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frank: sonnets
WINNER OF THE 2022 PULITZER PRIZE IN POETRY
WINNER OF THE 2021 NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD FOR POETRY
WINNER OF THE 2022 PEN/VOELCKER AWARD FOR POETRY COLLECTION
WINNER OF THE 2021 LOS ANGELES TIMES BOOK PRIZE FOR POETRY
A resplendent life in sonnets from the author of Four-Legged Girl , a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize
“The sonnet, like poverty, teaches you what you can do / without,” Diane Seuss writes in this brilliant, candid work, her most personal collection to date. These poems tell the story of a life at risk of spilling over the edge of the page, from Seuss’s working-class childhood in rural Michigan to the dangerous allures of New York City and back again. With sheer virtuosity, Seuss moves nimbly across thought and time, poetry and punk, AIDS and addiction, Christ and motherhood, showing us what we can do, what we can do without, and what we offer to one another when we have nothing left to spare. Like a series of cels on a filmstrip, sonnets captures the magnitude of a life lived honestly, a restless search for some kind of “beauty or relief.” Seuss is at the height of her powers, devastatingly astute, austere, and―in a word―frank.
WINNER OF THE 2021 NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD FOR POETRY
WINNER OF THE 2022 PEN/VOELCKER AWARD FOR POETRY COLLECTION
WINNER OF THE 2021 LOS ANGELES TIMES BOOK PRIZE FOR POETRY
A resplendent life in sonnets from the author of Four-Legged Girl , a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize
“The sonnet, like poverty, teaches you what you can do / without,” Diane Seuss writes in this brilliant, candid work, her most personal collection to date. These poems tell the story of a life at risk of spilling over the edge of the page, from Seuss’s working-class childhood in rural Michigan to the dangerous allures of New York City and back again. With sheer virtuosity, Seuss moves nimbly across thought and time, poetry and punk, AIDS and addiction, Christ and motherhood, showing us what we can do, what we can do without, and what we offer to one another when we have nothing left to spare. Like a series of cels on a filmstrip, sonnets captures the magnitude of a life lived honestly, a restless search for some kind of “beauty or relief.” Seuss is at the height of her powers, devastatingly astute, austere, and―in a word―frank.
137 pages, Paperback
First published March 2, 2021
330 people are currently reading
5013 people want to read
About the author
Diane Seuss
25 books231 followersDiane Seuss was born in Indiana and raised in Michigan. She earned a BA from Kalamazoo College and an MSW from Western Michigan University. Her work has appeared in Poetry, the Georgia Review, Brevity, Able Muse, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and the Missouri Review, as well as The Best American Poetry 2014. She was the MacLean Distinguished Visiting Professor in the Department of English at Colorado College in 2012, and she has taught at Kalamazoo College since 1988.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 494 reviews
October 8, 2021
This. This is the standout of the year so far. Diane Seuss’s collection of sonnets is mesmerizing and powerful. Read in sequence, they tell a story in 14-line bursts that is full of life, humor, observation, and tragedy. Once I finished the last poem, I went back to the beginning and started again. I don’t do that often.
March 11, 2022
Quite simply: one of the most astounding books of poetry I've read in years.
There's something to be said for having one plate, one spoon,
a fork, a dull knife, living out of a red suitcase, eating when
hungry, grabbing shut-eye when tired, you're high natured,
Joyce James said to me when I lived in NYC, we were in a cab
on our Friday lunch break going to a record store, decades later
I see I was not high-natured, only wanted love, though what that
means I don't know, something about mystery, standing humbly
at the gate of someone else's mystery and hoping for the sound,
at least now and then, of the hinges turning, mystery now,
mystery then, as when I went up to a guy at the record store
to ask him who did the song "Refugee" and he said, "Me,"
and I realized after I found the album and looked at the photo
on the cover I'd asked Tom Petty who did a Tom Petty tune
I'd heard on the radio when I was hungry and tired and alone.
There's something to be said for having one plate, one spoon,
a fork, a dull knife, living out of a red suitcase, eating when
hungry, grabbing shut-eye when tired, you're high natured,
Joyce James said to me when I lived in NYC, we were in a cab
on our Friday lunch break going to a record store, decades later
I see I was not high-natured, only wanted love, though what that
means I don't know, something about mystery, standing humbly
at the gate of someone else's mystery and hoping for the sound,
at least now and then, of the hinges turning, mystery now,
mystery then, as when I went up to a guy at the record store
to ask him who did the song "Refugee" and he said, "Me,"
and I realized after I found the album and looked at the photo
on the cover I'd asked Tom Petty who did a Tom Petty tune
I'd heard on the radio when I was hungry and tired and alone.
April 13, 2023
Rarely is a book of poetry buzzy enough to attract my attention, but this awards-sweeper enticed me into giving it a try. I'm glad I did! The first half is a little slow, or maybe I'm slow, but by the halfway mark I became deeply engaged in the lyricism and powerful images.
Sonnets are my favorite style of poetry and it's extra wonderful to see them back in the literary limelight. There is no rhyme scheme, but otherwise these are fourteen-line poems of generally equal syllables. There's some slight remixing of the traditional sonnet structure, but it's not drastic--and that's exactly what I hoped for.
Recommended for poetry fans, but also for those who don't really like poetry. It's still pretentious most of the time, but in an accessible way. You certainly don't have to be a genius to have a good time.
Sonnets are my favorite style of poetry and it's extra wonderful to see them back in the literary limelight. There is no rhyme scheme, but otherwise these are fourteen-line poems of generally equal syllables. There's some slight remixing of the traditional sonnet structure, but it's not drastic--and that's exactly what I hoped for.
Recommended for poetry fans, but also for those who don't really like poetry. It's still pretentious most of the time, but in an accessible way. You certainly don't have to be a genius to have a good time.
March 27, 2021
Diane Seuss brings to her poetry a combination of tenderness and rawness that’s utterly disarming. Smart and rude and witty and heartbreaking, she turns away from nothing -- except dishonestly; that she will not abide. I interviewed her two years ago for “Life of a Poet,” sponsored by the Library of Congress, and found her incredibly illuminating, particularly on the process of translating painful experience into art (watch). Her new collection of 42 untitled sonnets, “frank,” may be her best book yet. It’s scarily good. In the following poem, Seuss remembers Mikel Lindzy, a friend she met in high school art class and later lost to AIDS. He’s pictured on the book’s cover.
February 25, 2023
A Doctor Reviews His Namesake
(Most of the words are his, some are mine.)
One sonnet
Two sonnets
Red sonnet
Blue sonnet.
Black sonnet
True sonnet
Old sonnet
New sonnet.
This one has a junkie.
This one has a tear.
Say! What a lot
Of sonnets are here.
Yes. Some are red. And some are blue.
Some are old. And some are new.
Some are sad.
And some are glad.
Sad and glad and bad?
I don’t know.
Go ask your dad.
Some are thin.
Some are fat.
The fat one has
A witch’s hat.
From there to here, from here to there,
Funny things
Are everywhere.
Here are some
Who wanna die.
To slit their wrists
They’re gonna try.
A pair of scissors
Will do the trick.
Luckily
It didn’t work.
Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!
What a lot
Of funny things go by.
Some have cancer.
Some have AIDS.
Some can’t pay for
Their band-aids.
Where do they come from? I can’t say.
But I bet they have come a long, long way.
We see them come.
We see them go.
Like the twilight’s
Indigo.
Some are fast.
Some are slow.
Some are high.
And some are low.
Not one of them
Is like another.
Don’t ask us why.
Go ask their mother.
Her name is Seuss
Just like me.
Though we’re not the same
Family.
She writes sonnets
I do not.
I wear bonnets
She does not.
She did drugs
I did too.
That’s the one thing we’re both
Related to.
March 25, 2021
First to get it out of the way, I don't know when "sonnet" stopped meaning
fourteen lines iambic pentameter octave and sestet volta in line nine
I mean Terrance Hayes won the National Book Award for a book of not-sonnets
and this book of not-sonnets may also win the NBA it should
in fact subtitle aside it's the finest book of poems I've read so far in 2021
it's great narrative poetry also free associative you'll learn about Seuss's friend
who died of AIDS of her son's struggles with hardcore drug addiction of encounters
with everyone from Tom Petty and Lou Reed to Kenneth Koch and Robert Creeley
of poverty of deep sadness and joy Seuss has lived a hell of a life and lived
to tell about it I feel like I know her now better than I know
my neighbors but after reading these poems somehow
I want to know my neighbors better and also myself
anyway the poems do have fourteen lines each
and therefore so does this review it only seems right
fourteen lines iambic pentameter octave and sestet volta in line nine
I mean Terrance Hayes won the National Book Award for a book of not-sonnets
and this book of not-sonnets may also win the NBA it should
in fact subtitle aside it's the finest book of poems I've read so far in 2021
it's great narrative poetry also free associative you'll learn about Seuss's friend
who died of AIDS of her son's struggles with hardcore drug addiction of encounters
with everyone from Tom Petty and Lou Reed to Kenneth Koch and Robert Creeley
of poverty of deep sadness and joy Seuss has lived a hell of a life and lived
to tell about it I feel like I know her now better than I know
my neighbors but after reading these poems somehow
I want to know my neighbors better and also myself
anyway the poems do have fourteen lines each
and therefore so does this review it only seems right
May 9, 2021
In a word: Wow. This collection runs rich and runs deep -- 130 pages deep, with a poem on every page). Every poem, 14 lines. Every poem, telling the story of a life, memoir-like, meaning you will relate to some of it for sure. And no, Seuss's has not been an easy life, but we all know facts such as that don't get in the way of good memoirs. In fact, they enhance them.
As I have a lot to say about this book -- the best poetry collection I've read in 2021 -- I decided to wax rhapsodic in my journal. You're invited, of course. I provided not one, but TWO example sonnets at the end of the post.
My typing hands are tired. You're welcome.
As I have a lot to say about this book -- the best poetry collection I've read in 2021 -- I decided to wax rhapsodic in my journal. You're invited, of course. I provided not one, but TWO example sonnets at the end of the post.
My typing hands are tired. You're welcome.
June 1, 2021
Often lyrically written stream-of-consciousness snapshots of an American woman's life, sort of in the tradition of Elizabeth Hardwick's Sleepless Nights and Renata Adler's Speedboat. The ones about her hardscrabble rural childhood generally seem to me the tightest and strongest, perhaps something to do with temporal and emotional distance?
In one of my favorite pieces, one that stands quite well on its own, the speaker "explains" why she prefers to read several books at once, "leap[ing] madly from text to text," recalling how, as a child, she "leap[t] from my own bed to my sister's when the doctor made a house / call to inject me with a vaccine, bed to bed to escape his serum, 'Do you want typhoid fever?" / he shouted...." This is a metaphor of the finest kind, at once dazzlingly lucid and dazzlingly complex; it's intricate to parse, gives you tough meat you can chew on for a long time, yet rings instantaneously and intuitively clear.
But the poem I loved most is one that begins "The sonnet, like poverty, teaches you what you can do / without...." (just one of many examples of cleverly placed line-breaks in this book). It was for the sake of that poem that I bought/read this book in the first place. I love its agile repetitions and inversions, its effortless incorporation of dialogue and punchy vernacular, its success in bringing at least two huge themes (poverty, bereavement) into a small room without seeming overcrowded, and, last but not least, how it seems to me to really get a central truth about sonnets and why we write them. The cinematic slo-mo cresting wave of the epiphanic one-long-sentence thought in lines 8-11, then the montage-like speeding up of the short phrases and fragments that follow, like the pacing of a good pop song.
In one of my favorite pieces, one that stands quite well on its own, the speaker "explains" why she prefers to read several books at once, "leap[ing] madly from text to text," recalling how, as a child, she "leap[t] from my own bed to my sister's when the doctor made a house / call to inject me with a vaccine, bed to bed to escape his serum, 'Do you want typhoid fever?" / he shouted...." This is a metaphor of the finest kind, at once dazzlingly lucid and dazzlingly complex; it's intricate to parse, gives you tough meat you can chew on for a long time, yet rings instantaneously and intuitively clear.
But the poem I loved most is one that begins "The sonnet, like poverty, teaches you what you can do / without...." (just one of many examples of cleverly placed line-breaks in this book). It was for the sake of that poem that I bought/read this book in the first place. I love its agile repetitions and inversions, its effortless incorporation of dialogue and punchy vernacular, its success in bringing at least two huge themes (poverty, bereavement) into a small room without seeming overcrowded, and, last but not least, how it seems to me to really get a central truth about sonnets and why we write them. The cinematic slo-mo cresting wave of the epiphanic one-long-sentence thought in lines 8-11, then the montage-like speeding up of the short phrases and fragments that follow, like the pacing of a good pop song.
Read
March 22, 20236/10
Look what they've done to my song, ma,
Look what they've done ...
This collection is a little sad-making because poetry should be about so much more than this.
I know I travel against the current once again -- quelle surprise! -- because Diane Seuss has garnered such praise, along with every poetry prize out there, including the Pulitzer, but ... the cheese stands alone on this one!
She does have some lovely turns of phrase, but overall I found this collection to be rather too self-indulgent for public consumption. This is the scribblings that you do in the middle of the night, when you're repenting over the day's doings, or the life's waste, and then you tuck that journal under your diary, at the very back of the drawer, and leave it there as a talisman against further self-sabotage.
Even by modern standards, I don't recognize a sonnet in here; instead lots of run on sentences that pass for stream-of-consciousness, perhaps, and a bit too much shock-and-awe to be considered "good poetry". In my very simple mind, of course.
This is the only collection of hers that I've read and friends assure me that this is not her best. Hmmm. Ironic then, that she should win the Pulitzer for this one.
This is more prosaic memoir than it is poetry, and had I read the jacket blurb more closely, this is not a memoir I would have chosen to read.
She writes, in one of her "sonnets":
I drove all the way to Cape Disappointment but didn't
have the energy to get out of the car. Rental. Blue Ford
Focus. I had to stop in a semi-public place to pee
on the ground. Just squatted there on the roadside.
I don't know what's up with my bladder. I pee and then
I have to pee and pee again. Instead of sightseeing
I climbed into the back seat of the car and took a nap.
I'm a little like Frank O'Hara without the handsome
nose and penis and the New York School and Larry
Rivers. Paid for a day pass at Cape Disappointment
thinking hard about that long drop from the lighthouse
to the sea. Thought about going into the Ocean
Medical Center for a checkup but how do I explain
this restless search for beauty or relief?
Such a lovely final line, to be wasted on such drivel.
She is not alone in travelling to Cape Disappointment.
Oh, look what they've done to my song!
Look what they've done to my song, ma,
Look what they've done ...
This collection is a little sad-making because poetry should be about so much more than this.
I know I travel against the current once again -- quelle surprise! -- because Diane Seuss has garnered such praise, along with every poetry prize out there, including the Pulitzer, but ... the cheese stands alone on this one!
She does have some lovely turns of phrase, but overall I found this collection to be rather too self-indulgent for public consumption. This is the scribblings that you do in the middle of the night, when you're repenting over the day's doings, or the life's waste, and then you tuck that journal under your diary, at the very back of the drawer, and leave it there as a talisman against further self-sabotage.
Even by modern standards, I don't recognize a sonnet in here; instead lots of run on sentences that pass for stream-of-consciousness, perhaps, and a bit too much shock-and-awe to be considered "good poetry". In my very simple mind, of course.
This is the only collection of hers that I've read and friends assure me that this is not her best. Hmmm. Ironic then, that she should win the Pulitzer for this one.
This is more prosaic memoir than it is poetry, and had I read the jacket blurb more closely, this is not a memoir I would have chosen to read.
She writes, in one of her "sonnets":
I drove all the way to Cape Disappointment but didn't
have the energy to get out of the car. Rental. Blue Ford
Focus. I had to stop in a semi-public place to pee
on the ground. Just squatted there on the roadside.
I don't know what's up with my bladder. I pee and then
I have to pee and pee again. Instead of sightseeing
I climbed into the back seat of the car and took a nap.
I'm a little like Frank O'Hara without the handsome
nose and penis and the New York School and Larry
Rivers. Paid for a day pass at Cape Disappointment
thinking hard about that long drop from the lighthouse
to the sea. Thought about going into the Ocean
Medical Center for a checkup but how do I explain
this restless search for beauty or relief?
Such a lovely final line, to be wasted on such drivel.
She is not alone in travelling to Cape Disappointment.
Oh, look what they've done to my song!
September 25, 2025
what the hell. rtc
June 7, 2022
This book is MIGHTY.
There’s no way I can match my words to honor hers - but I think everyone should read this one. Art makes life worth living and can also live as a monument to the difficulties that had to be overcome in order for it to exist. This is about American culture, life in relation to death, love, poverty, everything. A life. It’s so raw and such skilled masterful poetry. She’s a true artist.
If you love writings by Kim Addonizio or Denis Johnson, this is for you.
A few favorite excerpts - definitely pick this one up!
I met a man a dying man and I said me too.
Met a dead man and I said me too. Must be
dead cuz the living can’t meet the dead and he
said me too. Did you know the dead can fall
in love he said. Fact. Did you know the dead
fall in love better than the living cuz nothing
left to lose. The root of all blues.
The problem with sweetness is death. The problem
with everything is death. There really is no other problem
if you factor everything down, which I was no good at
when studying fractions. They were always using pie
as their example. Rather than thinking about factoring
things down, I wondered what kind of pie.
And, because it is incredibly fun to retype great works, here’s more!
the trampoline was impaled on a tree during a tornado the produce
that was to be sold on the honor system at the roadside stand did not
come to fruition and the money from what they managed to harvest
was stolen by the mailman’s kids so it turned out it was all for naught
the kids learned more about death than life just like the rest of us.
The sonnet, like poverty, teaches you what you can do
without. To have, as my mother says, a wish in one hand
and shit in another. That was in answer to I wish I had
an Instamatic camera and a father. Wish in one hand, she
said, shit in another. She still says it. When she tells me
she wishes I were there to have some of her bean soup
she answers herself. Wish in one hand, she says, shit in another.
Poverty, like a sonnet, is a good teacher. The kind that raps your
knuckles with a ruler but not the kind that throws a dictionary
across the room and hits you in the brain with all the words
that ever were. Boxed fathers buried deep are still fathers,
teacher says. Do without the. Without and. Without hot
dogs in your baked beans. A sonnet is a mother. Every word
a silver dollar. Shit in one hand, she says. Wish in another.
For me it’s going to be something simple, like Kylie Jenner dressing daughter
Stormi as Kylie Jenner for Halloween. Or hearing some woman described
as having had a bubbly personality, as if that should have staved off murder.
I’d move to Iceland, but Iceland won’t have me. Anywhere really with emptiness
and socialized medicine. All I ask for is a hut with a moss roof but how many
sufferers on this planet have a whole hut to themselves with a moss roof.
There are some hard things coming up. You know what they are. We all face them,
though if you’re rich it’s a little easier I hear, independent living, assisted living,
memory care, skilled nursing muffling the path to the crematory. Damon, raised
in Flint, his co-op job was working for a cemetery, he was the guy who waved
a big magnet over the ashes to pull out the metal, told me what ends up in the urn
is a conglomeration of you and everybody ever born. It’s like an airplane
with no first class. That democracy of death thing. From Damon I learned
a lot but not what happens to a body without the money to be burned.
There’s no way I can match my words to honor hers - but I think everyone should read this one. Art makes life worth living and can also live as a monument to the difficulties that had to be overcome in order for it to exist. This is about American culture, life in relation to death, love, poverty, everything. A life. It’s so raw and such skilled masterful poetry. She’s a true artist.
If you love writings by Kim Addonizio or Denis Johnson, this is for you.
A few favorite excerpts - definitely pick this one up!
I met a man a dying man and I said me too.
Met a dead man and I said me too. Must be
dead cuz the living can’t meet the dead and he
said me too. Did you know the dead can fall
in love he said. Fact. Did you know the dead
fall in love better than the living cuz nothing
left to lose. The root of all blues.
The problem with sweetness is death. The problem
with everything is death. There really is no other problem
if you factor everything down, which I was no good at
when studying fractions. They were always using pie
as their example. Rather than thinking about factoring
things down, I wondered what kind of pie.
And, because it is incredibly fun to retype great works, here’s more!
the trampoline was impaled on a tree during a tornado the produce
that was to be sold on the honor system at the roadside stand did not
come to fruition and the money from what they managed to harvest
was stolen by the mailman’s kids so it turned out it was all for naught
the kids learned more about death than life just like the rest of us.
The sonnet, like poverty, teaches you what you can do
without. To have, as my mother says, a wish in one hand
and shit in another. That was in answer to I wish I had
an Instamatic camera and a father. Wish in one hand, she
said, shit in another. She still says it. When she tells me
she wishes I were there to have some of her bean soup
she answers herself. Wish in one hand, she says, shit in another.
Poverty, like a sonnet, is a good teacher. The kind that raps your
knuckles with a ruler but not the kind that throws a dictionary
across the room and hits you in the brain with all the words
that ever were. Boxed fathers buried deep are still fathers,
teacher says. Do without the. Without and. Without hot
dogs in your baked beans. A sonnet is a mother. Every word
a silver dollar. Shit in one hand, she says. Wish in another.
For me it’s going to be something simple, like Kylie Jenner dressing daughter
Stormi as Kylie Jenner for Halloween. Or hearing some woman described
as having had a bubbly personality, as if that should have staved off murder.
I’d move to Iceland, but Iceland won’t have me. Anywhere really with emptiness
and socialized medicine. All I ask for is a hut with a moss roof but how many
sufferers on this planet have a whole hut to themselves with a moss roof.
There are some hard things coming up. You know what they are. We all face them,
though if you’re rich it’s a little easier I hear, independent living, assisted living,
memory care, skilled nursing muffling the path to the crematory. Damon, raised
in Flint, his co-op job was working for a cemetery, he was the guy who waved
a big magnet over the ashes to pull out the metal, told me what ends up in the urn
is a conglomeration of you and everybody ever born. It’s like an airplane
with no first class. That democracy of death thing. From Damon I learned
a lot but not what happens to a body without the money to be burned.
August 29, 2025
"𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘺
𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦-𝘣𝘺,
𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐
𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬-𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳-𝘪𝘵-𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦
𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦-𝘪𝘯-𝘵𝘩𝘦-𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘦𝘥
𝘈𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘴, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦
𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳
𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴
𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴,
𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵
𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦
𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥."
I forgot who said it, but for poems, you just know all is right just based on the line itself, the few collected words that call back to memory or strum something in you, mere music.
This is one of those collections that capture a life, fast and vivid in all its details, curated in a way you always wanted for yourself, to present to someone, to say, “Here, this looks like it’s all of me, but it’s in parts, good parts, worst parts, but it’s me, and I hope you can have it, I hope you can take care of it in whichever way you like.”
Vulnerable. Sad. Sweet. Funny. It’s the kind of everything that you admire about your drunk aunt, you know, the one that hands you handle for a swig to loosen nerves. It’s a warm hug, an old friend, a secret warmth only you know.
*ty Emily for letting me borrow this. need to have a copy of my own to revisit on days i need that secret warmth <3
𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦-𝘣𝘺,
𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐
𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬-𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳-𝘪𝘵-𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦
𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦-𝘪𝘯-𝘵𝘩𝘦-𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘦𝘥
𝘈𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘴, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦
𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳
𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴
𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴,
𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵
𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦
𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥."
I forgot who said it, but for poems, you just know all is right just based on the line itself, the few collected words that call back to memory or strum something in you, mere music.
This is one of those collections that capture a life, fast and vivid in all its details, curated in a way you always wanted for yourself, to present to someone, to say, “Here, this looks like it’s all of me, but it’s in parts, good parts, worst parts, but it’s me, and I hope you can have it, I hope you can take care of it in whichever way you like.”
Vulnerable. Sad. Sweet. Funny. It’s the kind of everything that you admire about your drunk aunt, you know, the one that hands you handle for a swig to loosen nerves. It’s a warm hug, an old friend, a secret warmth only you know.
*ty Emily for letting me borrow this. need to have a copy of my own to revisit on days i need that secret warmth <3
March 19, 2023
I am not particularly vain, but I do get a twinge when I don't enjoy things that are lauded by most. a feeling that maybe I don't know what I am talking about. That is a bad feeling, and so I went into reading Diane Seuss' Frank: Sonnets with trepidation. This memoir in sonnets won both the Pulitzer and the National Book award. I struggle with both poetry and with things set in the southern part of my home state of Michigan, a geography very much not beloved by me (though I love northern Michigan still.) So what would others think if I did not like this book with multiple imprimaturs of excellence? I need not have worried. Holy Moses this is great!
I am not well schooled in poetry, but I have read a good deal of Frank O'Hara, mostly because I am interested in O'Hara the man/curator of my favorite museum and I immediately recognized a similarity to O'Hara in Seuss' work. It turns out that I am not the only person who recognized that and that I sort of fell ass-backsword into sounding well educated. I just read a piece about this collection in McSweeney's and the piece, an interview with Diane Seuss, the intro starts thusly"
What she said.
I don't know what to say about this except that it is perfect in the way it defines a particular life, a particular historical moment (Seuss is a few years older than me, but all this is familiar.) She graduated from Kalamazoo College, I think a year before my brother did, so we are practically sisters. :) For anyone who thought sonnets were dead. read this. Seuss deconstructs and resurrects the form. In one poem she says: "The sonnet, like poverty, teaches you what you can do / without,” And so it apparently does. Spare yet missing nothing. A life told. I am ending this with the last poem, a meditation on death and legacy, and hoping it whets all my friends appetites and sends them scurrying to find this book.
I am not well schooled in poetry, but I have read a good deal of Frank O'Hara, mostly because I am interested in O'Hara the man/curator of my favorite museum and I immediately recognized a similarity to O'Hara in Seuss' work. It turns out that I am not the only person who recognized that and that I sort of fell ass-backsword into sounding well educated. I just read a piece about this collection in McSweeney's and the piece, an interview with Diane Seuss, the intro starts thusly"
If Frank O’Hara were a salt-of-the-earth, lightning-struck woman with a master’s in social work who’d grown up in the middle United States and wrote sonnets about childhood and addiction and friends dying of AIDS, she would likely compose lines like the ones that run through Diane Seuss’s frank: sonnets. But “frank” also means candor, and her variation on O’Hara’s sound soon turns wholly her own, and you mostly forget that Frank is in the background.
What she said.
I don't know what to say about this except that it is perfect in the way it defines a particular life, a particular historical moment (Seuss is a few years older than me, but all this is familiar.) She graduated from Kalamazoo College, I think a year before my brother did, so we are practically sisters. :) For anyone who thought sonnets were dead. read this. Seuss deconstructs and resurrects the form. In one poem she says: "The sonnet, like poverty, teaches you what you can do / without,” And so it apparently does. Spare yet missing nothing. A life told. I am ending this with the last poem, a meditation on death and legacy, and hoping it whets all my friends appetites and sends them scurrying to find this book.
[I hope when it happens]
By Diane Seuss
I hope when it happens I have time to say oh so this is how it is happening
unlike Frank hit by a jeep on Fire Island but not like dad who knew too
long six goddamn years in a young man’s life so long it made a sweet guy sarcastic
I want enough time to say oh so this is how I’ll go and smirk at that last rhyme
I rhymed at times because I wanted to make something pretty especially for Mikel
who liked pretty things soft and small things who cried into a white towel when I hurt
myself when it happens I don’t want to be afraid I want to be curious was Mikel curious
I’m afraid by then he was only sad he had no money left was living on green oranges
had kissed all his friends goodbye I kissed lips that kissed Frank’s lips though not
for me a willing kiss I willingly kissed lips that kissed Howard’s deathbed lips
I happily kissed lips that kissed lips that kissed Basquiat’s lips I know a man who said
he kissed lips that kissed lips that kissed lips that kissed Whitman’s
lips who will say of me I kissed her who will say of me I kissed someone who kissed
her or I kissed someone who kissed someone who kissed someone who kissed her.
December 10, 2025
Outstanding. Thanks to Adam for his review, which popped up in my daily Goodreads friends update recently and led me to this collection.
Both innovative and masterful in her control of form and rhythm, Seuss takes us on a transcontinental journey through her life: the bleak departure, the dark woods, the jungles, the deserts, the cliffs, the black depths, the slowing foothills.
Usually I can only read a few poems in a collection at one time. But this time I could not stop because each poem depended on the memory, images, and usually the devastation, and sound of the prior ones. To stop was to lose the propulsion that is the essence of this book. But oddly one doesn’t feel depressed or exhausted upon finishing. Instead I was left appreciating the beauty of her language, the affirmation of living life fully and accepting the consequences of loving and acting unwisely at times. At moving through old age in the same spirit. I was deeply moved by her descriptions of the friendship, sorrow, and joys she shared with a friend who died of AIDS, and the addiction and now sobered charm of her son.
Recommended.
Both innovative and masterful in her control of form and rhythm, Seuss takes us on a transcontinental journey through her life: the bleak departure, the dark woods, the jungles, the deserts, the cliffs, the black depths, the slowing foothills.
Usually I can only read a few poems in a collection at one time. But this time I could not stop because each poem depended on the memory, images, and usually the devastation, and sound of the prior ones. To stop was to lose the propulsion that is the essence of this book. But oddly one doesn’t feel depressed or exhausted upon finishing. Instead I was left appreciating the beauty of her language, the affirmation of living life fully and accepting the consequences of loving and acting unwisely at times. At moving through old age in the same spirit. I was deeply moved by her descriptions of the friendship, sorrow, and joys she shared with a friend who died of AIDS, and the addiction and now sobered charm of her son.
Recommended.
August 5, 2021
holy fuck these poems are good. so good, I felt compelled to write a review, which I hardly ever do.
August 10, 2022
This did not start out strong for me, but I ultimately greatly enjoyed it. The sonnet structure is used here to create almost an autobiography. The author focuses on the many challenges she has faced from a young age until the present, struggles mainly with poverty, romantic relationships, and her son’s drug addiction. These poems are frank and gritty and show a great vulnerability to and acceptance of the life lived.
March 10, 2024
FUCK i just wrote a massive review for this and then accidentally deleted it!!!!!!! lemme try to remember everything i said ugh, i wrote so much!!!!!!!!
oh my GOD. GODDDDD. diane seuss, your brain is PERFECT!!!!! this is certainly my favorite book of poetry that i've read in the last two years. each of seuss' fourteen lines of prose that flow into each other like a stream into a river into the sea is hypnotizing, distinct, and enrapturing in its own way. her disregard for convention and simultaneous adherence to her own convention (the "seussian sonnet") makes for a completely unique read that i've yet to encounter in other works of poetry. i feel so akin to seuss in a way—her perspectives on life, death, love, romance, remembrance, reverence, desire, obsession, memory, family, friendship, art, poetry, music, events of cultural relevance, queerness, otherness, masculinity, femininity, and subversion felt aligned so deeply with my perspectives on these same topics. i love her commitment to both cheek and total seriousness. she is the master of both, isn't she? i feel like diane seuss and i should sit down over a joint and cups of tea; i think we'd have a lot to talk about.
i think that frank: sonnets might be the first book that i purchase for my own collection after borrowing it and reading it from the library because i need to be able to come back to and pour over her words again and again and again. i should've known that i'd love this book because seuss opens her work with three quotes, the second of which being the line "feel like a lady, and you my lady boy" from amy winehouse's "stronger than me." the title frank: sonnets is actually a nod to both frank o'hara and amy winehouse's album frank on which the song can be found. ICONIC!!!!!!!!
here's my favorite sonnet, one that grabbed me by the scruff and shook me like a pup, "i wanted to be the boy in the book":
"i wanted to be the boy in the book, the beautiful narrow fellow who stumbles upon desire like a pebble along the footpath, i want to be that boy, nothing extra on him, nothing built for nursing or bleeding or bearing someone like him into the world, to see someone and want them and suffer over it, elegantly, the beautiful suffering that desire offers up to us, that wanting is not having, that having is not having always, that we can enter a body through its many mouths but we cannot stay, there is no staying, to be a woman and to desire with elegance has been for me impossible, to be a girl stumbling upon desire like a rock along the footpath meant falling clumsily and breaking like a mirror, to be a man, i think to be a man is its own sinkhole, i would be a boy, this boy, a literary boy made of literature not flesh, this heroic fool impaled on desire cleanly as on a pearl-handled knife, illicit desire, all desire should be illicit, its fulfillment transpiring in wet, blue-shadowed places where a life like a shirt comes undone, for me, it's too late to be this boy lusting for the man he will become."
oh my GOD. GODDDDD. diane seuss, your brain is PERFECT!!!!! this is certainly my favorite book of poetry that i've read in the last two years. each of seuss' fourteen lines of prose that flow into each other like a stream into a river into the sea is hypnotizing, distinct, and enrapturing in its own way. her disregard for convention and simultaneous adherence to her own convention (the "seussian sonnet") makes for a completely unique read that i've yet to encounter in other works of poetry. i feel so akin to seuss in a way—her perspectives on life, death, love, romance, remembrance, reverence, desire, obsession, memory, family, friendship, art, poetry, music, events of cultural relevance, queerness, otherness, masculinity, femininity, and subversion felt aligned so deeply with my perspectives on these same topics. i love her commitment to both cheek and total seriousness. she is the master of both, isn't she? i feel like diane seuss and i should sit down over a joint and cups of tea; i think we'd have a lot to talk about.
i think that frank: sonnets might be the first book that i purchase for my own collection after borrowing it and reading it from the library because i need to be able to come back to and pour over her words again and again and again. i should've known that i'd love this book because seuss opens her work with three quotes, the second of which being the line "feel like a lady, and you my lady boy" from amy winehouse's "stronger than me." the title frank: sonnets is actually a nod to both frank o'hara and amy winehouse's album frank on which the song can be found. ICONIC!!!!!!!!
here's my favorite sonnet, one that grabbed me by the scruff and shook me like a pup, "i wanted to be the boy in the book":
"i wanted to be the boy in the book, the beautiful narrow fellow who stumbles upon desire like a pebble along the footpath, i want to be that boy, nothing extra on him, nothing built for nursing or bleeding or bearing someone like him into the world, to see someone and want them and suffer over it, elegantly, the beautiful suffering that desire offers up to us, that wanting is not having, that having is not having always, that we can enter a body through its many mouths but we cannot stay, there is no staying, to be a woman and to desire with elegance has been for me impossible, to be a girl stumbling upon desire like a rock along the footpath meant falling clumsily and breaking like a mirror, to be a man, i think to be a man is its own sinkhole, i would be a boy, this boy, a literary boy made of literature not flesh, this heroic fool impaled on desire cleanly as on a pearl-handled knife, illicit desire, all desire should be illicit, its fulfillment transpiring in wet, blue-shadowed places where a life like a shirt comes undone, for me, it's too late to be this boy lusting for the man he will become."
July 17, 2021
What I love about Diane Seuss, is you never know what to expect. Wait, now that I say that--I realize you can expect craft, intellect, wit!, style, edge, and surprise. But as far as what she does as an artist, she just keeps making poetry interesting and creating books I don't want to put down. I tore through this book several times and keep it on my desk because as a poet, if I'm ever stuck on a line, reading her work just inspires me to do better! Loved this one so much! Shakespeare could take a lesson in sonnets from her... Enjoy this!
June 29, 2022
"and was I always/better at eating it than growing it, casting spells than spelling it,/depicting a witch than witching it, telling it than living it?"
These poems gutted me in the best way possible.
These poems gutted me in the best way possible.
Read
April 23, 2023frank: sonnets is a collection of untitled Seussian Sonnets that center on various themes such as death, family, religious angst, nostalgia, and the deterioration of the body.
i struggled with seeing the continuity in this collection. i loved certain lines and a few poems, but a lot of this collection either went over my head or i couldn’t see how the start of the poem related to the end of the poem. stylistically, the Seussian Sonnet does not follow the traditional sonnet at all. Very little punctuation is used, and the sonnets do not follow a rhyme scheme (which i’m totally fine with). there were also a lot of references, which i tend to not be too crazy about in poetry.
overall, i think if you like ethel cain i think you would LOVE this collection.
i struggled with seeing the continuity in this collection. i loved certain lines and a few poems, but a lot of this collection either went over my head or i couldn’t see how the start of the poem related to the end of the poem. stylistically, the Seussian Sonnet does not follow the traditional sonnet at all. Very little punctuation is used, and the sonnets do not follow a rhyme scheme (which i’m totally fine with). there were also a lot of references, which i tend to not be too crazy about in poetry.
overall, i think if you like ethel cain i think you would LOVE this collection.
June 17, 2021
I have never cared to have
an affair with the sonnet—
too much form, too much rhyme,
too much all the same same.
Are these truly
sonnets? I dunno, but I do
know I love them. The ones
with humor, the ones so
hard to read I cried,
forgot to breathe,
the ones that taught me
my life has been easy. It is
time for me to reconsider
and embrace these Seussian sonnets.
My apologies to Ms. Suess. Her book is fantastic. Buy it. Read it.
an affair with the sonnet—
too much form, too much rhyme,
too much all the same same.
Are these truly
sonnets? I dunno, but I do
know I love them. The ones
with humor, the ones so
hard to read I cried,
forgot to breathe,
the ones that taught me
my life has been easy. It is
time for me to reconsider
and embrace these Seussian sonnets.
My apologies to Ms. Suess. Her book is fantastic. Buy it. Read it.
May 23, 2024
Some excruciatingly awkward lines where I couldn't tell what the intention was at all - to be ironic? Funny? Deep? To shock the reader?? Bc they succeeded at none of that!
"its embrace of me is neutral, like God, or Switzerland since 1815"
"That is the job of Jesus the most daddyish daddy-man of all"
"My first night in New York, I was such a beautiful dick, my soul circumcised, no shielding foreskin"
"Rain, rain, fascism in America is loud"
"its embrace of me is neutral, like God, or Switzerland since 1815"
"That is the job of Jesus the most daddyish daddy-man of all"
"My first night in New York, I was such a beautiful dick, my soul circumcised, no shielding foreskin"
"Rain, rain, fascism in America is loud"
June 18, 2023
im sure this was great but i was Not in the mood while reading 🤷♀️
November 10, 2023
there are writers who write well because they know how to use a pen. and then there are writers who write well because they've had the experience of life. there were poems here i understood and some i did not by virtue of only being 24, but every single thing i read and could understand was beautiful, and what i could not understand was still pretty nice. ms. diane deserved that pulitzer + i can't wait for this to be a collection i revisit throughout my life.
i can name it beautiful, but feel it, i don't know that i am feeling it, when i drown in it, maybe then.
dickinson in her narrow bed, her cold clenched hands, her penmanship unreadable.
i can name it beautiful, but feel it, i don't know that i am feeling it, when i drown in it, maybe then.
dickinson in her narrow bed, her cold clenched hands, her penmanship unreadable.
August 12, 2024
This is a wonderful work of poetry. Most of the sonnets are especially relatable which isn't always true of a lot of award winning poetry.
It is interesting to me that so many poets write their best poetry so late in life. I think it is the perspective of a life lived fully and the overwhelming nostalgia they can evoke when looking in the rear view mirror.
Highly recommended.
It is interesting to me that so many poets write their best poetry so late in life. I think it is the perspective of a life lived fully and the overwhelming nostalgia they can evoke when looking in the rear view mirror.
Highly recommended.
March 31, 2022
I savored this book, and each poem, all 130 of them, was a treat. Maybe that's not the right word—a meal, a cooking class, a refrigerator. This is all to say that I loved it, and learned so much about implication and language and restraint, and it might be one of if not THE best book I read all year. Highy, highly recommend, just be sure to take your time with it. You'll miss it when it's over.
February 2, 2025
130 is a lot of sonnets, and I think this would’ve been a five-star read if it had been culled and ordered more carefully and selectively. In one poem she talks about a teacher telling her to remove “the” and “and” from her poems, and the best poems in this collections are the ones where she doesn’t do that. Where she just tells it like it is and lets the language take care of itself
February 7, 2025
anyways the world already knows how much i love sonnets and i bought my own copy of this book 10 sonnets in if that says anything
July 16, 2023
'I hope when it happens I have time to say oh so this is how it is happening
unlike Frank hit by a jeep on Fire Island but not like dad who knew too
long six goddamn years in a young man’s life so long it made a sweet guy sarcastic
I want enough time to say oh so this is how I’ll go and smirk at that last rhyme
I rhymed at times because I wanted to make something pretty especially for Mikel
who liked pretty things soft and small things who cried into a white towel when I hurt
myself when it happens I don’t want to be afraid I want to be curious was Mikel curious
I’m afraid by then he was only sad he had no money left was living on green oranges
had kissed all his friends goodbye I kissed lips that kissed Frank’s lips though not
for me a willing kiss I willingly kissed lips that kissed Howard’s deathbed lips
I happily kissed lips that kissed lips that kissed Basquiat’s lips I know a man who said
he kissed lips that kissed lips that kissed lips that kissed Whitman’s
lips who will say of me I kissed her who will say of me I kissed someone who kissed
her or I kissed someone who kissed someone who kissed someone who kissed her.'
('[I hope when it happens]', p130)
unlike Frank hit by a jeep on Fire Island but not like dad who knew too
long six goddamn years in a young man’s life so long it made a sweet guy sarcastic
I want enough time to say oh so this is how I’ll go and smirk at that last rhyme
I rhymed at times because I wanted to make something pretty especially for Mikel
who liked pretty things soft and small things who cried into a white towel when I hurt
myself when it happens I don’t want to be afraid I want to be curious was Mikel curious
I’m afraid by then he was only sad he had no money left was living on green oranges
had kissed all his friends goodbye I kissed lips that kissed Frank’s lips though not
for me a willing kiss I willingly kissed lips that kissed Howard’s deathbed lips
I happily kissed lips that kissed lips that kissed Basquiat’s lips I know a man who said
he kissed lips that kissed lips that kissed lips that kissed Whitman’s
lips who will say of me I kissed her who will say of me I kissed someone who kissed
her or I kissed someone who kissed someone who kissed someone who kissed her.'
('[I hope when it happens]', p130)
June 9, 2021
Just ordered two more of Diane Seuss collections! Absolutely blows my mind. Most of this book is swallowed up by my love:
"the ones they called unreadable but fuckable or readable and fuckable others were unfuckable the flip the fat the fierce the frayed the flawed the frail the flunky the funny-looking radical unshaved the frumps the flabs the poets came for us their genius sprayed on us they preyed on us they said they'd pray for us like honeybees they dumped their load of gold on us like god they shot their wad on us they called us sweeter than their wives with softer skin they called their wives by telephone their hands over our mouths to muffle us they shuffled us like decks of playing cards and settled into hotel beds their socks and underwear and undershirts cast upon the shore and then we'd stumble out the door."
Get a copy! It's all brilliant and unforgettable! LOVE LOVE LOVE!
"the ones they called unreadable but fuckable or readable and fuckable others were unfuckable the flip the fat the fierce the frayed the flawed the frail the flunky the funny-looking radical unshaved the frumps the flabs the poets came for us their genius sprayed on us they preyed on us they said they'd pray for us like honeybees they dumped their load of gold on us like god they shot their wad on us they called us sweeter than their wives with softer skin they called their wives by telephone their hands over our mouths to muffle us they shuffled us like decks of playing cards and settled into hotel beds their socks and underwear and undershirts cast upon the shore and then we'd stumble out the door."
Get a copy! It's all brilliant and unforgettable! LOVE LOVE LOVE!
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