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“December 9th” – Anne Sexton | L’Altrove
December 9th Two years ago, Reservist, you would have burned your draft card or else have gone A.W.O.L. But you stayed to serve the Air Force. Your head churned with bad solutions, carrying…
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“December 8th” – Anne Sexton | L’Altrove
December 8th In winter without you I senda Florida postcard to myselfto somehow remind me of the weekafter mid-July and towards the endwhen scummy Dog Days were on the shelfand we had a…
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“December 7th” – Anne Sexton | L’Altrove
December 7th Pearl Harbor Day. The cruciform. No rain last night, but an icestorm. Jewels! Today each twig is important, each ring, each infection, each form is all that the gods must have…
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“December 6th” – Anne Sexton | L’Altrove
December 6th A light rain, as tranquil as an apple, today… mild and supple and fat and full-blown sweet like the last February 2nd on Groundhog Day. He wouldn’t come out and we…
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“December 5th” – Anne Sexton | L’Altrove
December 5th That was Oswald’s November four long years ago. I remember meeting secretly once a week or oftener, know it wrong, but having those reasons. So I commute to your studio, my…
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“December 4nd” – Anne Sexton | L’Altrove
December 4nd And where did we meet? Was it in London on Carnaby Street? Was it in Paris on the Left Bank? That there that I can thank? No. It was Harvard Square…
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“December 3rd” – Anne Sexton
December 3rd This is the mole- gray mouth of the year. Yesterday I stole out to your hunter’s cabin studio, surprising two woodchucks and a deer outside our makeshift bungalow. On the way…
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“December 2nd” – Anne Sexton | L’Altrove
December 2nd I slept last night under a bird’s shadow dreaming of nuthatches at the feeder, jailed to its spine, jailed right down to the toes, waiting for slow death in the hateful…
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“Il libro della follia” di Anne Sexton. Intervista a Rosaria Lo Russo | L’Altrove
My poems only come when I have almost lost the ability to utter a word. To speak, in a way, of the unspeakable. To make an object out of the chaos….To say what?…
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Appunti di poesia: Anne Sexton
11 dicembre Poi a letto penso a te, la tua lingua metà oceano, metà cioccolata, alle case dove entri con disinvoltura, ai tuoi capelli di lana d’acciaio, alle tue mani ostinate e come…