Anne Sexton

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

Said The Poet To The Analyst - Poem by Anne Sexton

My business is words. Words are like labels,
or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
I confess I am only broken by the sources of things;
as if words were counted like dead bees in the attic,
unbuckled from their yellow eyes and their dry wings.
I must always forget how one word is able to pick
out another, to manner another, until I have got
something I might have said…
but did not.
Your business is watching my words. But I
admit nothing. I work with my best, for instance,
when I can write my praise for a nickel machine,
that one night in Nevada: telling how the magic jackpot
came clacking three bells out, over the lucky screen.
But if you should say this is something it is not,
then I grow weak, remembering how my hands felt funny
and ridiculous and crowded with all
the believing money.

Topic(s) of this poem: words


Comments about Said The Poet To The Analyst by Anne Sexton

  • D.l. Aceves (12/23/2013 11:03:00 PM)


    Line 8 [somethhing] should be [something] (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, March 29, 2010

Poem Edited: Saturday, February 21, 2015


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