How did Anne Sexton's suicide affect you? This is my poem about it.?

Question

SINCE SEXTON

Lately, I paint my fingernails and think of
nineteen year old Louie
prodigy design engineer
whistling at the coffee machine.
As yet, he doesn't come looking for me but
I'm familiar with his
prick. It comes, one way or another, in showers and
bed sheets, young ladies and possibly
doughnut holes.

So it goes.

He's kind of cute in his young man way. Maybe older
than I think but I'd still
clobber him on a date. So well I know
my older woman ways.

And this is the lightest thought which has
struck me since
June.

In October, other than thoughts in which Louie is
contained
Sexton is dead.
My father's farme spirit goes on, dying. My friend's
cervix
corrodes
with cancer.
My lover lives
with his family
in L.A.

Other than the respite of remembering
Louie exists
in my mind
uncomplex and
innocent
in small ways
a change of fingernail paint makes life
easy.
Like smoking a cigarette without the threat
of cancer.

Added:
Strange, the attachments I form out of desperation.

I woke up today, twelve hours later.
A narcotic let me sleep.
I just took one but
with waking it leaves a wordless, spiting headache.
I slept undisturbed.
The pain never stirred my disguise.
I left the tears with Lady Sexton
half eulogized,
worried talks with Maggi
blurred
in the ink of a telephone bill.
My lover,
the same; in Phoenix, Port Chester, New York and San Diego.

As for my strange father
I've had my fill
of whiskey phone calls
pleas
to come home
to nurse or ingest
his staggering depression.

The shutters clap on
in suburban Massachusetts.
The wind spills the leaves.
They fall
on the same side of the street
yearly.

Ask anyone,
"Who rakes each autumn lawn?"

Farmer Brown tends that fruitless garden like the French eyed their Bastille.
Any day I'll feel him
skinning his own hide; my life time premonition of suicide.

Added:
Sometimes I wonder who'll win out
folly, or some foggy belief in a later redemption.
Both ride his life like the leaves.

And by now you wonder, "How did Louie bring her to this?"
How did Louie, between the old and the new colored nails, bring her to this?

Lately, to banish what I used to call my pain, I've tried convincing myself that I'm wrong about everything.

So, I caught Louie one day.
And cathing his light sway as he walked
and catching his youth as he nervously talked
and catching his song at the coffee machine
made me a split second more happy.

Louie looked rather untapped.
I was glad not to know him.
I was glad to believe he might not know
to sniff
the wine bottle cork
before sipping.

I was thrilled
to imagine
my little Louie
over-cologned
for every first date.

I wanted him young.
I wanted him to stay
distant.

I reasoned
Louie never heard of Sexton
cervical cancer
tragic heroes or
actual love affairs.

ADDED:
Louie's charm kept things nice.
Louie's youth kept bodies warm.

You've seen where sophistication gets us.

But Louie will take his place
eventually
as I have taken mine
lustily
with all the goings on.

Already, painting my fingernails isnt't the same.

Soon, Louie won't be sweet or my secret
anymore.
And then, there's one other
since Sexton
coming home.
Nothing is wasted more than myself
in a poem.

Sandro, I'm so glad we aren't in China.
And I've been there.
Margot

Chocolate,
Anne is a well known poet amongst those who care about poetry. Nobody is endorsing suicide here.
Margot

Annie, you seem to care and to be familiar with Anne. She's a tough read,but I loved her.
Margot

Yes, Junkie, her suicide was a waste. I so identified with her that I had to rethink everything when she offed herself. Hence, the poem.

I've got all her books, several autographed to me. I've also got one of her bios. Her daughter edited and published some of her posthumous work. I felt a connection to Anne because I felt we had similar challenges in our lives. So her suicide was tough to accept.

Salene, if I ever run for political office I want you to be my advance PR person!

ObscureB,
Your poem was worth the forfeit of a critique for mine. It was mature, measured, yet evocative. Thank you for sharing it. Did Peter Gabriel write the lyrics for the Mercy Street title on the url you gave me?
Margot

Obscure,
I met Peter in 1993 in LA. I was meeting a photographer for breakfast. The photographer was trying to sell my employer a coffee table book sponsorship. Peter strolled by and sat with us for 10 or 15 minutes. I didn't know who he was until he left. He was totally unassuming. Hard not to like him on first impression. Nevertheless, your poem beats mine by a mile, even if comparing apples to oranges. And both of our poems beat his lyrics, in my estimation. Although his lyrics are good, and especially, rare for pop.

Willow,
Your initial reaction floored me. Do read it again and comment if you can. You seem to have gotten all that Sexton's suicide recalled for me and why her decision had such an impact on me.
No, I haven't read RH. Can you direct me to a couple of his works that you think I might enjoy?
Thank you.

Answer 1

In love with the idea of dying young,
In love with therapy and damage;
to heal would be too much.
The reinstated self:
better to reexamine the broken glass,
than drink from the whole?
Suicide, the fulfilment, the logical choice
from a fractal world,
Would we follow Woolf in the water,
--Or Plath to the oven--
To speak the shallow depths of our pain?
The damaged and the broken and the whole
who follow your words and forget the life
despite the willful muddle.
You should have been Shakespeare's sister,
work towering, life following,
but you lived the worst of the poets' excess.
Grandness gave way to blight,
the works fell second to the loathing, the life.
"Anne, with her father is out in the boat
riding the water
riding the waves on the sea"


Yes, Peter Gabriel wrote the song "Mercy Street" on his album SO for her. She was a wonderful poet; it's a shame she chose the path she did.

I thought your poem was great: you inspired mine; that's my critique.

Answer 2

Margot, always enjoy your posts. This one could use some minor tweaking, editing, but mostly typo's and grammar stuff...a few line break oddities, but very Sextonesque. The comment about being familiar with Louie's...well, you know, threw me a bit because it seemed out of context/character...until you remember to "whom" this poem was dedicated. Mature for sure. I've written a few poems on former-living poets, but I won't bother you with posting my stuff on your question. I've written nothing quite like "this" one...although maybe I should try.

Edit your poem for the minor glitches (most would be caught in spell-check) and get it posted on something related to Sexton...I can't imagine anyone true to her poetry objecting or not wanting to include your poem.

nicely done

Answer 3

Sexton is dead.

One of the first poets I read before I started writing was Sexton. Her death came as a shock and a great loss (although her death had long since occured before I picked up my first book of her poems, I simply had no idea). It was hard to reconcile some of it in my mind.

Excellent poem though I just wish you were never given the inspiration for it--I'm sure you feel the same way.

Answer 4

Oh Margot! This is stunning, sent me staggering for a place to sit, for a second to breath. I don't think I can offer you a critique, I can only wade through your poem, in parts suddenly feeling some salty ocean floor drop out from under me, and I'm in too deep, with the tide rushing and the mystery of everything below me tingling in my veins. This is the sort of writing that must saturate you before you can really approach it. I would like to read this again, many times. Have I asked you yet if you've read Robert Hass? I'm fixated on him. This poem evokes a similar feeling. I am blown away by your integrity and lack of sentimentality. This poem, by virtue of its truth and grace, has taught me as much as your critiques. Thank you.

Answer 5

I was not born yet when Sexton committed suicide and did not start reading her poetry until a few years ago, but her poetry is impressive and will stand as a testament to such a difficult life for a long time to come. I wish her family the best for the effects of having their lives recorded so openly and for the abuse her daughter suffered.

Thanks for this poem and condolences on the loss of your loved ones.

Answer 6

"Again and Again and Again" You said the anger would come back just as the love did. I have a black look I do not like. It is a mask I try on. I migrate toward it and its frog sits on my lips and defecates. It is old. It is also a pauper. I have tried to keep it on a diet. I give it no unction. There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast. I have made a vocation of it. Lust has taken plant in it and I have placed you and your child at its milk tip. Oh the blackness is murderous and the milk tip is brimming and each machine is working and I will kiss you when I cut up one dozen new men and you will die somewhat, again and again. (this one should be fun to analyze, you can easily parallel this to her life or really anything your teacher is looking for )

Answer 7

I very much liked the poem, but am not familiar with the suicide of Anne Sexton. I very much loved the poem though. It was very good and it was long, but I couldn't quit reading. Please keep writing. It was very beautiful.

Answer 8

Very Sextonesque... I like it




As a late starter to poetry I was unaware of A.Sexton until 2001.. her death..a wasted talent.

Answer 9

who's Anne Sexton? and suicide is a sin so y r writing a poem about it anyway