George Franklin is the author of seven poetry collections, including What the Angel Saw, What the Saint Refused. A book of essays, Poetry & Pigeons: Short Essays on Writing is also forthcoming from Sheila-Na-Gig Editions. He practices law in Miami, is a translation editor for Cagibi, teaches poetry classes in Florida prisons, and co-translated, along with the author, Ximena Gómez's Último día/Last Day. In 2020, he won first prize in the Stephen A. DiBiase Poetry Prize, and in 2023, he was the first prize winner for the W.B. Yeats Poetry Prize.

Other poems by George Franklin in Verse Daily:
November 18, 2023:   "Real Monsters" "In Forbidden Planet, the monster..."
May 13, 2021:   "While I Slept" "While I was asleep, a flock of geese landed in the tree by the fence..."
April 5, 2019:   "Barcelona" "BI imagine you on a cold day in Barcelona, wind.."

Other poems on the web by George Franklin:
Three poems
"Picking Favorites"
"Sobremesa"
Three poems
Three poems
Four poems
"An Early Flight"
"The Saint of Unbelievers"
"The Protagonist"
"The Memoirist"
Two poems
Three poems
"Letting Go"
"Speaking of Love"
Four poems
Two poems
"The Way It Is Now"
Two poems
"Origami"
"Of Arms and the Man"
"Vallejo in Paris"

George Franklin's Website.

About What the Angel Saw, What the Saint Refused:

"You will be astonished at what a narrative poem can achieve when you read George Franklin's ground-breaking collection, What the Angel Saw, What the Saint Refused. You will learn the difference between grief that is despairing and grief that is not despairing, the second hinging on an appreciation for the unremarkable life, as you follow an angel with no destination, an angel drawn by humanity's grief. The angel can change nothing. /He is not here to bless or comfort, to join a war or stop one. Still, capacious imagery challenges philosophy: [pigeons] arc across the sky like missiles thrown off course, and creates a beauty that transcends existentialist angst: drafts/From the roof and door pulled the fire one way, then another. The terrible beauty that exists, to borrow a phrase from Rilke, because Franklin's angel will make you think of Rilke, shows you that though pain is never symmetrical, your own grief will be balanced by a belief in something larger than death. You will find harmony in a refuge of cellos and resilience in waking from a dream laughing."
—Jane Ann Fuller

"If the angel struggles to remain aloof and elevated, 'Even though he could spread his wings / And be elsewhere, the angel stands still in the road,' the saint embraces the muck of imperfection, 'he will consider your hands. What kind of work does this one do? He disdains hands without callouses.' In the masterful language of George Franklin, the angel and the saint can be memorable observers of the human tragedy, celestially poetic step-siblings, or powerful window to look from at who we are. You choose. Yet, I think Mr. Franklin would agree, the third option will open your eyes to examine your own life. Let these poems do that."
—Juan Pablo Mobili

"Angels and saints occupy a decent amount of space in poetry, but George Franklin's angel and saint bring them to our doorstep the way few poets have or can. His angel is empathetic and sad over human tragedy, but he knows he can offer no relief—he's only a witness for eternity. Both the angel and the saint sometimes engage with humans (the angel's talk with the philosopher and the saint's talk with the librarian are priceless), including with train conductors, gamblers, and others just trying to get by. The angel writes letters and cheers on explorers, whereas the saint is more cynical and employs a more austere lens, though both want to know so much more about the often-difficult mysteries of living. The philosopher says to the angel: Everything I am, I have put into my books. But we know there's more. And so, on we all go, a fallen angel asking: What is even a moment of such happiness worth? And the librarian closing the door of the cabin and walking home again. George Franklin has given us huge vistas for our backyards in this thoughtful, brilliant book."
—Tim Suermondt