Poésies de Anne Sexton

usPoésie Project-Id-Version: press 2cloudPO-Revision-Date: 2012-05-02 13:13+0200Last-Translator: python Language-Team: FrenchLanguage: frMIME-Version: 1.0Content-Type: text/plain; charset=UTF-8Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bitPlural-Forms: nplurals=2; plural=(n > 1);


  • 45 Mercy Street

    In my dream,
    drilling into the marrow
    of my entire bone,
    my real dream,
    I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill



  • Baby Picture

    It's in the heart of the grape
    where that smile lies.
    It's in the good-bye-bow in the hair
    where that smile lies.

  • Barefoot

    Loving me with my shows off
    means loving my long brown legs,
    sweet dears, as good as spoons;
    and my feet, those two children

  • Bat

    His awful skin
    stretched out by some tradesman
    is like my skin, here between my fingers,
    a kind of webbing, a kind of frog.

  • Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty)

    a girl who keeps slipping off,
    arms limp as old carrots,
    into the hypnotist's trance,
    into a spirit world

  • Buying the Whore

    You are the roast beef I have purchased
    and I stuff you with my very own onion.
    You are a boat I have rented by the hour


  • Christmas Eve

    Oh sharp diamond, my mother!
    I could not count the cost
    of all your faces, your moods-
    that present that I lost.

  • Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women

    (from a song)
    Perhaps I was born kneeling,
    born coughing on the long winter,
    born expecting the kiss of mercy,

  • Cinderella

    You always read about it:
    the plumber with the twelve children
    who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
    From toilets to riches.

  • Clothes

    Put on a clean shirt
    before you die, some Russian said.
    Nothing with drool, please,
    no egg spots, no blood,
    no sweat, no sperm.

  • Cockroach

    Roach, foulest of creatures,
    who attacks with yellow teeth
    and an army of cousins big as shoes,

  • Consorting with Angels

    I was tired of being a woman,
    tired of the spoons and the post,
    tired of my mouth and my breasts,

  • Courage

    It is in the small things we see it.
    The child's first step,
    as awesome as an earthquake.
    The first time you rode a bike,

  • Cripples and Other Stories

    My doctor, the comedian
    I called you every time
    and made you laugh yourself
    when I wrote this silly rhyme...

  • Crossing the Atlantic

    We sail out of season into on oyster-gray wind,
    over a terrible hardness.
    Where Dickens crossed with mal de mer


  • 'Daddy' Warbucks

    What's missing is the eyeballs
    in each of us, but it doesn't matter
    because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.

  • Demon

    A young man is afraid of his demon and puts his hand
    over the demon's mouth sometimes...- D. H. Lawrence

  • Despair

    Who is he?
    A railroad track toward hell?
    Breaking like a stick of furniture?
    The hope that suddenly overflows the cesspool?


  • Her Kind

    have gone out, a possessed witch,
    haunting the black air, braver at night;
    dreaming evil, I have done my hitch


  • Music Swims Back to Me

    Wait Mister. Which way is home?
    They turned the light out
    and the dark is moving in the corner.



  • The Black Art

    A woman who writes feels too much,
    those trances and portents!
    As if cycles and children and islands

  • The Kiss

    My mouth blooms like a cut.
    I've been wronged all year, tedious
    nights, nothing but rough elbows in them

  • The Truth the Dead Know

    Gone, I say and walk from church,
    refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
    letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.