November 25, 2014 / by admin / American Literature / No Comments

Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters

Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters

Anne Sexton, Linda Gray Sexton

Language: English

Pages: 480

ISBN: 0618492429

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


An expression of an extraordinary poet's life story in her own words, this book shows Anne Sexton as she really was in private, as she wrote about herself to family, friends, fellow poets, and students. Anne's daughter Linda Gray Sexton and her close confidant Lois Ames have judiciously chosen from among thousands of letters and provided commentary where necessary. Illustrated throughout with candid photographs and memorabilia, the letters -- brilliant, lyrical, caustic, passionate, angry -- are a consistently revealing index to Anne Sexton's quixotic and exuberant personality.

Rip van Winkle (Ilustrado)

Deception

The House of the Seven Gables

The Rise of David Levinsky (Penguin Classics)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although I lie pressed close to your warm side, I know you find me vacant and preoccupied. If my thoughts could find one safe walled home Then I would let them out to strut and roam. I would, indeed pour me out for you to see, a wanton soul, somehow delicate and free. But instead I have a cup of pain to drink, or I might weed out an old pain to think. Perhaps old wounds have an easy sorrow, easier than knowing you leave me tomorrow. The mind twists and turns within the choice of some

precious friendship. Love as ever, [To Kathleen Spivack] [14 Black Oak Road] January 10, 1974 Dear Kathy, All is rush or pain or shit or glory. I think my life is becoming like the Perils of Pauline. It is exaggerating itself. New book [The Death Notebooks] comes out February 21st (paper as well as cloth). I’d love to see you when one of us isn’t too busy. Love, [To Michael Benedikt] [14 Black Oak Road] January 10, 1974 Dear Michael Benedikt, Hooray for your creeping. May it soon be

sea. The poem is, I think, pretty good … maybe for New Yorker even … but sea no longer calm so can’t work on it or even type it out. When you’ve got hold of a poem and can’t type it out, well, then it must be rocky … We sleep in darkness and daylight does not exist in here, wake at noon and have missed breakfast and today lunch. Strange! The ship, on stern, at night is glorious tho very windy and cold. Last night stood and watched the wake, booming barrels of foam, trailing out … ever, ever. And

not going to send another family letter at ALL … the rest will be just to daddy. I want you to be busy and to be having fun, but I want you also to remember me and more than that to write to me. For every letter you read you ought to be writing one! This is something you ought to learn and if you haven’t … I am the loser … and you two are the losers … for how else can you learn about love … it is giving and receiving, but it works like a swing, it must be pushed both ways. You are old enough to

had made a life for herself in Newton, having come to love her neighbors and her trees. But she forced herself to house-hunt. At first she liked nothing: no matter what qualities a prospective house offered, she rejected it summarily. Then, driving through Weston, Anne noticed a house of an odd olive color. Kayo stopped the car. They got out to look and fell in love with it. The day the moving men came, Anne lay on a sofa at the Robarts’ and sobbed for hours. But by the time spring came around

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