Quote

Take a woman talking, purging herself with rhymes, drumming words out like a typewriter, planting words in you like grass seed. You'll move off.

Anne Sexton

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Anne Sexton
Age: 45 †
Born: 1928
Born: November 9
Died: 1974
Died: October 4
Poet
Writer
Newton
Massachusetts
Anne Gray Harvey
Woman
Typewriters
Moving
Rhyme
Women
Seed
Take
Seeds
Purging
Like
Grass
Drumming
Move
Rhymes
Talking
Planting
Words
Typewriter

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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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There is hope. There is hope everywhere. Today God give milk and I have the pail.
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Rocks crumble, make new forms, oceans move the continents, mountains rise up and down like ghosts yet all is natural, all is change.
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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.
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The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.
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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
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My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives
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With this pen I take in hand my selves and with these dead disciples I will grapple. Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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In an old time there was a king as wise as a dictionary.
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I put the gold star up in the front window beside the flag. Alterations is what I know and what I did: hems, gussets and seams.
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And if I tried to give you something else, something outside myself, you would not know that the worst of anyone can be, finally, an accident of hope
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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.
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