Anne Sexton Poems
- For John, Who Begs Me Not To E...
- I Remember By the first of August the invisible beetles ...
- 45 Mercy Street In my dream, drilling into the marrow of ...
- Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty) Consider a girl who keeps ...
- After Auschwitz Anger, as black as a hook, overtakes me. ...
- Courage It is in the small things we see it. The child's ...
- Music Swims Back To Me Wait Mister. Which way is home? They...
an American poet, known for her highly personal, confessional verse. She won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1967. Themes of her poetry include her suicidal tendencies, long battle against depression and various intimate details from her private life, including her relationships with her husband and children.
Early Life and Family
Sexton was born in Newton, Massachusetts, and spent most of her life near Boston. In 1945, Sexton began attending a boarding school, Rogers Hall, in Lowell, Massachusetts. For a time as a young woman, she modeled at Boston's Hart Agency. She eloped in 1948 with Alfred Muller Sexton, known as 'Kayo.' Before their divorce in the early 1970s, ... more »
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Quotationsmore quotations »
''“As it has been said:Anne Sexton
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.”''
''“Watch out for intellect,Anne Sexton, The Complete Poems
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down,
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth.” ''
''“Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.” ''Anne Sexton
“Anne, I dont want to live. . . . Now listen, life is lovely, but I Cant Live It. I cant even explain. I know how silly it sounds . . . but if you knew how it Felt. To be alive, yes, alive, but not be...Anne Sexton, Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters
''“As for me, I am a watercolor.Anne Sexton
I wash off.” ''
For John, Who Begs Me Not To Enquire Further
Not that it was beautiful,
but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
something worth learning
in that narrow diary of my mind,
in the commonplaces of the asylum
where the cracked mirror
or my own selfish death
And if I tried
to give you something else,
something outside of myself,
you would not know
that the worst of anyone
can be, finally,
an accident of hope.
I tapped my own head;
it was a glass, an inverted bowl.
It is a small thing
to rage in your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it ...