by Anne Sexton
My personal life has been hell lately. Nothing to do with the book which is out and is getting some good quotes and one good review that I’ve seen (saw it before its publication). God knows I’ll see plenty of lousy ones in print before I’m done. But hell. It’s out. A few people have bought it. Some like it. What more can I ask. The life of poetry is saving me (I hope) as some things are as bad as I’ve ever known. I am sometimes totally lost from the world. Maybe I am crazy and will never get really well. God knows I’ve been working at it long enough.
If you find the time to read my book and if you can think of anything good to say about it (without forcing the issue) you could send it to H.M. Co, 2 Park St. Boston—they are trying to collect some quotes for an ad. I would rather you just wrote me the TRUTH.
Or both.
Or, if none, it is okay. I understand you better than you guess and do not expect you to be able (particularly right now) to be capable of this task. I don’t De, suggest it as a task. But, if you should happen to read it out of queriosity—you know? And then, if you feel like one thing or the other …
It would be okay. But also okay if you don’t.
I am sorry to miss you this trip. I wonder if I’ll ever hug your big fat self again. I am very fond of you. I am your bean sprout, you know. Though how the hell I can be I don’t know. But still I am. I am stubborn. I AM!
My family is well. It’s me that stinks. Jesus. But I won’t trouble you with me troubles today. What are you doing/going to this summer? Have you found an Island to go to? Or will you stick by your analyst? Mine leaves for Australia for three entire months on June 1st and for one summer I have no conferences to go to and no escape from being left. But then—it would be relatively simple if that were my only problem.
Oh suds. Enough of my hurts. My book is out. How can I complain? De, dearly De. I am so damn glad you got The Pulitzer. Since I have seen you I have met lots of poets—but none like you. And read much poetry—but none like yours. Whether or not the world acclaimed you, I would have continued to do so. Still, good for the world. For a change, good for it. It did a good job.
in haste
Your Annie
XO for winning
P.S. Write me—even a note—I need a letter!
PLEASE!X OXOXOXOXO for existing
[To Carolyn Kizer]
[40 Clearwater Road]
May 23rd, 1960
Dear Carolyn,
Your letter cheers! God damn it! How pleased I am that you like the book as a whole. And how extra nice that David Wagoner likes it too. I think his poetry is great, as I am sure I have told you. […]
I didn’t see the Kunitz-Roethke blast at Wesleyan, though I did see Roethke at a party at Lowell’s house. The party wasn’t too wild and I did have a small chance to talk to Roethke (mostly about you … I mean, I felt you were the thing we had in common) … He thinks your Poetry Northwest a very good magazine and I spoke mostly in praise of your (you yourself, not your magazine) poems.
About De Snodgrass getting the Pulitzer. Of course, he IS my good friend so I couldn’t help but be pleased. But I have never told anyone what you just said and I DO think you are right—he has not cracked the shell of his own ego. Not yet. I think he will, though. I really do. But not yet, not yet. I know, because I know him. His poems are all truth (so to speak) but not the real truth yet. (that is if you think the greatness of a poem depends on its intrinsic truth to the action). […] As you say, you’ve been there yourself, God knows … But Carolyn, I rather like poems or stories about a “contemporary dilemma”. Why not? What other dilemma would you suggest?… I (actually, personally etc) think he could have presented the SAME dilemma a little better … But then, I love him, in my way, and when I first read his “Heart’s Needle” (the poem) was terribly touched.—In a big rush, but with love,—good luck on your book. I promise to read, buy and promote it all the way in and around Boston. Hope they do a good job with it (as you say, H.M. Co. did do a swish job with mine and I’m quite happy with THAT)
Write me news when you can.
If you get out around Boston let me know in advance so that [we] can meet.
I’ll write a better longer more knowledgeable letter some time, if I can.
With best love,
.……
Anne
[To W. D. Snodgrass]
[40 Clearwater Road]
June 27th, 1960
Dearly De,
Hi Snodsy! I have just ten minutes in which to write you a quick note. I thought of you, suddenly, I had words that I wished to speak to you across the void.
I say them with love, as if I turned to you from reading a book and you looked up from yours and listened and understood that I meant them with love, with known fondness … as if we had been together for years and I just suddenly said them because I just suddenly thought them.
As I will show you thoughtwise it went. De. Yes De. He has written a great book and got the prize he wanted. But how is he now. With his prize and all. I hope he is good. But I don’t know. Maybe he is unhappy or sick a little or just confused. I don’t know. But, if it would mean anything to him, I’d say.
So okay. “Heart’s Needle” is a great poem. But you have better than that inside you. To hell with their prize and their fame. You’ve got to sit down now and write some more “real” … write me some blood. That is why you were great in the first place. Don’t let prizes stop you from your original courage, the courage of an alien. Be still, that alien, who wrote “real” when no one really wanted it. Because, that is the one thing that will save (and I do mean save) other people. Prizes won’t. Only you will.
So okay.
Lovingly, dearly, with all beliefs in you, Snodsy who first saved me and gave me back my daughter—because his poem held me and hurt me and made me cry. And I hadn’t cried and I needed to.
If this doesn’t suit your present needs, ignore it as you should. I only mean it as a sudden sincere and tender thought to you.
Did I tell you that the new poems in Hudson were great? They are!
All my best, dear to you and Jan and
all of yours
Anne
[To W. D. Snodgrass]
[40 Clearwater Road]
August 6th 7th 8th or something like that [1960]
Sweet Snodsy,
Yes I forgive you always for not writing. So don’t worry. I accept you the way you are. You are special enough to take the way you are (silent or noisy) … my good dear Snodsy. I knew of course that things would be bad so I wrote as a note of simple love. No more, no less. […]
You said “forgive me for griping in this letter” … Jesus! What have we got each other for if not to gripe. I have nothing but gripes. I seem to be much sicker lately and it is really throwing me. I wish I had the money for a real analysis. I have been going on this three times a week basis for over 4 years. Shit! That’s all I can say. Just shit. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life anymore. What a mess.
Don’t worry about reading my book. You’ll get around to it sometime. I hope you’ll like it when you do. I live in horrors of doubt about it … waiting for the lousy reviews. None lousy yet—so far anyhow. In your same issue of Hudson (crime and punish) Louis Simpson did a review of my book (the last book reviewed) and he liked it quite a lot. And I had a good one in The New York Times … a long one there. But then … more will come … time will tell. And there is no guarantee that the reviews mean anything anyhow. But you know yourself that you can’t stop caring.
Maxine’s book comes out next year (’61) and she is up for the Lamont. I tell her it won’t matter, but she is like you were—she wants it. At least I didn’t go through that … I didn’t try for it … my publisher’s decission. Note that I can’t spell anything today as I am feeling rather crazy. Only poetry saves me (and by poetry I don’t mean getting famous but the writing of it) … I am in the middle of work or attempted work and interrupt it to write you a note, to your unknown address, to
a known human, Snodsy whom I love.
We bought Linda a 2 wheeler bike for her 7th birthday. She is thriving and can swim and dive and all that. She is not as shy as she was … Joy is the same, a little buzz of life and love. Linda can read. I wrote her a children’s story which she loves but that won’t sell. I haven’t made any money in ages! Are you going to try for a Guggy this year? If you don’t I’d like to use you to recommend me. Is that possible? If not don’t worry … there are all sorts of people who like the book now … Don’t worry about not writing me or reading the book. I’d rather have you write me than read the book if you’re ever faced with the choice.
All best love to you and Jan
and all of your emotional hotel,
Dear de,
love from Anne
That summer Anne took two seminars in English literature at Brandeis University, one with Philip Rahv, editor of The Partisan Review, and one with the critic Irving Howe. At this time she also met the poet Stephen Spender, editor of Encounter. With the encouragement of these men, she was finally able to do much of the reading she had missed earlier in her life.
[To Philip Rahv]
40 Clearwater Road
[October 8th, 1960]
Dear Mr. Rahv,
Here is a group of poems. I am totally unsure of them and wouldn’t send them now except that: one, I am listing you as a sponsor on a Guggenheim application (assuming that this will be okay with you from our talks this summer); and two, that my psychiatrist says that I worry obsessively about failing. So I should fail!
Well, I told you I’d send you a group by Sept. 1st and yet I keep looking at this group and feeling that it is not good enough. I am not worrying about your returning it, but about your printing it. If you return it, I will be relieved, I think. The reason I go into all this is that ordinarily I would not send you a large group if I were not perfectly satisfied myself. However, I know it’s not lousy—my trouble is that I want everything to be great. I think the last poem, “In the Deep Museum” [PO], of the group is the best (that means “great”, I suppose).
About the quote … do you think it works? I like it and would like to keep it … but need your opinion. I am willing to take “A Curse Against Elegies” [PO] out of the group. I am least sure of its tone. However, please don’t just take one of these and send back the rest as I would like them to be printed as a group. I would, however, be willing to shuffle, rearrange or discuss this group and any changes you can think up. (You see, I’m making you work as an editor.)
If you feel that this group is not quite good enough please return them as I would rather wait and print only a very good group in Partisan. Although you mentioned that it would help me get a fellowship to have a group “featured” in Partisan, I now realize that the poems themselves mean more to me. That is, I want a fellowship because I am a poet—not that I am a poet because I want a fellowship. There is a difference.
I hope you don’t mind that I listed you as a sponsor without asking you formally first. I started to send these to you in September along with a letter … but, as I said, I became worried about being “great”. And so it goes.
I hope it won’t take you terribly long with this group … certainly not as long as it took me to send them in!
I enjoyed the course this summer. I am still reading … Mann’s essays at this point.
All best,
Anne Sexton
[To W. D. Snodgrass]
[40 Clearwater Road]
October 11th, 1960
De Darling,
What awful news! God! Can I help! I could lend you $500.00 if it would help? Would it? I have enough right now that is sitting untouched but will eventually go to my psychiatrist. But won’t need it until after March 1st. Would it help …? For time being? You must continue your therapy! Of course! And someone, some grant or foundation or something will come to your aid. But, if in the meantime you can’t get the cash to pay the Dr.’s (for both of you) and could use a loan. Then the next mail will bring my check. Really. I don’t mean it lightly, but truly.!!!
Oh, dear dear De … you come to my help so readily when I send you an “I need you letter” … is there anything I can do for you? If there ever is and I ever can, please send me an “I need you” … okay?
What’s wrong with me? you ask. Jesus, it has been too long since we have talked, too long and too complicated. To put it simply I have had the Flu since Sept. 1st and want a Guggy but was getting exhausted trying to write to sponsors and explaining the whole thing. I felt that you were the one person I need not explain to. Okay?
Aside from the Flu which is just now getting better (damn sick with it for four weeks) … life is complicated. My Dr. went to Australia for four months this summer and this almost undid me … you know, in those awful emotional ways … But, I am still trying. Am going to him again now and slowly getting back to work (on that Cross) … This summer I took two courses at Brandeis … one with Irving Howe and one with Philip Rahv. Howe had written me a “fan letter” about my book … so I got a fellowship for the two courses. Rahv is a very exciting teacher. Howe says he may do an article about you and me (!!!!) for some mag. I forget which. Stephen Spender also gave a course there this summer. He is very nice. I didn’t take his course but he asked me (when I met him) to please send him some poems for Encounter which I haven’t yet. Rahv asked me how I liked being a success … and I started to shake all over and couldn’t even light a cig. All very neurotic. My Dr. says I am obsessed with the fear of failure and so don’t dare send out my poems now as they may not be any good. And so it goes. So-called success frightens me as … oh, you know. I think you do, anyhow.
At any rate, if I could get a Guggy it would help on the home front among other things. Kayo (who we all agree is better than I deserve and all) does resent the poetry and sometimes I feel chained to this place … not to him … but to this suburban place. If I could go to Europe for three months with Joy and Linda it would help me become unchained, grow up, look around, become a me without him (not leave him … at all … I don’t mean that. I mean becoming me without always leaning on him and his mother who lives, almost, at our house) … all very complicated. It has something to do with identity. I am getting to be a better mother though … much more sure of myself than when you were here.
God! I hate Wayne Un. for you! The Prix de Rome, a Ford, a Guggy and all. You are famous! But then, I knew all that when I first read “Heart’s Needle”! I’m glad though, that everyone can recognize real genius when they see it. I think (privately) that it is unfortunate that they ever compare your book with Lowell’s. (Yours is so much better—!) I don’t find them the least alike. Do you? (truthfully, I mean).
I know this letter is all mistyped but I’m writing in 15 min. and must go fast. Hurry, hurry, hurry … hear me! Dear dear De, thank you for your good letter. It restores my faith in all of humanity!
I liked your article on Dosty [Dostoyevsky]—most especially because I had just finished reading Crime and Punishment. I had never read any Russian stuff and just love it. It is right down my alley!
Since last June I have written 7 bad poems. I know they are bad. I have reworked them until I loathe them. Finally, in disgust, I sent them all out. I am tired of trying to be great. My Dr. says I will have to learn how to fail. So out they go. Let the bastards print them and then everyone will know I stink! (how’s that for being a mess?) … But what else can I do? I keep thinking I have lost it. But what is it? I didn’t used to be afraid. Now I am. When you get to a certain point editors just take your stuff, no matter if it is good or bad and then you have to be your own super ego. I am scared of being my own super ego. But then … The New Yorker took one of them for $250.00!!! Of course, The New Yorker isn’t anything really. But that is one reason I could lend you that $500.00 if you wish. Still, I don’t feel as if The New Yorker were an effective “super ego” …
But these are just minor worries. All so trivial. There is no one new who is dead, at a
ny rate. And that is something for me as I seem to specialize in dead people. Guilt. Guilt. etc. I guess I told you that Kayo’s father was killed this March. The girl across the street died of cancer this August ([…] I said that she ought to die) … why don’t I keep my big mouth shut!
Dear De, dear dear De. I love your letter. Of course you will swing lots of weight with the Guggy! I have 11 other people but I like your weight the most! So there. I don’t really expect to get it … but it can’t hurt to try.
I’m glad to have your address and phone number … If you ever are around our phone has changed and is not in the book. It is De 2-0101.
Lovingly,
Anne
in haste—hope things are better by now—write when you can—my love to Jan & all your kids—
[To Nolan Miller]
40 Clearwater Road
November 14, 1960
Dear Nolan:
[…] Hello. Are you okay? I’m still here, not doing much—not writing enough, not writing good strong stuff—just coasting along with all my needles threaded, too busy worrying to sew. Worrying? Well, it is a difficult period … one book out, most reviews in, and the feeling that I’m a fraud, that I didn’t write the thing but that I stole it somewhere. New poems come slow … the fun’s gone. Or maybe it’s just now, maybe soon, maybe sooner I’ll get it back. I have about 25 pages toward a second book but some of it isn’t too good … I am allowing myself weaknesses that I wouldn’t have permitted a while ago. Or maybe I’m wrong … maybe not weak. Hell-bell! I worry obsessivly (can’t spell that one) and can’t seem to feel that I’m lousy or great … but both. Have a feeling that they (magazine editors) take my poems without reading or judging them … they were my super ego. I have a large group coming out in the Spring (I think) Hudson (some that you have seen) and they are okay I guess … also have a group of 6 coming out sometime soon in Partisan and they are the ones that worry me. Well, just today I made up my mind that to-hell-with-it, and that I’m not going to worry if they stink. They are a bad dream that I’ll put away. Do you think that is okay? Okay, I mean, to put away bad poems like bad dreams even when you have allowed them to be printed, revealed etc. It is all I can do.