Anne Sexton

(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974 / Newton, Massachusetts)

Anne Sexton Poems

81. Small Wire 3/29/2010
82. The Earth 3/29/2010
83. Locked Doors 3/29/2010
84. Where It Was At Back Then 3/29/2010
85. The Wifebeater 3/29/2010
86. The Civil War 3/29/2010
87. The Twelve Dancing Princesses 3/29/2010
88. With Mercy For The Greedy 3/29/2010
89. The Touch 3/29/2010
90. The Break Away 3/29/2010
91. The Gold Key 3/29/2010
92. For The Year Of The Insane 3/29/2010
93. Flee On Your Donkey 3/29/2010
94. The Dead Heart 3/29/2010
95. August 8th 6/27/2006
96. It Is A Spring Afternoon 3/29/2010
97. Lessons In Hunger 3/29/2010
98. Gods 3/29/2010
99. The Nude Swim 3/29/2010
100. Mr. Mine 3/29/2010
101. More Than Myself 3/29/2010
102. Lobster 3/29/2010
103. Noon Walk On The Asylum Lawn 3/29/2010
104. The Evil Eye 3/29/2010
105. The Ambition Bird 3/29/2010
106. Clothes 7/11/2006
107. The Breast 3/29/2010
108. The Fury Of Flowers And Worms 3/29/2010
109. An Obsessive Combination Of Onotological Inscape, Trickery And Love 6/27/2006
110. Doctors 3/29/2010
111. Unknown Girl In A Maternity Ward 3/29/2010
112. Woman With Girdle 3/29/2010
113. August 17th 6/27/2006
114. End, Middle, Beginning 3/29/2010
115. Oh 3/29/2010
116. Hurry Up Please It's Time 3/29/2010
117. Us 3/29/2010
118. Ghosts 3/29/2010
119. Cockroach 7/11/2006
120. In Celebration Of My Uterus 3/29/2010

Comments about Anne Sexton

  • Franko Macan (3/4/2014 6:37:00 AM)

    Red Roses, was the first of Anne's poems I ever read. A powerful emoatinal peices comparable to Paula Meehan's poem about her dead Mother.
    It helped me embark on a story of my life, which Ihope to have publishes, which includes childhood psychological and emoational abuse leading to bouts of adult Schizophrenia, and many other issues. Thanks Anne where ever you are; hopefully with the other great pure of hearts too good for this world, like Elvis. To me you were the Elvis of poetry. Out there in a league of your own: the Queen of poets, giving many lesser mortals like me inspiration.

    27 person liked.
    43 person did not like.
  • Thomas Revitt (8/31/2013 9:34:00 PM)

    45 Mercy Street is one of the great American poems. It reflects American every day life and individual loneliness and loss, and it captures them both almost in the same line.

  • Samanthia Moore Samanthia Moore (6/25/2013 3:19:00 PM)

    I really like anne saxton, she is a really good writter. besides what critics think of her i think shes amazing.

  • Kevin Patrick (11/28/2012 10:16:00 PM)

    A fabulous poet, her use of language is commanding, Anne was a modern poet who did not use any of the clichés of pretentious Victorianism, her subjects are tough and emotional, she talks about the dark side because she lived in the dark side and you will never get a better depiction of depression then from this woman.

  • Kaye Rose (5/7/2012 7:22:00 PM)

    Anne Sexton is my absolute favorite poet. She wasn't ever afraid to tackle a subject and I admire that; it's a mystery what might have come from her had she not committed suicide. We lost some great work most likely due to that.

  • Cherie Chetyrbok (2/21/2012 12:39:00 AM)

    Excellent poet. One of my All-Time favorites.

  • Amy Marie Amy Marie (12/19/2010 3:43:00 PM)

    I love her style. I recently made her one of my three favorite poets :)

  • fleur de lys (7/25/2009 10:39:00 PM)

    She gets on my nerves too but I can't think of title 'The Awful Rowing Towards God' without smiling.

  • Indigo Hawkins (2/15/2008 4:42:00 PM)

    Sexton gets on my nerves. A lot. Some of her witticisms are hilarious, though.

Best Poem of Anne Sexton

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
outstared me.
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 ...

Read the full of For John, Who Begs Me Not To Enquire Further

Her Kind

have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,

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