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April 17th, 2014 - we have 234 poets, 8,025 poems and 103,948 comments.
Anne Sexton - The Black Art

A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.

A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren't enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.

Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 9222 times | Comments and analysis of The Black Art by Anne Sexton Comments (2)

The Black Art - Comments and Information

Poet: Anne Sexton
Poem: The Black Art
Poem of the Day: Nov 7 2013

Comment 2 of 2, added on February 12th, 2012 at 6:48 AM.
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aZasbb Gripping! I would like to listen to the experts` views on the subject!!...

oem software from Malta
Comment 1 of 2, added on June 11th, 2007 at 1:54 PM.

I think it is a great Poem!

Sarah from United States

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