Anne Sexton
Page 34
I’m supposed to be “keeping a journal” about the class and I really can’t bring myself to write in the thing. I hate it. So far it’s quite incoherent (that from Linda who reads it to see what in hell Momie is doing). She has pierced ears and very short skirts, first year of high school. She wants contact lenses and I don’t blame her but we’ll wait until her eyes stop changing. Joy seems older too, in her way, thinning out and even has a beginner bra. Egad!
How are you? How is your wonderful bathroom? How are the books you read and the things you think? Your dogs and their lives? Sarah? The weather? Your feelings? The room where we have room? As far as I’m concerned that room is still there, a little beaten down by the weather and time, but still standing and rather comfortable. Because I didn’t like you leaving me with a dinner party doesn’t mean I want to be kicked out permanently from the room. Sent away from the table, yes. But shoved out of the home, quite another thing. Surely the positive outweighs the negative? Surely friendship and love prevail? I ask. I feel you turned from me and only because of that stupid night. I’ve never given a dinner party since, or really before as a matter of fact. Two to two conversations is more my style. A lot of people confuse me.
I feel you are angry. It keeps me from relaxing in the letter. Am I crazy? (Yes I know I am, but is this feeling crazy?).
I love you,
Anne
[To Muriel Rukeyser]
[14 Black Oak Road]
November 1, 1967
Dear Wonderful Muriel,
I still keep “The Speed of Darkness” on my desk. It glistens here like the first washed flowers in spring when you sent it to me. Section one goes whammy! Then flows out like an infusion of blood into the body. I just want to tell you again, beautiful Muriel, mother of everyone, how I cherish your words as much as the memory of your good face.
Love,
[To Zelda Wirtschafter
Director, Teachers’ and
Writers’ Collaborative]
[14 Black Oak Road]
February 14, 1968
Dear Zelda,
[…] I’m trying to get ahold of a picture of the graffiti blackboard. I think Lila Ederman’s idea of giving every kid a piece of chalk is good. However, we didn’t give it as a homework assignment but as a class participation project. Our kids were shy at first with the exception of a couple of bold ones. We found one of the most interesting things was the way they added to each other’s graffiti changing its meaning. Sometimes the most sullen and refractory students became leaders of the day. One of the main things we stressed was courage. It was called a courage day as well as a graffiti day. I don’t think people write on walls to get a wide audience but rather to declare that piece of wall their own. I think it is the little child in us who wanted to crayon where you weren’t supposed to. The project is disturbing to conformists who have buried that child and possibly at the same time buried the writer in themselves. It is interesting that we see graffiti as a private-public thing. I think maybe the white conservative neighborhood paints over the graffitis that exist whereas in the ghetto areas it is allowed to last. The first thing that was written on our graffiti board was done by me … something like “perhaps God does exist.” This theme was never taken up in anyone else’s graffiti. I’m not sure why.
I’ve been reading [Herbert Kohl’s] Thirty-six Children, and it’s so moving.
Best,
In May of 1968, C. K. Williams became another of Anne’s favorite poets. Always ready to help new poets she found exciting, she wrote a letter in praise of his work to Houghton Mifflin, recommending that they publish him. In September they accepted his book Lies.
[To C. K. Williams]
[14 Black Oak. Road]
May 15, 1968
Dear Charlie,
You are a magnificent writer. Your poems burst with originality. I like best the poem to Anne Frank and have read it over many times. I like “Saint Sex” and “Tails” and many images in other poems. I read with fascination and a deep envy. I questioned where I was going as a poet and all I haven’t done. Please send me more as they come, and if there is anything I can ever do to help you get any of these published, let me know.
Have I got it right or wrong? Do you have a book out entitled Lies, or is this the book? If you have a book, I would love to see it.
With all best wishes,
Anne
Julie Joslyn wrote Anne from a mental hospital in 1968. She identified strongly with Anne’s confessional style and needed to talk with a kindred spirit. Anne wrote back, and a small nourishing correspondence began.
[To Julie Joslyn]
[14 Black Oak Road
circa June 1968]
Dear Julie Joslyn,
I thought of wiring you three daffodils but I write you on yellow-sun paper instead.
The sun will come back, I promise. I don’t know when … but it will, it did for me. True, it hides from me now and then and those are bad days and sometimes even months. Still, I am much better. Your letter evokes my feelings of the past and how well I know how it is with you!
I really did think of sending you those flowers and just this morning, walking into my doctor’s office I saw clusters of dandelions growing on the lawn and I thought dandelions were more sun-like. Could you find any? I think if you would try to look at one—not even three to begin with—just one, it might help. I have a feeling I could hand you one and you’d look at it.
Who are the Berrtons? I mean the people who introduced you to my poems?
Do you know my poem “Live” [LD]? It ends “so I say live, because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.” I too, am in love with the sun. However and strangely, I take a tranquilizer, Thorazine, that makes me sun-allergic so that the thing I love most is a poison. But now that summer comes close I think I’ll try not taking it.
Yes, you can go far down—but you can come back up … you don’t need to die down there—and I know it’s hell … but at least you can reach out to me and to your doctor. That is truly hopeful. I used to say to my doctor “You’re not crazy if you can find one sane person who you can talk to.”
Let me know if you find a dandelion or a daffodil.
Best wishes,
Anne Sexton
Harvard’s Phi Beta Kappa chapter elected her an honorary member on June 11, 1968. In a traditional ceremony in Sanders Theater, Anne became the first woman ever to join the 187-year-old chapter. Reading “December 17th” from “Eighteen Days Without You,” [LP], she dedicated her part in the proceedings to the memory of Robert Kennedy, who had been assassinated on June 5.
[To Paul Brooks]
14 Black Oak Rd.
[circa June 1968]
Dear Paul,
Your note is very touching. I wish that I had a lovely card to reply on. But this yellow working paper is all I have on hand, except business paper that I use for the most formal of occasions such as asking for fellowships.
Your note overwhelms me. What can one say in reply? Tell you that of course I am a witch, an enchantress of sorts and have already been worshipped and hung and in the same order. Now and then. But not very often. And in your case, I very much had the cold feet to think of reading in front of you. I may not look like a coward but I am. At any rate I am enchanted by your note and keep it by me for dark hours. There are a lot of dark hours, the hard hours.
I do suppose poetry is an oral art, as you said after the reading. However, when I am dead, it will be only the page and Houghton Mifflin have put it on the page for me. You can do no more. You gave me a cover I liked (which wasn’t easy, I guess); advertisements just where I wanted and prayed for them to be but didn’t dare ask after all that fuss with the cover. You may not be aware, but The New Yorker and The New York Review of Books is where I wanted ads. And where I found them. My thanks to someone and everyone. I suspect you had a part in it.
You treat me so well at Houghton Mifflin, as I said to Anne Ford, “it is better than having a lover!” Further, my b
ooks are in print. I think I am the luckiest of poets. If and when I have a next book I may have to ask for larger print as this enchantress is getting older and finds it hard to read the print at these poetry readings. See, even witches, those of us who survive worship and hanging, get old.
… But perhaps the work stays young! That is all that matters.
And letters like yours remind me.
Affectionately,
Anne
While Anne was teaching her class at Wayland High School, one of her students set “Ringing the Bells” [TB] to music. The idea caught her interest, and she began reading her poetry to any accompaniment her student could score. The chamber rock group “Anne Sexton and Her Kind” eventually grew out of this unique duet. Anne read “Old” [PO], “Cripples and Other Stories” [LD], “Love Song to K. Owyne” [PO], and “Man and Wife” [LD], using her voice like an instrument, accompanied by a combo of guitar, electric piano, drums, flute, and bass. With Bob Clawson as manager, the group was soon booked for their debut at a Boston nightclub, as a benefit performance for the presidential campaign of Senator Eugene McCarthy.
[To Lois Ames
England]
July 30, 1968
Sexton-Weston
U.S.A.
Dear Lois-of-the-ghost-of-the-Christmas-Come,
This will be my only letter as it is the only two cents stamp I have. And as you know—I can’t get to drugstores and post-offices without aid. My secretary (aide) is away until after Labor Day … Well nevermind that—this is to tell you that I miss you. I have been (except for three hours yesterday) so busy! I can’t retell everything but a few high points (not very interesting ones, but informative) … “Anne Sexton and her Kind” performed its first performance at Eugene’s 2 in Kenmore Square. A benefit for McCarthy and no dough, but a trial run anyhoo. No one could hear us, people drank and talked, the cash register bonged, the glasses clinked, but a few people (the important ones) liked it a lot. Maxine said we’d make a fortune—tho she’s aghast at my performing self—she says it’s Elizabeth. Did I ever tell you about Elizabeth? She’s manic-Anne and sometimes sexy-Anne. You’ve seen her. But perhaps didn’t know her name. My father called me “a-little-bitch.” I thought he meant my name was Elizabeth. Nothing to do with your dear girl, of course. Just my psychiatric history by way of Dr. Martin … At any rate we got a PAID ($1000.00) performance for Sept. 20th at DeCordova Museum in Lincoln. A very swinging place. It was where I first heard Merwin (my first reading ever).
We went to Nantucket and it told us Islands are great, so Kayo and I are going to Bermuda on August 19th to 29th. Only costs $700 in all for the whole thing. Luckily I got a good advance yesterday for Love Poems and it will cover it. We are renting motor bikes, sailboats, fishing, I hope making love, eat, swim, read. I HOPE kayo will talk to me and like me. What a pitiful wish, really …
Linda, my dear one, my pal of my heart, has gone off to camp. I miss her. Took her up Sunday and stayed for a horse show (flies, dust—ugh—as bad as Africa) … I haven’t written her. I love her too much to write. […]
How is ENGLAND, TED HUGHES, ASSIA, THE TOWN, THE CITY, THE STORY?????? Tell me ………….
..………August 2nd now …
I mean to ask Bob [Ames] for dinner shortly, a swim and dinner now that things are quieting down.
The Look article is not finished yet. I’ve seen the pics, tho, and they aren’t bad … from what I could tell from seeing one-inch contacts and trying to guess which they’ll use. They may use my new poem “The Firebombers” [BF]. I’ve forgotten if you like it or not. I have a feeling you didn’t??? She wants to use something new and, I think, something to show I care about the world, the war and all that temporary crap. I do care, but I don’t think caring is the same as good writing.… She is coming up August 13th to start The Paris Review stuff. I wish you had TOLD ME you wanted to do that. I mean you could have done it already!!! […]
Some t.v. man was here to do a program for NBC or CBS … but he didn’t make any sense. I think he is just a dreamer. But it WAS funny. He had the idea I’d travel in a mobile unit all across the country tracking down the U.S. poets. Can you imagine!
What date do you come back?
Any chance of being here for DeCordova? I wish you could be. Ted Hughes has a MARVELOUS poem in the Critical Quarterly, “Second Bed-Time Story.” If you are seeing him, ask him to show it to you and give him my compliments and my best wishes.
Please write. After all I’m just hibernating in the suburbs whereas you are getting THE STORY. Please send some brief reports to your girl
Anne of Weston
Anne
Joyce Sexton loved animals and kept a small mouse named Sassafras. Inspired by Joy’s pet and the mice in the Kumin summer home in New Hampshire, Anne and Maxine began another children’s book. Joey and the Birthday Present (McGraw-Hill, 1971) was begun on the typewriter at the edge of Anne’s swimming pool. Maxine recalls, “[we] took turns banging away on it, then got very caught up in the story and continued in the study, under air conditioning, much arguing and jollying along about the dialogue … I do remember arguing about who first thought of the brilliant key line in Joey! ‘And they both agreed that a birthday present cannot run away.’ It seemed to fall so right that we were both sure it had occurred to us separately.” For each woman these collaborations were a further celebration of their friendship.
[To Joyce Sexton
Warner, New Hampshire]
[14 Black Oak Road
circa August 1968]
Darling Joy!
How wonderfully you did in the show! Wow! Zow! Poew! Bow! Just think, a second in eqetation (sp all wrong!). You ride really well this year and we are happy to see it. It was fun to see you get those ribbons but more fun to SEE YOU. I felt we were really close even though it was a show day. I know that you made a special effort to be close and so did I and boy it was great! It made me very happy, dear Joy, and all bubbling inside. It was fun to see you eating those eggs with such energy. I hope Nana’s food helps some and that you did share it with Linda. I know you did!
The lamb is funny. I like it a lot. Nice wooly coat. I like lambs.
The MOUSE. EKK I THINK IT IS PREGNANT. What did I ever do—getting you Stardust just because of that story—and because I knew you’d really like one. I knew all right. But why did we get a boy? Oh well, perhaps you can give away the baby mice. Meme says baby mice are no bigger than a fingernail. That’s terribly small. Will they escape through the cage? If so we can’t have them in the house!!!!!
At any rate they seem happy together, but I meant to Sas to get a pal, not a lover! Maybe it doesn’t matter to Sas. After all, lovers are pals also. At any rate husbands are.
Cut your fingernails! Write us letters! Write Mrs. Alfred Sexton, Cambridge Beaches, Bermuda …
I love you and miss you!!!!!
MOM XO
XO
XO
XO
Here are some stamps.
Give 2 to Linda & tell her the address.
[To Lois Ames
London, England]
[14 Black Oak Road]
August 30th, 1968
Dear Lois of London,
Yes! Yes! I am all right … I am fine. I am not stretched out, crucified on a hospital bed with tubes feeding me or sucking me out. I am here, in Weston, sitting at the kitchen table with an aqua table cloth, windows open on the COOL summer day, radio on my right playing opera which I usually hate but love today. I don’t know why I’m so happy today. It’s unexplainable. It’s like being in love. I’m not (in love) but my spirits are doing well by me. I soar. Partly it’s the weather and the lack of having to hide from the sun. The autumn beginning … the sad autumn of the yellow leaves. I feel very alive. I woke up today to a birthday (interesting mistake!) no, an anniversary present from Billie—her Grandfather’s clock that chimes, etc. I just adore its little telling the hours off. From my childhood of course—a good memory. I wish you were here s
o that I might share my exuberance. I just now thought of calling you in London—but instead I went to my study and brought typewriter into the sun of the kitchen. My galleys arrived today—Love Poems. I started to look at them and then opened a bottle of Taittinger’s Blanc de Blanc (Kayo gave me a case for an anniversary present). What I like about owning that case—is no one can TELL ME what is inappropriate and wrong about drinking a bottle when I’m in the mood. Since opening it I’ve had a lunch of hot dogs, champagne, and five pieces of cantaloupe melon. On such a day one must spoil themselves, one must rise to the occasion!!
So instead of galleys I write you this note!! It looks like a small book. It is. Love Poems, that is.
We have the most pristine champagne glasses. My mother’s. […]
I don’t know if we’ll teach. It’s being fought over in committee, school. A week will tell.
The world situation is so ghastly—Chicago police!! McCarthy not even getting his ideas in the platform, Checo-slavakia (get that spelling) … Maybe Joe McCarthy is right (was) and Communism is a great peril. I have never thought they’d fight and take over and exterminate like Hitler. Maybe Kayo is right???? What do YOU think?
By the time you get this God knows what will have happened.
When you return we must have a long look at the Plath book—to consider what can and must be done. I’m very stubborn so it doesn’t amaze me why you bother. Still, no point in screwing your whole life up when you could Lillian Ross it—or novel it, or whatever. I can’t picture Ted cooperating except on his OWN terms. Can you? Really really. […] Joy is home. Oh, it’s so good. And Linda on Monday. I really miss their affection and loving ways. Maxine isn’t back from New Hampshire yet. Before I went away she was feeling better. Now I don’t know. Yet it’s a good sign she stayed in the country this long.