Oh mother,
after this lap of childhood
I will never go forth
into the big people’s world
as an alien,
a fabrication,
or falter
when someone else
is as empty as a shoe.

anne sexton, iz ”Mothers”

foto: tata

I miss you.

foto: bindiimoments.deviantart.com

God has a brown voice,
as soft and full as beer.
Eleanor, who is more beautiful than my mother,
is standing in her kitchen talking
and I am breathing in my cigarettes like poison.
She stands in her lemon-colored sun dress
motioning to God with her wet hands
glossy from the washing of egg plates.
She tells him! She tells him like a drunk
who doesn’t need to see to talk.
It’s casual but friendly.
God is as close as the ceiling.

Though no one can ever know,
I don’t think he has a face.
He had a face when I was six and a half.
Now he is alrge, covering up the sky
like a great resting jellyfish.
When I was eight I thought the dead people
stayed up there like blimps.
Now my chair is as hard as a scarecrow
and outside the summer flies sing like a choir.
Eleanor, before he leaves tell him…
Oh Eleanor, Eleanor,
tell him before death uses you up.

anne sexton

foto: google

Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair.

anne sexton

The past is a grotesque animal
And in its eyes you see
How completely wrong you can be
How completely wrong you can be

The sun is out, it melts the snow that fell yesterday
Makes you wonder why it bothered

I fell in love with the first cute girl that I met
Who could appreciate Georges Bataille
Standing at a Swedish festival discussing “Story of the Eye”
Discussing “Story of the Eye”

It’s so embarrassing to need someone like I do you
How can I explain, I need you here and not here too
How can I explain, I need you here and not here too

I’m flunking out, I’m flunking out, I’m gone, I’m just gone
But at least I author my own disaster
At least I author my own disaster

Performance breakdown and I don’t want to hear it
I’m just not available
Things could be different but they’re not
Things could be different but they’re not

The mousy girl screams, “Violence! Violence!”
The mousy girl screams, “Violence! Violence!”
She gets hysterical because they’re both so mean
And it’s my favorite scene
But the cruelty’s so predictable
It makes you sad on the stage
Though our love project has so much potential
But it’s like we weren’t made for this world
(Though I wouldn’t really want to meet someone who was)

Do I have to scream in your face?
I’ve been dodging lamps and vegetables
Throw it all in my face, I don’t care

Let’s just have some fun
Let’s tear this shit apart
Let’s tear the fucking house apart
Let’s tear our fucking bodies apart
But let’s just have some fun

Somehow you’ve red-rovered the gestapo circling my heart
And nothing can defeat you
No death, no ugly world

You’ve lived so brightly
You’ve altered everything
I find myself searching for old selves
While speeding forward through the plate glass of maturing cells

I’ve played the unraveler, the parhelion
But even apocalypse is fleeting
There’s no death, no ugly world

Sometimes I wonder if you’re mythologizing me like I do you
Mythologizing me like I do you

We want our film to be beautiful, not realistic
Perceive me in the radiance of terror dreams
And you can betray me
You can, you can betray me

But teach me something wonderful
Crown my head, crowd my head
With your lilting effects
Project your fears on to me, I need to view them
See, there’s nothing to them
I promise you, there’s nothing to them

I’m so touched by your goodness
You make me feel so criminal
How do you keep it together?
I’m all, all unraveled

But you know, no matter where we are
We’re always touching by underground wires

I’ve explored you with the detachment of an analyst
But most nights we’ve raided the same kingdoms
And none of our secrets are physical
None of our secrets are physical
None of our secrets are physical now

When I was a debutante, I often went to the zoo. I went so often that I knew the animals better than I knew girls of my own age. Indeed it was in order to get away from people that I found myself at the zoo every day. The animal I got to know best was a young hyena. She knew me too. She was very intelligent. I taught her French, and she, in return, taught me her language. In this way we passed many pleasant hours.
My mother was arranging a ball in my honor on the first of May. During this time I was in a state of great distress for whole nights. I’ve always detested balls, especially when they are given in my honor.
On the morning of the first of May 1934, very early, I went to visit the hyena.
“What a bloody nuisance,” I said to her. “I’ve got to go to my ball tonight.”
“You’re very lucky,” she said. “I’d love to go. I don’t know how to dance, but at least I could make small talk.”
“There’ll be a great many different things to eat,” I told her. “I’ve seen trucksoads of food delivered to our house.”
“And you’re complaining,” replied the hyena, disgusted. “Just think of me, I eat once a day, and you can’t imagine what a heap of bloody rubbish I’m given.”
I had an audacious idea, and I almost laughed. “All you have to do is to go instead of me!”
“We don’t resemble each other enough, otherwise I’d gladly go,” said the hyena rather sadly.
“Listen,” I said. “No one sees too well in the evening light. If you disguise yourself, nobody will notice you in the crowd. Besides, we’re practically the same size. You’re my only friend, I beg you to do this for me.”
She thought this over, and I knew that she really wanted to accept.
“Done,” she said all of a sudden.
There weren’t many keepers about, it was so early in the morning. I opened the cage quickly, and in a very few moments we were out in the street. I hailed a taxi; at home, everybody was still in bed. In my room I brought out the dress I was to wear that evening. It was a little long, and the hyena found it difficult to walk in my high-heeled shoes. I found some gloves to hide her hands, which were too hairy to look like mine. By the time the sun was shining into my room, she was able to make her way around the room several times, walking more or less upright.
We were so busy that my mother almost opened the door to say good morning before the hyena had hidden under my bed.
“There’s a bad smell in your room,” my mother said, opening a window. “You must have a scented bath before tonight, with my new bath salts.”
“Certainly,” I said.
She didn’t stay long. I think the smell was too much for her.
“Don’t be late for breakfast,” she said and left the room.
The greatest difficulty was to find a way of disguising the hyena’s face. We spent hours and hours looking for a way, but she always rejected my suggestions. At last she said, “I think I’ve found the answer. Have you got a maid?”
“Yes,” I said, puzzled.
“There you are. Ring for your maid, and when she comes in we’ll pounce upon her and tear off her face. I’ll wear her face tonight instead of mine.”
“It’s not practical,” I said. “She’ll probably die if she hasn’t got a face. Somebody will certainly find the corpse and we’ll be put in prison.”
“I’m hungry enough to eat her,” the hyena replied.
“And the bones?”
“As well,” she said. “So, it’s on?”
“Only if you promise to kill her before tearing off her face. It’ll hurt her too much otherwise.”
“All right. It’s all the same to me.”
Not without a certain nervousness I rang for Mary, my maid. I certainly wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t hate having to go to a ball so much. When Mary came in I turned to the wall so as not to see. I must admit it didn’t take long. A brief cry, and it was over. While the hyena was eating, I looked out the window. A few minutes later she said, “I can’t eat any more. Her two feet are left over still, but if you have a little bag, I’ll eat them later in the day.”
“You’ll find a bag embroidered with fleurs-de-lis in the cupboard. Empty out the handkerchiefs you’ll find inside, and take it.” She did as I suggested. Then she said, “Turn round now and look how beautiful I am.”
In front of the mirror, the hyena was admiring herself in Mary’s face. She had nibbled very neatly all around the face so that what was left was exactly what she needed.
“You’ve certainly done that very well,” I said.
Towards evening, when the hyena was all dressed up, she declared, “I really feel in tip-top form. I have a feeling that I shall be a great success this evening.”
When we had heard the music downstairs for quite some time, I said to her, “Go on down now, and remember, don’t stand next to my mother. She’s bound to know that it isn’t me. Apart from her, I don’t know anybody. Best of luck.” I kissed her as I left her, but she did smell very strong.
Night fell. Tired by the day’s emotions, I took a book and sat down by the open window, giving myself up to peace and quiet. I remember that I was reading Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift. About an hour later, I noticed the first signs of trouble. A bat flew in at the window, uttering little cries. I am terribly afraid of bats. I hid behind a chair, my teeth chattering. I had hardly gone down on my knees when the sound of beating wings was overcome by a great noise at my door. My mother entered, pale with rage.
“We’d just sat down at table,” she said, “when that thing sitting in your place got up and shouted, ‘So, I smell a bit strong, what? Well, I don’t eat cakes!’ Whereupon it tore off its face and ate it. And with one great bound, disappeared through the window.”

Leonora Carrington

slika: Leonora Carrington, Self-portrait