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A poem by Anne Sexton on her 105th birthday
The Black Art
The Black Art
A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren’t enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.
A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren’t enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.
Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.
Anne Sexton
Anne Sexton (1928-1974) was an American poet who epitomized the style of confessional poetry which emerged in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Other exemplars of this style include her friend Sylva Plath and Robert Lowell. Her poems are highly personal and explore her struggle with mental illness, alcoholism, and suicide, and many are written within the context of her relationship with her husband and children. Despite a successful career as a poet—she received the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1967—she committed suicide soon after completing her eighth book of verse. She was born on November 9.
Here's something you might be interested in.
A poem by Anne Sexton on her 105th birthday
The Black Art
A poem by Anne Sexton on her 105th birthday
The Black Art
The Black Art
A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren’t enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.
A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren’t enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.
Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.
Anne Sexton
Anne Sexton (1928-1974) was an American poet who epitomized the style of confessional poetry which emerged in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Other exemplars of this style include her friend Sylva Plath and Robert Lowell. Her poems are highly personal and explore her struggle with mental illness, alcoholism, and suicide, and many are written within the context of her relationship with her husband and children. Despite a successful career as a poet—she received the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1967—she committed suicide soon after completing her eighth book of verse. She was born on November 9.
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