❮Reading❯ ➶ The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You Author Frank Stanford – Transportjobsite.co.uk

The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You pdf The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You, ebook The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You, epub The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You, doc The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You, e-pub The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You, The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You a12d75747d1 Poetry. Frank Stanford Was Called By Pulitzer Prize-winning Writer Alan Dugan A Brilliant Poet, Ample In His Work, Like Whitman. He Was The Founder Of Lost Roads Publishers And The Author Of A Number Of Important Works, Among Them The Epic THE BATTLEFIELD WHERE THE MOON SAYS I LOVE YOU, Reprinted By Lost Roads Under The Editorship Of Forrest Gander And C.D. Wright. Frank Stanford Said His Purpose In His Writing And With His Press Was To 'reclaim The Landscape Of American Poetry' - The Arkansas Times. Stanford Ended His Own Life In 1978 When He Was 29. The Reprinting Of This Major Book Is A Truly Important, Much Anticipated Literary Event.

10 thoughts on “The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You

  1. says:

    This book used to be very hard to find ( I think it's easier now), but is completely amazing. It's a 542 page poem, but don't let that put you off. Some says it's the Great American Novel, even tho' it's a poem, and in many ways, it completely beats On The Road. The JK book is not a good reference point. TBWTMSILY is visionary swamp narrative... Maybe Huckleberry Finn, William Blake, plus Ulysses, set in the Mississippi Delta, not like Faulkner tho'... Stanford's writing is as powerful as Waits' and Dylan's, and is a torrent of imagination and knowledge. How's that for hype? I picked up a copy of the book in the late 80's from a small press bookstore in SF, on the advice of a friend who had lived and worked in Fayetteville during the 80's. This is very high level poetry, visionary, on the edge of insanity.

  2. says:

    Here's a secret to my ratings. If I know you, the book is going to get five stars. That’s because you deserve it and I can’t be critical with my friends. If I don’t know you and can’t understand your book, then I’ll also give you five stars. Because, who knows? Not me. Otherwise, I’m more of a four-star guy. I’ve got a good sense for what I’ll like and won’t often put a book down without finishing it, so that’s worked well for me. Three stars and I’ve got a problem. Less than that, I can’t be bothered. I’m not here to bury anyone. It takes a lot of work to write a book, that should get you a handful of stars to start. Stars, of course, are bullshit, and I mean that in all their forms. I’m no fan of celebrity and celestial bodies are suspect. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. I don’t know Frank Stanford, who died of three self-inflicted gunshots to the heart when I was still a teenager. THE BATTLEFIELD WHERE THE MOON SAYS I LOVE YOU is his magnum opus, an epic, nearly 400-page unpunctuated poem that reads like a surreal autobiography. I approached it with care, but when I read it — whether I followed what I read or not — I was carried by the current of its words. There are episodes and lyrical passages, characters and self-portraits, history and culture, and everything in-between chiseled in its tombstone pages of text. But mostly it’s a tale of the South, not dissimilar to one told by Mark Twain if he came of age in the turbulent 1960s and had a seat on the bus with the Freedom Riders and Ken Kesey. There’s a whole life between these covers that feels as it its running past the pagination and continues on forever in some place between the poet and the reader. That’s worth at least five stars.

  3. says:

    The best text I've ever read, but it's not for the faint of heart. Stanford's epic poem is best read as slow as possible and as many times as you can. It's written without punctuation, sentences, or structure, and the style makes you feel like you're being swept away by a flood. It's as dark as any material you'll ever find, but humorous at times; it shifts jaggedly between cerebral existential thought and loose narratives, all woven into a cohesive stream that transpires in a blink.

    The poem is self-reflexively described as 'self involution and dreamlike continuity' - many parts are explained to be dreams, but some of those dreams are dreaming each other into existence; at one point the main character is writing the poem himself; at another it is implied the entire story is the death-dream of a man being carried on a boat.

    The best part of the poem is the obvious meticulousness Stanford used in choosing each word, giving the reader hours of enjoyment realizing every thought the author invokes; I hope there are others who can experience Standford's beauty as thoroughly as I have.

  4. says:

    this book castrated me.

  5. says:

    I really might as well never read another book after this one.
    It might have been a mistake to begin this book at the beginning of my first semester back to college in 5 years. the semester's almost through, and now I have at last fought my way, outside of school reading, through The Battlefield Where The Moon Says I Love You. The overwhelming gumption of this book cannot be understated. My edition was 383 pages, which is all good and well, except that it, as advertised, is one long poem without punctuation or really any sensibility to its line breaks. I became (re-obsessed) with Stanford a couple years ago, and having eagerly raced through his other books, I took this on.

    So what is in here? Well, The Battlefield contains nearly every variety of mythmaking that could have possibly come into the mind of Stanford. He employs surrealist methods to twist and conjure these myths to serve all sorts of strange-as-hell perspectives. There are boxers, monks, Freedom Riders, leevee-men, and an endless variety of other characters which ghostlike reappear on and off throughout "The Battlefield...". These characters are woven like a strange menacing tapestry through the core of the poem. Baby Gauge, Charlie B Lemon, The Astronomer, and so forth, a cast that might of in some way have existed for Stanford, but never like THIS. They mutilate and fuck each and are generally contorted every way that Stanford can imagine and fit in his poem. There is an utter strangeness, derangement and desperation here. And especially for the first 2/3 of the book the burden of language piled on top of itself sometimes borders on incomprehensible.

    So what did I get out of this? Well, Stanford is a master of the macabre, the Vanitas, the creepy, but in such a wonderful and impacting manner that to deduce it to just creepy doesn't do the scenes in this poem justice. The things that happen in here are so mythological as to be unimaginable. It's not always even very well written at times, but when Stanford does manage to hit his semantic stride, and he does often, there is such devastating bloody beauty as to be unparallelled anywhere that I've seen.

    In "The Battlefield" is an America that bleeds its awful myths. When trying to describe to a friend how Stanford personifies race and racism in this book, I stumbled over my words, "It's maybe not the most tasteful way" I say, "It's just A way" he says. "Yea" I reply.

    How do you rate and describe such an authentic and searing dream that is almost a nightmare, from someone else's long dead brain? Well Stanford lives, and perhaps someday a chintzy biographer will lay out his chronology for the obsessed like me. Till then, I have nothing left of his to read. I have finished, "The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You".

  6. says:

    At this risk of sounding very melodramatic and unnecessarily intense, this book/poem is everything. Though the book is obviously best understood after having read it in its entirety, open it to any page and began to read and this poet's words will move you. It (as well as the rest of Stanford's work, which I highly recommend) found me at a time where I needed to believe in the power of words to uplift and inspire. It has been doing that for me ever since.

  7. says:

    This is the sort of poetry we need in high schools, not that those older won't also LOVE IT, I'm just saying THIS is the kind of poetry that can open kids up to poetry! And keep them open! It never lags, it's a constant whiplash!



  8. says:

    I give up. Literally two-plus months have been invested in reading The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You, to the exclusion of all other books, and I have reached only page 258 out of 383. I am beaten and will go no further. Delivered in an idiom as unique to its author as Huck Finn’s voice is to Mark Twain, Frank Stanford’s sprawling prose poem is rich in Southern Gothic ambiance and incidence, and stingy with literary niceties—such as punctuation and stanza breaks—that afford a reader context, orientation and the comfort of ready comprehension. The relentless cascade of type is not quite as impenetrable as if it had been chiseled into walls of black granite, but I slid into a deep and not particularly restful sleep every time I banged my head into any given three pages of it. After several weeks of this disjointed progress, I am leaving The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You with the uncertain knowledge that the unstanchable narrator of this unwieldy epic is a white kid, perhaps in his early teens, from a family of privilege, growing up in the rural American South during some time resembling the mid-1960s. This fictional storyteller disdains all periods, commas, quotation marks and orderly line breaks. He revels in the companionship of impoverished and delinquent descendants of slaves; most of his cohorts are older males who have drifted further to wayward than the young scion and are happy to guide him into worlds and ways beyond the white child of privilege’s expected ken. The epic’s callow-wise narrator is subject to bouts of sleepwalking, dreaming while awake and intrusive three-act visions. The hallucinatory narratives, fluctuating between prophecy and divination, intersect with the fabulous adventures of the African Americans who have taken him in. Frank Stanford killed himself with three pistol shots to the heart, not quite 30 years old, in 1978; he was serious about what he bled out on his moonlit pages. His work is massive and not to be disparaged. Just attempting to read this monolith knocked me out; the awesome chore of writing it might easily have killed any author.

  9. says:

    He's a great writer and I love his selected, but this is one long poem, and I don't do too well with epics. I got maybe halfway through it and occasioanlly I'll just open to a random place and read a few pages. Blame the 3 stars on my own limitations as a reader.

  10. says:

    So, I'm almost halfway through this epic 400 pg book, which entitles me to say: WTF.

    Some of it's pretty sweet, granted, but...

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *