Anne Sexton

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

Anne Sexton Poems

161. Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs 6/27/2006
162. Angels Of The Love Affair 6/27/2006
163. Clothes 7/11/2006
164. And One For My Dame 6/27/2006
165. The Truth The Dead Know 6/27/2006
166. Consorting With Angels 7/11/2006
167. Demon 7/11/2006
168. Her Kind 6/27/2006
169. The Kiss 6/27/2006
170. An Obsessive Combination Of Onotological Inscape, Trickery And Love 6/27/2006
171. All My Pretty Ones 3/29/2010
172. Despair 7/11/2006
173. A Curse Against Elegies 6/27/2006
174. Buying The Whore 6/27/2006
175. Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women 7/11/2006
176. Music Swims Back To Me 6/27/2006
177. Again And Again And Again 6/27/2006
178. Barefoot 6/27/2006
179. Admonitions To A Special Person 6/27/2006
180. A Story For Rose On The Midnight Flight To Boston 6/27/2006
181. Cinderella 7/11/2006
182. Baby Picture 6/27/2006
183. Anna Who Was Mad 6/27/2006
184. Courage 7/11/2006
185. Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty) 6/27/2006
186. Christmas Eve 6/27/2006
187. After Auschwitz 6/27/2006
188. 45 Mercy Street 6/27/2006

Comments about Anne Sexton

  • 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.

    79 person liked.
    58 person did not like.
  • 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

45 Mercy Street

In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the ...

Read the full of 45 Mercy Street

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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