Frank Stanford (August 1, 1948 – June 3, 1978) was an American poet. raised in the muddy backroads of Arkansas, he wrote poems that bleed childhood, violence, love, and death into a single long breath. At twenty-nine, he shot himself three times in the chest. By then he had already built a cult following—drifting through levee camps, graveyards, and cotton fields, gathering the broken dreams of the South into his work.
Frank Stanford didn’t write for the academy. He wrote for the haunted. For the kids with dirt on their knees and fire in their belly. For anyone who’s ever loved something wild and known it couldn’t stay.
For More:
What About This: Collected Poems
Where There's a Will: An Essay and Review of Stanford's Work
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