Biography of Frank Stanford
Frank Stanford (August 1, 1948 – June 3, 1978) was a prolific American poet. He is most known for his epic, The Battlefield Where The Moon Says I Love You— a labyrinthine poem without stanzas or punctuation. In addition, Stanford published six shorter books of poetry throughout his 20s, and three posthumous collections of his writings (as well as a book of selected poems) have also been published.
Just shy of his 30th birthday, Stanford died on June 3, 1978 in his home in Fayetteville, Arkansas, the victim of three self-inflicted pistol wounds to the heart. In the three decades since, he has become a cult figure in American letters.
Frank Stanford Poems
Freedom, Revolt, And Love
They caught them. They were sitting at a table in the kitchen. It was early. They had on bathrobes.
Like seven birds sleeping on the plateau Overlooking the shipwreck of love, mystery Of the drunken visitors wandering off With your wife, men who talk with a bad accent,
The white clothes on the line put the man to sleep. He was sitting on a soda case Leaning back on the porch.
The Arkansas Prison System
Is like a lyric poem with seven basic themes first the cottonpicker
In Another Room I Am Drinking Eggs From ...
What if the moon was essence of quinine And high heels were a time of day When certain birds bled The chauffeur is telling the cook
I Or Your Woman The night was a bad one. I only saw one other person out: A big black man on muleback
Faith, Dogma, And Heresy
It was Sunday, before dinner. My uncles were listening to the opera. O.Z. and I carried my brother in And laid him on the table.
When the rain hits the snake in the head, he closes his eyes and wishes he were asleep in a tire on the side of the road,
Play In Which Darkness Falls
Two girls runaway from the Home. They have a revolver in their possession. The Sisters Of Our Lady have given up looking for them, returning in the night with soft candles. The sleek clouds have thrown their riders, and the bees
Planning The Disappearance Of Those Who ...
Soon I will make my appearance But first I must take off my rings And swords and lay them out all
My father and I lie down together. He is dead. We look up at the stars, the steady sound
Friend Of The Enemy
The yolk went down my leg Like a beautiful snail without a shell, Went down the hill To the skillet of water, to the nymphflies,
I had my quiet time early in the morning Eating Almond Joys with Mother. We'd sit on the back porch and talk to God. We really had a good time.
Everybody Who Is Dead
When a man knows another man Is looking for him He doesn't hide.
Everybody Who Is Dead
When a man knows another man
Is looking for him
He doesn't hide.
He doesn't wait
To spend another night
With his wife
Or put his children to sleep.