Added: Magdalen Donald - Date: 27.02.2022 17:13 - Views: 17017 - Clicks: 5761
Here is a glimpse. Not there. I try the Back Bay. And yet I know the Peter gabriel 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 it well. Where did you go? I walk in a yellow dress and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes, enough pills, my wallet, my keys, and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five? I walk. I hold matches at street s for it is dark, as dark as the leathery dead and I have lost my green Ford, my house in the suburbs, two little kids sucked up like pollen by the bee in me and a husband who has wiped off his eyes in order not to see my inside out and I am walking and looking and this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
Bolt the door, mercy, erase therip down the streetwhat can Peter gabriel mercy street matter, what can it matter to this cheapskate who wants to own the past that went out on a dead ship and left me only with paper? I open my pocketbook, as women do, and fish swim back and forth between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out, one by one and throw them at the street s, and shoot my pocketbook into the Charles River. Next I pull the dream off and slam into the cement wall of the clumsy calendar I live in, my life, and its hauled up notebooks. Here is Anne Sexton at home. In the first poem she muses on death. She has a masculine way of talking, a strong voice and very matter-of-fact.
Yes she was. She smiles when she hugs her daughter. But the darkness was never very far away and the inner demons persisted.
A few years after these informal home movies, she threw down a glass of vodka and went into the garage, shut all the doors, started up the car, and died of carbon monoxide inhalation. Did you enjoy this piece? We are member-supported, so your donation is critical to KCRW's music programming, news reporting, and cultural coverage. Help support the DJs, journalists, and staff of the station you love.
Music News. Written by Tom Schnabel Nov. Pulling out the papers from the drawers that slide smooth Tugging at the darkness, word upon word. Both poems seethe with a boiling darkness just under the surface. There is plenty of sexual suggestion warm velvet boxas well as allusions to the unconscious the sea, darkness, the unseen. Sexton spent eight years in psychotherapy.
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