Love this poem. Love Anne Sexton's work.
eh, go stick your head in an oven.
by Anonymous | reply 1 | September 30, 2014 2:45 AM |
Piss off R1!
by Anonymous | reply 2 | September 30, 2014 3:13 AM |
Mcsguvgfgmnbgfc.
by Anonymous | reply 3 | September 30, 2014 3:41 AM |
No poetry fans here
by Anonymous | reply 4 | September 30, 2014 3:43 PM |
I liked it lots.
Love that crazy lady.
by Anonymous | reply 5 | September 30, 2014 3:50 PM |
I love Anne's poetry.
Hard to reconcile her mess of a life and the alleged child sexual abuse with the magnificent art. But her poetry got me through some bad times in college.
by Anonymous | reply 6 | September 30, 2014 5:02 PM |
[quote]All the cocks of the world are God,
I believe that.
by Anonymous | reply 7 | September 30, 2014 5:08 PM |
I love this poem!
I did love Sexton's work though R6 nails it.
by Anonymous | reply 8 | August 13, 2018 10:25 PM |
She is wonderful, and was a complete natural. Her language was both colloquial and poetic, and she did that better than almost anyone IMO. And she recites poetry better than any other poet I’ve heard; not even late Plath, who was a great reader, was as good.
by Anonymous | reply 9 | August 13, 2018 10:38 PM |
I was molested.
by Anonymous | reply 10 | August 14, 2018 2:03 AM |
Hey, get your own stroll, Toots.
by Anonymous | reply 11 | August 14, 2018 2:04 AM |
Here's the poem, since of course the 4-year-old link no longer works
The Fury Of Cocks
There they are
drooping over the breakfast plates,
angel-like,
folding in their sad wing,
animal sad,
and only the night before
there they were
playing the banjo.
Once more the day's light comes
with its immense sun,
its mother trucks,
its engines of amputation.
Whereas last night
the cock knew its way home,
as stiff as a hammer,
battering in with all
its awful power.
That theater.
Today it is tender,
a small bird,
as soft as a baby's hand. She is the house.
He is the steeple.
When they fuck they are God.
When they break away they are God.
When they snore they are God.
In the morning they butter the toast.
They don't say much.
They are still God.
All the cocks of the world are God,
blooming, blooming, blooming
into the sweet blood of woman.
by Anonymous | reply 12 | August 14, 2018 2:09 AM |
A great reading by Sexton at this site. Look where her name is at the top and click for the drop down menu, you'll see a list of titles to click on if you want to hear the reading.
"The fury of cocks.....not to be confused with roosters!"
by Anonymous | reply 13 | August 14, 2018 3:21 PM |