John Berryman, deceiving no one, charm- ingly protested in a prefatory note that the Henry of The Dream Songs "is essentially about an imaginary character not the poet, not me. To shuck the earlier designations of Miss and Mrs. A nurse'sflashlightblinds me to see who I am.
You went together, armed with alpine stocks, with ham sandwiches and seltzer wasser. Not witches, but ghosts who come, moving their useless arms like forsaken servants.
Your business is people, you call at the madhouse, an oracular eye in our nest. On this same scale he built seven arking houses and they still stand. I've been waiting on this private stretch of summer land, counting thesefiveyears and wondering why.
I stop here, where a small boy waits in a ruffled dress for someone to come Then there was no shaking her. Often when stymied for a more articulate response to one of her poems I disliked, I suggested, "Why don't you pound it into form? Like an imbecile she was born old.
That October day we went to Gloucester the red hills reminded me of the dry red fur anne sexton transformations pdf merge in Luton coat I played in as a child; stock-still like a bear or a tent, like a great cave laughing or a red fur fox. I am safe. But you turned old, all yourfifty-eightyears sliding like masks from your skull; and at the end I packed your nightgowns in suitcases, paid the nurses, came riding home as if I'd been told I could pretend people live in places.
She had a notable career and wore cropped hair and walked like a man, or so I heard when prying a childhood car into the hushed talk of the straight Maine clan. W e stand watching the yellow leaves go queer, flapping in the winter rain, falling flat and washed. Buy options.
Her compulsion to deal with such then-taboo material as suicide, mad- ness, and abortion assaulted his sensibilities and triggered his own defenses. Later the funny salt itched in my pores and stung like bees or sleet.