It isn’t a dream it’s a flood
As I’ve discussed before here, for the last few years since coming to the University of Arkansas Special Collections, I’ve become familiar with Fayetteville poet Frank Stanford, largely because of enduring interest in his work from students and teaching faculty some 44 years since his suicide. Here is a loving obituary and reprinting of death-themed poems that appeared in the also-now-passed-away local newspaper, The Grapevine.
Like me, Stanford came to the Ozarks and this college town from the Delta (he from Greenville, MS and me from my homeland of Monroe, LA), and I enjoy the resonance I find in his work. Why his often disjointed, cynical, and brutal poems of emotional fracturing also appeal to me, despite some inconsistency in quality, is trickier to consider. I’ll blame Delta heritage for that too.