Anne, Frank.

I have long been a fan of Anne Sexton.

Plath, Hughes - I like them OK, but I never felt a connection, perhaps because I have no Daddy Issues nor am I a cranky old British man. But Sexton, she's great.

I like that she comes from Boston, that she came to poetry through therapy when she was already an adult, and that her confessional tales of love, lust, motherhood, marriage, divorce, all have tight rhyme schemes that reward reading aloud.

I also very much like that she fronted a band at one point, who backed her up as she read from and other poems - how very 70s of her!


So anyway, here's my favorite poem of hers. I love the way she interprets the story of Icarus, how she celebrates his triumph and spirit of creativity, how the only thing important is trying and doing something new and exciting, even while his sensible daddy walked straight into town.

To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Triumph

Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wings on,
testing that strange little tug at his shoulder blade,
and think of that first flawless moment over the lawn
of the labyrinth. Think of the difference it made!
There below are the trees, as awkward as camels;
and here are the shocked starlings pumping past
and think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well:
larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast
of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
Feel the fire at his neck and see how casually
he glances up and is caught, wondrously tunneling
into that hot eye. Who cares that he fell back to the sea?
See him acclaiming the sun and come plunging down
while his sensible daddy goes straight into town.

And here's Anne herself, reading from "Her Kind."