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Bloom's Literary Themes - ymerleksi - home

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The Poetry of Anne Sexton 209<br />

complicity in this complicated lie, she will provide her child with a<br />

way to escape its implications; or if not to escape them entirely, then<br />

to know that the trap lies baited for her.<br />

But I have called Anne Sexton Oedipus, and Oedipus wanted to<br />

marry his mother, not to harm her. Sexton’s Oedipus/Anne knows<br />

that the mother is the “first overthrown love” for both sexes, and<br />

that the differentiation of desire in males and females occurs later.<br />

It is my contention that Oedipus/Anne does “slay” her mother and<br />

“marry” her father, just as Oedipus slew his father and married his<br />

mother. That Sexton thought herself guilty of her mother’s death,<br />

and of marrying her father, is explicit throughout her canon. (In<br />

“All My Pretty Ones,” she also acknowledges the possibility of an<br />

unconscious guilt connected with her father’s death). Here I will<br />

concentrate on her self-perception of this deadly configuration in<br />

three poems ranging throughout her career: “The Double Image,”<br />

(Bedlam); “Those Times . . .” (Live or Die); and “Divorce, Thy Name<br />

is Woman” (45 Mercy Street). In “Double Image,” she is accused of<br />

her mother’s death; in “Those Times” she acknowledges this unintentional<br />

sin; and in “Divorce, Thy Name is Woman,” she speaks of her<br />

“marriage” throughout life to her father. This is what Oedipus must<br />

discover himself guilty of: the murder of the parent of the same sex,<br />

and forbidden incest with the parent of the opposite sex.<br />

“The Double Image” includes one of the most startling and<br />

frightening of Sexton’s stanzas, made more so by the clever facility<br />

and unexpectedness of the rhyme:<br />

They hung my portrait in the chill<br />

north light, matching<br />

me to keep me well,<br />

Only my mother grew ill.<br />

She turned from me, as if death were catching,<br />

as if death transferred,<br />

as if my dying had eaten inside of her.<br />

That August you were two, but I timed my days with doubt.<br />

On the first of September she looked at me<br />

and said I gave her cancer.<br />

They carved her sweet hills out<br />

and still I couldn’t answer.

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