Between Two Octaves \ Lynn Stanton

poems by

Lynn Stanton

ISBN: 978-1-59948-645-1, ~76 pages, $14

Release Date: October, 2017

Lynn Stanton lived in Charlotte for more than twenty years, where, by day, she worked as a clinical social worker, supervisor, and program coordinator for Carolinas Healthcare. She has written seriously for more than ten years. A member of beMuses, a writers’ workshop of published poets, her work has appeared in The Main Street Rag, Iodine Poetry Journal, Kakalak, and Between the Lines. She currently lives and works in Asheville, NC.

With this collection, Lynn Stanton blossoms as a cultured, accomplished poet, showing a singular understanding of her subjects, from her partner’s prolonged illness to her spiritual connection with George Harrison. Similar to a memoir in its narrative tone, this creative mix of words—figuratively lyrical and sometimes literally so—journeys through the poet’s major life events. We’re not just told; we’re invited to participate. And we can’t help but do so, given the raw, heartrending, and, eventually, peace-filled honesty relayed. You cannot read these poems without crying, and laughing, and feeling what it is to walk Lynn’s life path. —Anne Kaylor, Author, Unwilling to Laugh Alone, and Executive Editor/Publisher, moonShine review

In her debut collection, Lynn Stanton begins with a poem called “Time” about a watch her father gave her when she was young. This wonderful poem sets up this collection as the watch—indeed, time itself, becomes sacred. And, as time unfolds, so does discovery and inner strength. Stanton weaves a narrative of loss and celebration, wonder and awe, the natural world and the spiritual, culminating with a journey to India, while rediscovering herself and finding new faith through it all. A thoughtful and inspiring collection. —Jonathan K. Rice, Author, Killing Time, and Founding Editor/Publisher, Iodine Poetry Journal

In Lynn Stanton’s debut collection, Between Two Octaves, a man and woman fall in love under the stars. But there’s a catch. He, with a brain tumor, has already lived far beyond the doctors’ predictions. Yet love finds a way. These quietly strong poems chronicle the author’s personal journey as lover, friend, and caregiver in her partner’s final days—not with bitterness, but with grace and gratitude. After his death, she embarks on a spiritual journey that draws inspiration from the music and life of George Harrison and culminates in a pilgrimage to India. Intimate, powerful, and memorable, these poems remind us how to live when we know life is short—and it always is. —Richard Allen Taylor, Author, Armed and Luminous

On Possibility, Maybe

When I wore floral prints over crinoline,
I knew you as piano wire encased in cobwebs,
or a weeping willow under which I played Solitaire.

When I wore mini-skirts over fishnet stockings,
I knew you as dried watercolor on bristles,
or the award-winning film I was forbidden to see.

When I wore khaki pants and cardigan sweaters,
I knew you as an apparition shrouding my heart,
or a peach brandy burning my throat.

When I wore Bohemian skirts over lace,
I knew you as Dorian Gray’s image
reflected in Grandmother’s mirror.

Now I wear Tahari on sale or blue jeans with hiking boots
and see you in the Beehive Cluster, in Aldebaran,
and at dawn across Air Bellows Gap,

in the photographs hanging in my parlor,
in Robert Frost, Leonard Cohen, and Puccini,
in a well-crafted career and in friendship’s treasure.

I see you in the fiery sheen of a maple leaf
aloft in autumn’s chill, wafting
ever so slowly to the ground.

Indian Summer

Long vowels and sultry voice
the caress of calloused fingers
my ear against your chest
listening for life rhythms

and the sigh of your contentment.
We forged our attachment
exploring the light years
between Orion and Cygnus

and now defy cancer its victory
find beauty in every autumn leaf.
And when it is over, I will look up,
search the sky, see your face

in Jupiter’s moons, in the Veil
and in Andromeda’s mystery.
I will kneel by a fire you taught me
to build and wish I could trade

my breath for yours. I will sing
to you a lullaby and ache
with the memory of blue eyes
and a son-of-the South purr

I will hear until I join you.
I will remember our search
for one last Indian summer
and the sun-kissed skin

of our possibility
offer gratitude for the jewel
of your affection, then curse
the beast for taking

what was never
ours to keep.

Between Two Octaves of E

—Sound is God. Ravi Shankar

Eyes closed, deep
in repetition’s dungeon

I move across frets,
determined to press

clean chords, re-create
what I’d once played

’til fingers blistered.
Failure looming

like a debt,
I shrug loose doubt’s

seductive clutch.
Months ago,

between two
octaves of E,

I’d found my faith,
reset priorities.

Now as I whisper,
“Help me God

to feel You more
and honor You

with my effort,” I hear,
Rest child and come to Me.

I am the Sound
you seek.