by Anne Sexton
I know when I meet you and your dear wife (whose poetry I greatly admire in APR) that it will not be costly at all! It will be fine and right. I hope you’re not so angry with my cancellation that you do not share this view—we who finally spoke to each other over your beautiful poem “Gold” must keep on with what might be precious friendship.
Love as ever,
[To Kathleen Spivack]
[14 Black Oak Road]
January 10, 1974
Dear Kathy,
All is rush or pain or shit or glory. I think my life is becoming like the Perils of Pauline. It is exaggerating itself. New book [The Death Notebooks] comes out February 21st (paper as well as cloth). I’d love to see you when one of us isn’t too busy.
Love,
[To Michael Benedikt]
[14 Black Oak Road]
January 10, 1974
Dear Michael Benedikt,
Hooray for your creeping. May it soon be jumping and leaping (excuse the rhyme, the meaning being of the only importance). I will certainly send you some poems for P.R. [Paris Review]. (Thank God they’ve got someone good editing it.) I hope you hang around with it for a while because I haven’t sent a thing out for almost a year. Much, much work that needs reworking. And why hurry, Anne, I say to myself. They’ll shoot you down anyway for being over prolific as I have a new book coming out February 21st.
Because of an old hip injury, it is not within my capabilities to drive to Hampshire College. I can last at the car for about an hour at the very best. Number one problem. Number two problem is the dough. I am certainly not James Dickey who now that he’s a movie star is charging $3,500, but I have somehow crept up into the high numbers for reading which is usually $1,500 but I could try to negotiate it downward if you could possibly gather close to that amount.
At any rate, do let me hear from you. Hampshire is very exciting from what I hear, but I’m sure it is more exciting now that Michael Benedikt is there.
All best,
Houghton Mifflin brought out The Death Notebooks in February of 1974. The reviews were uniformly poor, but Anne was not surprised; she had become inured to the critics’ response to her work.
[To Claire S. Degener]
[14 Black Oak Road]
February 7, 1974
Dear Cindy,
Herewith a copy to send on to H-M Company of the new book [The Awful Rowing Toward God]. It’s a bit “odd” but after all, I didn’t do it, the typewriter did it.
I would very much like your opinion of the book as you send it quickly onward to Dick McAdoo and his cohorts.
The stories will come to you, but this somehow took precedence being at last finished after a year of discarding, rewriting, etc., the book that was written in two and one half weeks prior to leaving my husband.
Another book [45 Mercy Street] slowly being filled, but I feel it must be quite delayed because part of it is too personal to publish for some time. (“Jesus”, Cindy thinks, “What in the hell is this Sexton woman doing?” Answer: “She don’ quite know!”)
I am fully aware The Death Notebooks will get bad reviews even if they were the Song of Solomon. It’s the time for me to be cut down in this poetry world.
Love to you and beauteous
secretary,
The Harvard Literary Club wrote Anne in February, inviting her to read at Sanders Theater. She accepted the engagement eagerly: it was the final coup for the girl who had never gone to college. She invited everyone she knew, including Dr. Florence Ehrhardt, her first psychiatrist.
[To Florence Ehihazdt]
[14 Black Oak Road]
February 20, 1974
Dear Dr. Ehrhardt,
I’m not doing awfully well, but I am trying, very, very hard, and you were a great help to me. We go back a long time you and I, and I feel a very honest, not really “transference” love for you and will continue. You are one of those remarkable people that one finds seldom in life.
I don’t know if it would interest you to hear me read, but if it should, I am reading at 8 o’clock at Sanders Theatre, Harvard University, March 7th, Thursday night.
With best wishes,
[To Joyce Sexton]
[14 Black Oak Road]
February 21, 1974
Dearest Joyball with a tiny bit of jellybean cheeks, I hope my phone call last night was of some help, and I cannot tell you, my dear daisy giver, what it meant to me for you to share your pain and terror and feeling of being cooped up like an animal with me. You must know that I understand only too well. Here I sit at forty-five and have known and often know the very feelings you poured out to me, so what can I say but that MUGGY UNDERSTANDS. She knows where you’re at, without you telling me I’ve known where you’re at but have felt helpless because you did not want to speak of it to me but to run, run, run—and that too I understand.
The thing is, honey, I’m afraid those feelings go with you no matter what your environment or what cage you look upon at the moment. You do need certain limits, rules, despite that fact that you are 18 and in many, many ways a grown woman and want to burst forth upon the world and be free, free as if you were flying your own airplane or skiing the perfect mountain, or galloping on the most beautiful autumn day on the most beautiful horse, etc., etc. I do know how you want to be FREE, and can only say like an old philosopher and sufferer that I am[,] that freedom[,] that freedom[,] comes from within and with it comes many responsibilities and restrictions that YOU must set for yourself. In this life there is no exact thing like freedom, not even in love[,] for it carries with it the necessity to meet the loved one’s needs which ideally is simple and natural and joyful. (What I mean is there is not one damn thing wrong with love, but I think one has to get their own animal out of their own cage and not look for either an animal keeper or an unlocker. I am sure that life can have a good enough rhythm for even someone as sensitive as you in time. Loneliness is a terrible thing and to be alone with people can be pretty horrible. To keep a closed mouth, as you say, as you are locked in the set of stocks is indeed horrible. If you feel like opening your mouth—then do! And if you want to ever again open it to me, I would be as honored and touched as I was yesterday when I received your heartfelt, suffering letter. It means a great deal to me, more than I can put in words, for I have felt quite alone lately and the fame, the poetry seem to make little difference.
You say I called at just the right moment as though a message, an invisible message had been sent that you were in trouble, and I can only say that your letter came as if YOU had been sent an invisible message that you needed me and that gave me a sense of meaning to my life that had absolutely melted.
If you would like over vacation or over the summer, we can discuss further alternatives to Gould and consult with Daddy, etc. And perhaps your dear Dr. Schoen, although I am pretty broke, I don’t think it would hurt you and I could manage to pay for you to see her a little—if you have the courage. I feel she ought to see this letter but will do nothing behind your back.
You do know that “home” becomes quickly a kind of jail and your resentment against ANY restrictions makes it hard on both of us—I guess you feel guilty about being angry, to no end, of course, in its own way it hurts me although I know it is perfectly normal and natural. And the gas situation is so terrible, and I imagine finding jobs is next to impossible unless the Want Advertiser comes through (which I doubt) and there will have to be a hard look for a job. Even the house cleaning jobs are getting scarce. But we’ll put our heads together and think of SOMETHING. I hope you are still looking through the camera’s eye. I was indeed amazed by your pictures, extremely original, almost with Xray eyes.
I’m glad you liked The Death Notebooks. I am glad you read it. I don’t think Linda has. She is too busy. I guess we are all busy, but one does make time for the really important things in life. I treasure your letter more than any I have ever gotten. I love you.
Your daisy lady,
Muggy
P.S. Check enclosed. Ho
pe it will help.
Anne was disgusted with the publicity the Harvard group had arranged; a 5" x 9" handbill with the title of The Death Notebooks misspelled. Terrified that no one would come, she put together and paid for her own advertising campaign: spot radio announcements, items in suburban newspapers and a full-page photo layout inserted into the Harvard Crimson and the Boston Phoenix the day before the reading. When she arrived at Sanders Theater that evening, she found a standing-room-only audience awaiting her.
[To Jeffrey Lant
Harvard University]
[14 Black Oak Road]
February 25, 1974
Dear Jeffrey Lant,
Thank you for your letter. It is hard to read your handwriting, but mine is undecipherable. I thought you might be interested in this flyer (if one could call such professional work by that name) which will be inserted into The Crimson, the Phoenix as well as distributed to various colleges and universities around and about. I thought your handbill was very nice, but when one calls that “promotion” I think you can see that this that was done in twenty-four hours and paid for by me is somewhat more effective although it all remains to be seen at Sanders Theatre. It is a new experience for me. Except for the very beginning of my career in 1959 to read for the “honor” and then to promote myself at my own expense, but perhaps that’s the way it goes and one can learn something from it.
It is nice, I think, for Harvard that I will be taped. (I have never been at any university where this did not happen and thought it a matter of course for it gives the university a wider use of what happens for an hour.)
I do believe you spoke to Dr. Loring Conant or perhaps his wife and said something to the effect that I didn’t have confidence in your promotion. I feel that is quite true, although I cast no aspersions upon you yourself—it is just that when one is used to doing something like this, one knows how. But all life is learning and with the agony, or should I say trauma, of how to put something together. I leave to you a few things to put together: (1) A table beside the podium. (2) A glass of water (not a pitcher, please). (3) An ashtray. (4) Dealing with Houghton Mifflin about the table, etc. for setting up for the sale of the books (if there be any sale). (5) An adequate sound system—and I do really mean adequate—I prefer a mike that bends if it is available. I am practical enough to understand feedback and know that fire engines and jets are un-avoidable, but otherwise wish to remind you I am only a voice not a string quartet and would like the best possible and findable sound system that surely Harvard has. (6) I guess you know by now that Dan Wakefield is introducing me. I’ve forgotten whether he attended Harvard or graduated from Harvard, but he was a Nieman Fellow and will, I think, speak well of me, although, of course, despite a few novels on the best seller list no one will know who in hell he is. I decided that didn’t matter—enough had gone wrong already.
Let us hope that the reading will go well and all foreboding will reverse instantly as Sanders Theatre and I merge.
With all best wishes,
Paul Brooks had been Anne’s editor for eleven years when he decided to retire as Houghton Mifflin’s editor-in-chief in December of 1970. Although Anne did spend some interim time working with Arabel Porter, eventually Richard McAdoo took over the editing of her manuscripts.
[To Richard B. McAdoo]
[14 Black Oak Road]
February 25, 1974
Dear Dick,
Thank you so much for your call on my publication date. I fear I sounded a bit drunk on the phone—but those things do happen. I suppose in certain ways I’m cracking up, but don’t let anyone know, because until the poems crack, it’s all okay. I thought you might be interested in my “advertisement for myself” done by a brilliant ad agency [Impact Advertising, Inc.]—actually a couple [Robert Clawson and Betsy Duval] who are friends of mine and got this done within actually twenty-four hours. I know it’s the picture you hate, but I cannot help but feel it is “more interesting—more provocative” than the one all of you picked. This will be spread throughout the Boston area in the cheapest way possible, but it is a hell of a lot better than Harvard’s very mediocre Xeroxed printed announcement of my appearance. At any rate, I thought you would be interested to peek at it and perhaps pass it on for whatever appeal it might have. A long time ago I recommended to you a Robert Clawson as an editor. It was even before we had met. Yet he was the master of this ad along with his superior, brilliant wife and their cohorts. Things are not going too well for their business. It seems as though Houghton Mifflin is missing out on two very perceptive, ingenious, quick witted individuals. I would go on about them if you would like me to at a later date.
I am very pleased with The New York Times ad and The New York Review of Books and The New Yorker and do hope the books sells well for you and that you are not too disappointed by bad reviews which are due at this point in my career.
Hope you find time to read the new manuscript and further hope you like it.
Love,
[To Florence Ehrhardt]
[14 Black Oak Road]
April 1, 1974
Dear Dr. Ehrhardt,
How perfectly gracious and loving your note to me [following the Sanders Reading] was. The story wondrous for the child in all of us and your words wondrous for the child/woman/poet, reader I have become. As for being an actress, it worries me a bit. I have a certain guilt about the ham in me, but then if it puts the poem across, I suppose that’s all that matters. Yes, I am accustomed to ovations but not from first Mama-therapist. That ovation is extremely precious. When slowly gaining success I used to say, “if only there were someone to be proud of me.” Your letter fits the bill. I’m pleased that you thought I looked well—I do endeavor to look as pretty as possible as some sort of proof that poets aren’t all that queer. With many thanks for your generous letter.
Affectionately yours,
[To Brian Sweeney]
[14 Black Oak Road]
April 1, 1974
Dear Sweeney;
How nice to be “evocative one”. I ought to have more of your letters that go wild as I think they are good for me.
I too like Dylan Thomas, and anyone who says he was shallow is crazy and ought to be immediately locked up or at least have a muffler put on their mouth.
Of course I have wonderful eyes! And so do you, but then you’re quite aware of it. Yes, indeed it has been five years—I had not realized it was that long. Yes, last year you insulted me. When I told you the news of my divorce, your response was that unfortunately you were not getting one—or something to that effect. What an insult! What a cruelty when I who have thought of you as a good friend am suddenly put in the position of lusting after you. Believe me, Sweeney, there are plenty of men around here. End of discussion … It would be nice to see you once more, but then I just met an Australian fellow who says it’s a 27-hour flight. I wouldn’t fly 27 hours if Apollo were to greet me at the end of the trip—or Adam. This Aussie I met is separated from his wife and reminds me crazily of you although he is a bit younger. I suppose he reminds me of you because of the accent and a certain zest and the fact that he buys my books by the fifties and hundreds.
At any rate, dear Sweeney, there are so many here who have heard of you and want to meet you, and there is this here poet who hopes in the future that could bring us together.
Love,
In the spring she again tried her hand at prose. “The Bat,” “The Vampire,” and “The Ghost” were all horror tales of chilling caliber, but she was unable to interest a publisher.
[To Claire S. Degener]
14 Black Oak Road
April 18, 1974
Dear Cindy and Joan [Brandt],
Well, so Chatto and Windus want to drop “O Ye Tongues” [DN]. This displeases me. I am even sorry I let them drop the stories from The Book of Folly. I don’t give a damn about the “Praying on a 707” [DN]. I always thought the poem stunk anyway. If you would tell Dennis Enright that I would be glad to trade “Faustus and I” [D
N], which I also don’t think too highly of, although there are those who do. If perhaps he could write me a letter explaining why my last prayer (or whatever in hell it is) must drop out of Britain, it might help.
So the money advance is not so hot, but then I think those British are pretty cheap anyway and, after all, my major market is the U.S.A.
I am awfully sad about the New Yorker—It would have been better if they loathed them than that they almost took them and fought over what was most interesting or the better of the three. Of course, it is pleasant to think the New Yorker is so regretful, but I do think “The Bat” is so far superior that they wouldn’t have much trouble choosing.
Whither next!
Love you,
Anne
P.S. Still with the palms closed over the happiness of Cindy’s recovery.
[hand-drawn daisy]
[To George Starbuck]
[14 Black Oak Road]
April 18, 1974
Dear George,
Pursuant to our conversation about my position changing from “part-time professor” to “full-time professor”, I am writing a more or less official letter. (You do know how difficult it is for me to write anything that is in any way official.)
On with it! I would very much like to teach a second class either to a mixed group of graduates or undergraduates;;;or if we have a great mass of graduates, I would be more than willing to teach two classes of dem guys. At any rate the undergraduate level is not unappealing to me for, as I have outlined to you, I have been busy this year developing a new methodology for bringing the fresh image forth[,] the concept unusual[,] and I have developed what could be called various “tricks”. Of course it depends on the students, each being an individual with different needs and potentials. However I have seen it work on the most unlikely student and I would like to give it a certain terminology thusly:
