved to the United States. Tardos received her education in film and the visual arts, attending the Vienna Film Academy from 1963–65, then the Art Students League of New York, from 1966–70, for which she received grants from the Ford Foundation for the years 1967–70.
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Anne Tardos Poems
Genre-Free Nights Nine 74
On those genre-free nights, she just writes and writes. Tourism, lovers' strolls, arm in arm under the sun. Mine is the ever perpetuating fricassee of life's continuity.
The Masculine Point of View Nine 73
The masculine point of view I can only imagine. And now I shall go take a little nap. Take a nap in the middle of a Nine?
You Buy Me Eggs Nine 72
You buy me eggs and watch me eat them. Sometimes everything seems like a movie or stage set. Suppose we really were animals before we became human.
Finally We Learn Nine 71
Finally we learn that we are dealing with images. It doesn’t matter what the fantasy is or isn’t.
The Thing Nine 70
Determining what constitutes this "phony stuff"—is the thing. Try sensing when it's okay to open your mouth. Sometimes it's preferable to not sing, to not speak.
The Right Tone Nine 69
In writing: find the right tone, and you're off. Leave the phony stuff behind, you don't need it. That doesn't mean that devices are to be avoided.
Everything Nine 68
Everything, but everything, tends to be working against me. It's the way in which the world functions, basically. Existence is assured to those who overcome every obstacle.
Don't Blame Me Nine 67
Don't blame me, I was hacked, not my fault. Nobody is wrong, everybody is right, nobody is right. I reach across something white from a nearby universe. And see a familiar looking mirror image of myself.
My Love Is Strong Nine 66
My love is strong but more work is needed. It's hard to "translate" a Shakespeare sonnet like that. You can publish my language, but who reads it. When I sing, I follow my Philomel, the nightingale.
So Quiet Nine 65
It’s so quiet today—don’t know what to say. The uncertainty of the uncertainty and then the uncertainty. Is the road we take imagined or already given?
Lacan Says Nine 64
Lacan says to "Eat your existence, mange ton dasein." There's no field of sense that can be quilted. (I don't really know what that's supposed to mean.)
It's the ego that lets go of the ego. A leftist is usually right. Everyone is really a very fine fellow.
A life terminated is still a life, while a life about to be terminated may be less so.
Take a good look, she says about her inventory. Palatially housed, her inflammatory and multifaceted
Comments about Anne Tardos
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Genre-Free Nights Nine 74
On those genre-free nights, she just writes and writes.
Tourism, lovers' strolls, arm in arm under the sun.
Mine is the ever perpetuating fricassee of life's continuity.
Above all, be clear, man; be totally totally clear.
No point in dashing onto stage and be timid.
Knowing, you know, I know nothing, you would know.
I made a mistake: I said the wrong thing.
Metaphysics as a Guide to Morals, by Iris Murdoch.
Is there any point in questioning such a notion?