Lessons in Hunger

As someone who adores Confessionalist poetry and always lists Sylvia Plath as a favorite writer, it seems like a given that Anne Sexton would show up in this blog sooner rather than later.  I discovered Sexton’s poetry in the same high school American Literature class that I stumbled across Plath’s Daddy and Lady Lazarus.  At the time, I was probably more impressed by Sexton’s connection to Plath than by the poetry itself (Plath really floored me), but the more that I read and researched Sexton, the more my love of her work grew.

Her writing is raw, emotional, and will sometimes leave you a little uncomfortable.  Other times, you’re just left sitting there, staring at the words, emotionally gasping over the experience, because she understands

I would like to share my favorite Anne Sexton poem. I leave you to guess which of the above reactions it evoked from me when I first read it a few years ago.


“Do you like me?”
I asked the blazer.
No answer.
Silence bounced out of his books.
Silence fell off his tongue
and sat between us
and clogged my throat.
It slaughtered my trust.
It tore cigarettes out of my mouth.
We exchanged blind words,
and I did not cry,
and I did not beg,
but blackness filled my ears,
blackness lunged in my heart,
and something that had been good,
a sort of kindly oxygen,
turned into a gas oven.

Do you like me?
How absurd!
What’s a question like that?
What’s a silence like that?
And what am I hanging around for,
riddled with what his silence said?

August 7, 1974

 Photo Source:  http://www.glastonberrygrove.net/reference/annesexton/

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Filed under Anne Sexton, Confessionalist, Favorites, Poetry

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