Review of "The Light the Dead See: Selected Poems" by Frank Stanford

How does one review a work of such magnitude and depth, written by a profoundly talented, yet deeply troubled poetic-prodigy of recent times? The Light the Dead See: Selected Poems by Frank Stanford is a work of staggering genius.

Published posthumously, Stanford's book of selected poems really showcases his range as an artist, as it collects poems he wrote throughout his brief lifetime. Most contemporary poets do not find their niche until late in life (i.e. John Ashbery, Mark Halladay, John Gallaher, etc.).

Stanford is an unorthodox exception.

He died from three, self-inflicted gunshot wounds just before his 30th birthday. But his natural mastery of poetry was never in question.

In The Light the Dead See, Stanford illustrates a bleak picture of life and portrays Death as a lingering friend and companion. When looking at his suicide, these poems seem to be an eerie foreshadowing of what was later to follow.

One of the poems that I feel best encompasses the recurring themes and motifs in his book is a poem the book is titled after "The Light the Dead See".

Throughout this poem, Death comes to life; he takes on this persona who provides a kind and gentle end to a troubled life.

A roar sucks them under

The wheels of a darkness without pain.

Off in the distance

There is someone

Like a signalman swinging a lantern.

This non-violent and caring portrayal of Death is unique, and remains consistent throughout the poems in his book. It is really a shame that Stanford took his life at such a young age; it would have been nice to continue reading the poems of such a masterful writer.

The light grows, a white flower.

It becomes very intense, like music.

They see the faces of those they loved,

The truly dead who speak kindly.

If you are so inclined, please check out one of Stanford's most famous books, The Battlefield Where the Moon says I Love You; a 500-page epic poem that is all over the place in terms of subject matter, but still remains one of his most tragic and beautiful books.

Friday I'm in Love

"Friday I'm in Love" will feature an inspirational song of the week that has had some impact on a poem I have written. I will encourage my readers to find a song that has some sort of meaning to them and use it in a creative writing piece. I'm not advocating plagiarism in any way. Rather, use the song's lyrics to help guide imagery, metaphor, etc.

For instance, this week, my song will be "Friday I'm in Love" by The Cure. And every Friday from here on out, I will post a different song that has inspired me and then share the poem I have written as a result.

In "Friday I'm in Love", Robert Smith (lead singer of The Cure) deals with the trials and tribulations of the week. Most of his troubles seem to stem from a love that has gone sour, making his weeks unbearably insufferable. Friday, however, is the day he realizes he is probably better off without her, and celebrates.

So if I were to write a poem with this as my inspiration, I would probably start with the theme of "lost love" or "reveling in isolation". Similar to Robert Smith, I would keep my writing playful, light, and somewhat quixotic.

Put all this together, and we have a lightly humorous and idealistic haiku I shall call:

Tomorrow Eats Today

Here lies the black rose,

dead petals dying softly;

life begins anew.

There you have it; give it a try. Don't feel obligated to limit yourself to just a haiku either. Really explore the inner depths of the song you have chosen and bring it to life in your own creative way.

One-way to Hazy Conformity

image credit: mccain007

The pathway here is one-way. This leaves the traveler (and writer) with few options. One can follow the path into the mist and fog, one can turn back, or one can make their own path through the water. I instantly connected with the image. To me, it represents society's robotic mentality of conformity, blindly following this one-way path into nothingness. Everyone strives so desperately to fit in with what the media and pop culture portrays on television and in magazines. Reality TV has become the big thing, so what does everyone do? They model their lives after some god-forsaken episode of "Jersey Shore", complete with fabricated and over-exaggerated drama, fake, orange tanned lunatics, ridiculous amounts of alcoholic intake, and vulgar, unintelligent conversations followed by sex with whoever happens to be around.

So the first few line of a poem relating to this could go something as follows:

The panic is the nightmare;

the nightmare was merely a prelude.

Darkness swarming through vulgar veins,

laying diagonally in a 2-dimensional bed...

Mark this: society is automatic.

Continuing on: what other option do people have on this path? The media and pop icons encourage this behavior, as they partake in similar activity. No one sees a smart, intelligent, well-spoken celebrity reading a book or doing good volunteer work somewhere. Instead, we see pictures of them trashed in some nightclub, or alternating between jail and rehab, or even facing the humiliation of a private sex-tape being released to the public. Shame on them for allowing themselves to trust someone with that kind of intimate video, but more shame on the people who get a kick out of humiliating the lives of someone famous by exposing them to the public.

This one-way path in the picture above doesn't allow for deviation. Those who turn back, afraid of what lies ahead are society's punching bags. They face being ostracized from society by means of being out of the loop of the limited conversations people are capable of having these days (i.e. - alcohol, objectifying women, how "crazy" last night was, etc.). My choice is to dive into the water; perhaps find some middle ground outside of the one-way path and meet other like-minded individuals who still hold onto their sanity and refuse to sell their souls for orange skin and less cerebral capacity.

To wrap up the poem we started with a few more "inspired lines", we could do something like this:

For these last insomnia-moments,

I just want to close my eyes

and not have my social conventions compromised.

But these robots are exhausting me;

I'm going to wake up now.

Run with some ideas that may inspire you; possibly rant/free write about them for about half a page or so, and draw some poetic inspiration from that. 'Til tomorrow...

About This Blog

I have been writing lack-luster poetry since I was in middle school. Though I admit my adolescent poetry was not the most masterful stuff to read, it did contain parts of my emotions at the time, making it honest, raw, and relevant. Through this blog, I hope to attract anyone who would care to better their poetic writing. By the closing of 2011, I will have a minor in Creative Writing from IU South Bend. With this degree, my love for poetry, and the amount of time I have dedicated to bettering my work, I feel that I can provide simple, effective, and accurate information on how to take one's poetry to the next level.

Before you take heed to any of my advice, I should warn you that I am utterly insane. I try to mask it in order to partake in this quasi-Third Reich society, but what's the point? Reality TV and less-than-mediocre music is taking over America like the Black Plague of the Dark Ages. And we being the capitalist consumers eat it up like pac-man eats dots and glowing blue dudes. So we imitate, drink ourselves into stupors, fake-tan until we get melanoma, and everything is just fucking perfect.

You may be asking yourself, "what does this have to do with writing poetry?" Poetry has served as my escape to this insanity for the majority of my life. You don't necessarily have to agree with my ideology, but if you understand that this is happening, perhaps you aren't too far gone yet. And I can save you with an escape that has served me well: writing poetry. As for the title, "Rusty Box Cutter", it's the title of one of the first dream-inspired poems I ever wrote, about an old homeless man attempting to stab me with a rusty box cutter.

Poetry: It's as addictive as crack, but less harmful...nope, just as harmful.