The Beforelife

by Franz Wright

In this stunning collection, Franz Wright chronicles the journey back from a place of isolation and wordlessness. After a period when it seemed certain he would never write poetry again, he speaks with bracing clarity about the twilit world that lies between madness and sanity, addiction and recovery. Wright negotiates the precarious transition from illness to health in a state of skeptical rapture, discovering along the way the exhilaration of love--both divine and human--and finding that even the most battered consciousness can be good company.

Whether he is writing about his regret for the abortion of a child, describing the mechanics of slander ("I can just hear them on the telephone and keening all their kissy little knives"), or composing an ironic ode to himself ("To a Blossoming Nut Case"), Wright's poems are exquisitely precise. Charles Simic has characterized him as a poetic miniaturist, whose "secret ambition is to write an epic on the inside of a matchbook cover." Time and again, Wright turns on a dime in a few brief lines, exposing the dark comedy and poignancy of his heightened perception.

Here is one of the poems from the



Description of Her Eyes

Two teaspoonfuls,
and my mind goes
everyone can kiss my ass now --

then it's changed,
I change my mind.

Eyes so sad, and infinitely kind.

Genres: Poetry, Addiction

96 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2001

About the author

Born in Vienna, Franz Wright is the author of fourteen collections of poetry. Walking to Martha's Vineyard (Knopf 2003) was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. His newest collections, God’s Silence, and Earlier Poems were published by Knopf in, 2006 & 2007. Wright’s other books include The Beforelife (2001), Ill Lit: New and Selected Poems (1998), Rorschach Test (1995), The Night World and the Word Night (1993), and Midnight Postscript (1993). Mr. Wright has also translated poems by René Char, Erica Pedretti, and Rainer Maria Rilke. He has received the PEN/Voelcker Award for Poetry, as well as grants and fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the Whiting Foundation, and the National Endowment for the Arts. Wright has taught in many colleges and universities, including Emerson College and the University of Arkansas. He is currently the writer-in-residence at Brandeis. He has also worked in a mental health clinic in Lexington, Massachusetts, and as a volunteer at the Center for Grieving Children.

Franz Wright, son of the poet James Wright, began writing when he was very young. At 15, he sent one of his poems to his absentee father, who wrote back, “You’re a poet. Welcome to hell.” James and Franz Wright are the only father and son to have won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. In a short essay on writing, Franz writes, “Think of it: a writer actually possesses the power to alter his past, to change what was once experienced as defeat into victory and what was once experienced as speechless anguish into a stroke of great good fortune or even something approaching blessedness, depending upon what he does with that past, what he makes out of it.” Charles Simic has characterized Wright as a poetic miniaturist, whose "secret ambition is to write an epic on the inside of a matchbook cover." Time and again, Wright turns on a dime in a few brief lines, exposing the dark comedy and poignancy of his heightened perception.

Reviews

[s.penkevich [hiatus-will return-miss you all] · Rating 3 out of 5]

Adrift on the swill, swallowing pride, seeking salvation, The Beforelife from poet Franz Wright is as much self-immolation as it is self-reflection. Awash in an emotional ache of addiction and shame but with a strong voice seeming to assure itself as much as the reader that he can bear the load, these poems are as taut as the single thread from which he seems to be clinging to life. Simply put, this is confessional poetry the way they talked about it in reverent voices in the 90s. In fact, I was not surprised to learn that this volume was published in 2001 because it reads as very much a product of that era (for real though, look at the cover) with the tones of “I’m a sad man but I’m a tough man and that makes me interesting” that permeated the culture of white boys that found a way to chronicle sorrows as a way to be edgy. Reading this collection feels like you’d be blasting cigs and sitting in a friend’s dimly lit room where volumes of Charles Bukowski are haphazardly stacked beneath a poster of Fight Club and there’s certainly a dog eared copy of Jesus’ Son with a burned CD mix jammed in the pages somewhere nearby. Not to say it as a negative, but if you were there you know. It’s a sort of masculinity that doesn’t necessarily appeal to me, the type that finds being abrasive to be be a positive and says things like ‘Death is nature’s way / of telling you…I’ll give you something to cry about’ but upon sitting with these poems for a bit and letting myself open to them as much as they opened up to me I do find this an accomplished and heartfelt collection that was even a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in poetry in 2002. And I mean, I’m here with the leftovers of a hangover and hating shit so it seems the right time to review this book of a man pained amidst ‘the world’s wordless beauty’ while feeling the heavy burden of a ‘crown of barbed wire’ weighing him down because I can’t deny this poem is pretty lovely in its direct and debauched honesty:

Nothingsville, MN

The sole tavern there, empty
and filled
with cigarette smoke;
the smell
of beer, urine, and the infinite
sadness you dread
and need so much of
for some reason.

Having enjoyed the few bits of Franz Wright I’ve come across in the past I was eager to read a full collection, though it turns out The Beforelife contains none of those poems. Which is okay because I found some I enjoyed here too. Still I can’t help but share this one despite it not being in this collection because I’ve been leaving poems on trees for years (you can see the collection of poems written on my shitty paintings and left on a tree on Instagram at @poe_a_tree) so it speaks to me:

The Poem

It was like getting a love letter from a tree

Eyes closed forever to find you—

There is a life which
if I could have it
I would have chosen for myself from the beginning

The final lines about seeking a life you would have chosen is rather central in this collection, however, and much of The Beforelife is an anguished prayer for such a life. Wright manages to burrow deep into remorse without it ever feeling too much like self-pity (but in that tough guy 90s way that will certainly have a different shelf-life for different readers) as he examines his issues with addiction and attempted recovery. It is certainly a struggle:

‘It’s easier to get a rope
through the eye of a needle than
the drunk son of a drunk
into stopping’

These lines hit hard knowing that Franz Wright is the son of Pulitzer prize winning poet James Wright who also dealt with his share of demons of drink. Much of this collection embodies a similar realization as in his father’s poem Blessing (read it HERE) which ends with ‘I realize / That if I stepped out of my body I would break / Into blossom.’ Excellent enjambment aside, that is the desire that seems to balance the agony in this collection, even if his supposed optimism is mostly snarky or tortured.

‘The poem said never love anything
Not even you?
I asked
and it answered
especially me’
—from The Poem Said

Addiction is a central theme here and Wright makes us see how addiction is often losing oneself to a desire to chase ecstasy until it becomes agony. He discusses how his path to becoming a poet was not much different that his path into substance abuse in an interview with Image Journal about how ‘this ecstasy came over me, and I started to write’ and has forever chased that high he gets from creating:

‘ It was clear to me that I had to have this sensation again. I had never felt anything like this. I felt that this was what I was supposed to do. From that day I never stopped being obsessed with this sense that I had a calling to do this. There was something mystical about it, like a religious calling. Everything else would have to go. It was a kind of dread I felt. I thought I could see my whole future. I would probably have to give up any idea of having a normal life. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, because later the real reason that I didn’t have a life was that I was a drunk, and I was crazy. But I think I felt, as a kid, long before I ever got into trouble with drugs and mental illness, that poetry was what I was supposed to do. It made me happy in a way that nothing else did. There was no other comparable experience in my life. I have always lived for that sensation, what I felt when I wrote that first poem.’

As someone who shares the struggles of an addictive personality (thanks ADHD!) and throwing oneself into a near monomania with a current interest…yea that tracks. It also gives way to some soul searching in the poetry here about why quitting is so difficult. That the poetry often refers to itself as a “prayer” as opposed to, say, a “plea” has a religious connotation (religious imagery is everywhere here without any semblance of orthodox though battling the idea of sin is pretty prevalent) but also implies that, like addiction, to recover he must give himself up fully to recovery, to let that control him in the same way that he allowed drugs to control him (this irony is discussed heavily in David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, another book that has a shared sense of vibes with these poems).

A year ago today
I was unable to speak
one syntactically coherent
thought let alone write it down: today
in this dear and
absurdly allegorical place
by your grace
I am here’
—from Thanks Prayer at the Cove

Recovery is a long road, but a worthwhile one as Franz Wright chronicles in The Beforelife. Not my favorite collection but one I can respect even if I did find it a bit of a masculine style of art that doesn’t always resonate with me. Still, it is quite accomplished, vulnerable and worth the read.

3.5/5

I For One

I for one never asked
for my youth back; when I was young
I was always afraid.
Like somebody in a war
with no allegiance
I was terrified
of everyone.
But now
now I am amazed
and grateful every day.
I don't know how that happened.
I am so glad
there is no fear,
and finally I can
ask no second life.

[Edita · Rating 3 out of 5]

But I have overcome you
in myself,
I won’t behave

like you, so you

can’t hurt me now;

so you are not
going

to hurt me again

and I, I can’t
happen
to you.

[Peycho Kanev · Rating 5 out of 5]

MEMOIR

Just hope he forgot the address
and don’t answer the phone

for a week:
put out all the lights

in the house—
behave like you aren’t there

if some night when
it’s blizzarding, you see

Franz Wright arrive
on your street with his suitcase

of codeine pills,
lugging that heavy

black manuscript
of blank texts.

[Shannon · Rating 2 out of 5]

I was actually disappointed in this collection of poems by an artist of Wright's caliber. Having been mesmerized earlier this year by his stunning collection, Walking to Martha's Vineyard, I was expecting something with the same eloquence and achingly beautiful remorse over passing time, aging, death. Martha's Vineyard could convey raw anger and questioning without the adulteration of vulgarities that Wright seems to rely on in The Beforelife. I also found the structure of the poems a bit archaic, with unmemorable line breaks and cliche topics. It is not the worst collection of poetry I have ever encountered, but I was expecting something much more evocative and deeper from Franz Wright than this collection provided.

[martha · Rating 3 out of 5]

Got this used for $4. The previous owner had dog-eared specific poems throughout the book, which was delightful, like silent marginalia.

If you're going to read one Franz Wright book, though, it should still definitely be Walking to Martha's Vineyard. This is the collection he wrote before that and it's rawer, more miserable, bleak and careful. It makes me appreciate Walking even more.

[J Frank Parnell · Rating 4 out of 5]

been drinkin'

[Jason · Rating 3 out of 5]

NOTHINGSVILLE, MN

The sole tavern there, empty
and filled
with cigarette smoke;
the smell
of beer, urine and the infinite
sadness you dread
and need so much of
for some reason

[Mary · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read this book twice in one sitting...these poems are beautiful and horrific at the same time.

[Kelli · Rating 4 out of 5]

“I was loved, always
loved
And then they wounded me
so usefully” (51)

This is a pretty honest collection of poetry exploring the dimly lit spaces in-between recovery and addiction, grief and joy, death and living. It’s a collection that is somehow delicate and painfully blunt at the same time. I feel like I’m the one trying to navigate my way out of this grave I’ve dug myself. This collection is angry and lashing out but also so steadfast in its yearning for a way out.

Definitely recommend!

[Ron Bernas · Rating 3 out of 5]

Other than abuse and addiction, I was not sure what some of this was all about. But the ones I did understand were lovely. Including this one:

BASED ON A PRAYER OF RABI'A AL-ADAWIYYA
God, if I speak my love to you in fear of hell, incinerate me in it;
if I speak my love to you in hope of heaven, close it in my fact.
But if I speak to you simply because you exist, cease
withholding from me your
neverending beauty.

[l · Rating 2 out of 5]

It's not bad per se. It's just male, and sometimes in a way that makes me just kind of roll my eyes:

"Body Bag"
Like the condom in a pinch one size fits all

The one on the abortion is also... Men are just tedious.

[Giovanna Pohli · Rating 3 out of 5]

Well, I don't really know what I felt about the poems in that book.
First, some of them had really striking and reflective parts like:
"The poem said never love anything / Not even you? / I asked / and it answered / especially me"
However, there are times when he adds unnecessary parts that hinder the development of the poem (As in "The ascent of midnight")
In general, it was a book with interesting parts (35%) and with uninteresting parts.

[Dan Sendker · Rating 4 out of 5]

Seemingly the point in Franz's life where he's starting to do better. There is a lot of hope and healing (and darkness) in these poems. His stanzas and lines are getting shorter, too, and he's firmly established his poetic voice.

[Susanna · Rating 3 out of 5]

The more I sit with this volume, the more I like the concept; but in reading the poems, they often felt so spare as to be empty for me. Which is perhaps the point, but still.

[xxmoonagestardustxxx · Rating 2 out of 5]

2.5

[David · Rating 3 out of 5]

Especially liked “November 14”.

[Kathleen · Rating 4 out of 5]

I finished this today. Really liked it for its terrible honesty and rawness, its odd and striking images, and something tentative and yet "well, here it is" about it. Seemed to match life and his tortured life quite well. I hope this gave him some peace and uplift. Likewise, I hope it gave his wife some peace, as he wrote the poems for her he says on his dedication page, while tucked away, presumably, to recover from alcoholism, as the cover and many of the poems suggests, including this brief poem almost at the end:

Empty Stage

My name is Franz, and I'm a recovering asshole.
I'm a ghost
that everyone can see;
one of the rats
who act
like they own the place.

Looks like he knows himself well, what he had been, what he doesn't want still to be.

In your face and hard to read, sometimes, like Sharon Olds, but with a style almost exactly opposite, in a kind of pure spareness.

[C · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is my first taste of Franz Wright's poetry.

Initially, I thought his spare, open language felt amateurish in a way and was wondering how he could have won a Pulitzer.

However, there is a certain power to the tiny poems in this volume, a certain pull. I found myself falling for the words. I found myself truly loving many of the poems in the book. I will definitely look into more of his work.

Probably my favorite of the book:

HOMAGE


There are a few things I will miss,
a girl with no shirt on
lighting a cigarette

and brushing her hair in the mirror;
the sound of a mailbox
opening, somewhere,

and closing at two in the morning
of the first snow,
and the words for them.

[Caleb Benadum · Rating 4 out of 5]

Franz Wright's poetry is deceitfully easy to read, and minimalistic. While reading the actual book took me barely any time at all, chewing on the poems I jotted down from the book has taken me much longer. Which is Franz Wright's true brilliance, that so much is packed into so little, that his poetry is heartfelt, philosophical, and uniquely his own style, but also done in a way which leaves the reader thinking, at first: is this really where he wanted to end the poem? It's only on further reflection one realizes how perfectly it fits.

[Richard · Rating 3 out of 5]

This just-pre-Walking to Martha's Vineyard collection just doesn't smack of the brilliance of Vineyard. Wright's sledgehammer imagery isn't quite here, the painful wrenching of the gut, the deathly and joyous insights. The shortest ones in here are best, but he far outdid himself with the next collection.

[Sunni · Rating 3 out of 5]

Interesting titles that have nothing to do with the poems themselves. It was very spare and bright (like the title of the book) and reflected a lot of his father's work, but he is definitely a master of his own poetry. Some poems were powerful, others I just didn't "get"

[henry · Rating 4 out of 5]

not as good as ill lit, but still very good.

[Gary McDowell · Rating 4 out of 5]

The poems I liked, I loved deeply and unsettlingly. The other poems I could live without.

[Natalia Cooper · Rating 5 out of 5]

Stacatto visions of the darkness of addiction and the light of redemption and faith. These poems are gorgoeous!

[G · Rating 4 out of 5]

The best of these poems have a world-weary cleverness.

[Emily · Rating 4 out of 5]

Honest. Minimal. Spoken from a "recovering asshole" and filled with consolations of light.

[Ulyses Razo · Rating 5 out of 5]

I used to think Franz Wright was too depressing

[Zack · Rating 3 out of 5]

"Death is nature's way
of telling you to be quiet."

-Translation

[Val · Rating 5 out of 5]

There are few poets that speak to the soul in such a raw and ardent way as Franz Wright. Thanks to a chance encounter in Southbank, London, and a recommendation that came from it, I've finally found another writer who can make me feel completely inadequate and empowered all at once.