private Sometimes the desire is to release ... not pursuing the ghosts and illusions of others, but sometimes clear voice that sometimes sinister dwells el interior. Maravillosas mujeres, creativas, revolucionarias, faros en medio de la tormenta de imposiciones han muerto buscando esa verdad... por mano propia o ajena. Y es que la búsqueda de la realización personal no es solamente un shock para una misma sino para todo aquel que rodea a dicha persona. Las velas se apagan, los ojos también, por falta de oxígeno, por falta espacio. Talvez sea mejor abrir las alas, reconocer las múltiples máscaras y dejarlas a un lado, aunque volar pueda llevarnos demasiado cerca del sol...
Anne Sexton fue una gran poeta. Nació en Newton, Massachusetsts en 1928. La mayor parte de su vida vivió en Boston. Se casó en 1948 con Alfred Muller Sexton, They had two daughters. They divorced in the 70's. But the episode that marked his life was his first depression in 1954, for which he was hospitalized at the Glenside Hospital and where he would return more than once. They say he suffered from bipolar disorder. She began writing poetry stimulated by the therapist, as a means of expressing their artistic qualities, hitherto unexplored. After his first writing workshop, began publishing his poetry in various magazines throughout the United States. Do another workshop led by Robert Lowell, where would a friendship with one of my favorite poets Sylvia Plath, and his mentor WD Snodgrass. All of them are known as "confessional poets." But who delves so deeply into the pain and loss, madness and death, and debate with his own mind, is the border, in the end, with the danger of falling constantly. This is what happened one October 4, 1974 Sexton committed suicide when poisoned with carbon monoxide. Anne Sexton - Her Kind
i have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air
, Braver at night;
dreaming evil, i have done my hitch over the plain
houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A Woman Like That is not a woman, remove. I Have Been
her kind.
have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
