Poetry Corner: Joey Frances’ many beautiful acquaintances

by Brandon Bennett

Joey Frances, author of many beautiful acquaintances

Joey Frances is a poet. That much is clear. Until I meet him, that is the only lens through which I can understand him and I can’t pretend otherwise. To do so would be dishonest. And, really, I’m not sorry for that.

I received ‘many beautiful acquaintances’ through the post, initially intrigued by the refusal to use capital letters.  I think that tells you a lot about a writer. There’s a certain amount of confidence involved. In this case, that confidence was earned.

This body of work is stark, controlled, and distinctive. Frances exerts a control over the written word that is masterful and meditative. It is reflective of an inner world that has been grounded in a reality in which he ensures ‘poetry subs in’ when ordinary language fails to translate lived experience.

I’ve spent today reading and rereading Frances’ chapbook in the garden. This, I assure you, is not something I would do if the poetry did not communicate anything. Especially as it is sunny. Blistering. A rare thing in Middleton, I can assure you.

You open the book to an inscription from Bei Dao, the nom de plume of Zhao Zhenkai, a poet exiled from China between 1989 and 2006 for his perceived influence on the events surrounding Tiananmen Square. It reads:  

This intertextual framing matters. It reshapes the twenty untitled poems that follow—poems that already echo the visual and structural minimalism of E.E. Cummings—by placing them in a lineage of resistance, exile, and linguistic limitation.

As a result, the collection demands that we slow down. We are held in a sustained present, a heightened awareness that resists the speed and disposability of everyday language. At times, the poems read like koans: not puzzles to be solved, but pressures to be experienced—forcing us toward a recognition of life that persists despite its absurdities.

In this light, Frances’ assertion that “poetry subs in” when ordinary language fails becomes more than stylistic preference; it becomes a necessity.

Frances punctuates his verse with terrifyingly honest statements. He is, at heart, a poet of the confessional tradition, and one that is not afraid to reveal himself:

“

[…]

write because      i don’t know

      how acceptably

to tell my friends

  my neighbours

how close i am & often

         to weeping

[…]”

Here, the poet’s fragmented and introspective voice explores emotional vulnerability and the difficulty of discussing our own inner worlds with others. Throughout the text, the conversational tone is utilised to disarm the reader as they encounter raw, unedited thought.

Throughout, minimal punctuation, breathing spaces, and short lines work to further help us explore the speaker’s strained inner space. This is again emphasised throughout by Frances’ use of enjambment.

As if the subconscious is lost for words, the poet is constantly referencing other works in what may appear as some kind of  justification that are there add credence to a stream of consciousness. The myriads of quotations seem to say, ‘I am not alone in this and therefore neither are you’. For example, after confessing to his proclivity to tears, the poem references Gluck, reframing anguish as something that expands life rather than diminishing it. This intertextuality complicates the earlier honesty, framing it as something completely necessary, and framing his confession as something that absolutely should be considered the norm. It is the fact he must hide it in his poetry that becomes the monster: not the feeling itself. The quote itself reads:

“I witness my anguish with excitement

who would reject more life?”

In many ways, the book itself is about an inner world struggling to express itself within a political framework that does not celebrate or reward it as a concept. Again, we look at the Frances’ assertion that ‘poetry subs in’ when conventional language and expression does not or cannot occur. Frances suggests that the system and society we exist in can only value the lived experience, can only value truth, if it is able to be recorded by Britain’s army of stalwart bureaucrats. And he laments this:

“[…]

            great pain to say

    under different conditions

something else might have

    been possible after all

[…]”

But be sure not to “fucking talk to [him] about marx”. Because, for Frances, communism will “all be folk music” and the sessions will be “sooo good”. And really? I’ve certainly heard (as Bei Dao experienced firsthand) worse ideas.

I will wrap up here as I don’t want to fall into the very tempting trap of picking the book of poems apart line by line. I’ll let you do that. What I will say is this: many beautiful acquaintances offers more to a reader than a cursory read. I have spent all afternoon with the book in the sun, and it has made me enjoy the garden for the first time in months.

My cats have enjoyed it too, as I’ve read aloud and they’ve circled my feet and made themselves into ornaments on the garden wall.

This chapbook is infinitely more than it says it is, or someone could say it is, and so are we. Released by Death of Workers Whilst Building Skyscrapers, many beautiful acquaintances is available now.

Joey Frances will be reading alongside others in Manchester and Macclesfield late June and early July. Learn more about his live readings here.

ISBN-13: 978-1-9194857-13

First Edition. First Printing. 2026

Limited edition copy of 50 only.