Stanley Plumly





Stanley Plumly


Born
May 23, 1939

Genre


On May 23, 1939, Stanley Plumly was born to Herman and Esther Plumly in Barnesville, Ohio. Following Stanley's birth, the family moved from farm work to carpentry jobs and back to farm work in Virginia and Ohio. Plumly graduated from Wilmington College, a small work-study school in Ohio, in 1962. While he was in college, his writing talents were recognized and encouraged by the playwright-poet-teacher Joel Climenhaga. Plumly received his MA from Ohio University in 1968 and did course work toward a PhD at the same school.

The writer's father, who died at the age of fifty-six of a heart attack brought on by his chronic alcoholism, dominates the poet's work: "I can hardly think of a poem I've written that at some point in its history did not im
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Average rating: 4.21 · 649 ratings · 94 reviews · 23 distinct works · Similar authors
Posthumous Keats: A Persona...

4.17 avg rating — 132 ratings — published 2008 — 4 editions
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Old Heart: Poems

3.88 avg rating — 56 ratings — published 2007 — 4 editions
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Now That My Father Lies Dow...

4.14 avg rating — 44 ratings — published 2000 — 2 editions
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The Immortal Evening: A Leg...

3.44 avg rating — 41 ratings — published 2014 — 4 editions
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Out-Of-The-Body Travel

4.36 avg rating — 22 ratings — published 1978
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Orphan Hours: Poems

4.05 avg rating — 19 ratings — published 2012 — 4 editions
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Boy on the Step

4.14 avg rating — 14 ratings — published 1994 — 2 editions
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Argument & Song: Sources & ...

4.46 avg rating — 13 ratings — published 2003 — 2 editions
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Summer Celestial (American ...

4.18 avg rating — 11 ratings — published 1983 — 2 editions
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The Marriage in the Trees

4.18 avg rating — 11 ratings — published 1997 — 2 editions
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“And now each day seems,
Like my own soul, farther and farther off,
Lost in its light as in a dream in which I meant to ask you something.”
Stanley Plumly, Old Heart: Poems

“The main floor of Penn Station, early,
the first commuters arriving, leaving,
the man outstretched on his coat,
wide circles of survivors forming.

He's half in, half out of his clothes,
being kissed and cardio-shocked,
though he was likely dead before he landed.

This goes on for minutes, minutes more,
until the medics unhook the vanished heart,
move him onto the cot and cover him
with the snow-depth of a sheet

and wheel him the fluorescent length
of the hall through gray freight doors
that open on their own and close at will.”
Stanley Plumly
tags: death

“And I’m listening and thinking of the distances imagination travels sitting still, wandering without direction.”
Stanley Plumly



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