[To George Starbuck]
[14 Black Oak Road]
January 28, 1970
Dear George,
I hear that there is a possibility that you may be in Boston next year at BU of all places—running things. I am teaching a creative writing course there. I hope you don’t fire me. I really miss having you around, dear one, and hope you will become a Bostonian once more. Arthur [Freeman] and I think it would be great if the three of us plus Maxine could duplicate that first reading we did at the Poets’ Theatre just for laughs or just for tears.
The main purpose of this letter is HELP, HELP. I am trying something different and would like to know if you think it works. I plan a whole series of poems, possibly a book if it comes to that, but I want to know if these two poems make any sense to you, and if you could pick them apart, I will buy you a drink when you get here. I’d like to explain what I’m doing in these poems, but I feel it would be wrong. I would like to know what you think I’m doing. And naturally, if you think I’m doing it well. HURRY, GEORGE BABY. I NEED YOU.
Love,
Anne had begun work on a new book of poems that winter. Inspired by Linda’s constant reading of the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm, Anne began to study her daughter’s battered blue volume. Eventually she asked Linda for a list of her favorite stories and began to transform them into poems: “The Gold Key,” “The Little Peasant,” “Hansel and Gretel,” “The Twelve Dancing Princesses.” She called these modifications of the Brothers Grimm her “transformations.”
[To George Starbuck]
[14 Black Oak Road]
March 11, 1970
Dear George,
I send these again with two new ones thinking you may have lost the others, thinking that perhaps a second try …? Maybe they’re all worthless and that’s why you don’t want to comment. Maybe I’m coughing down a bad cellar hole? Maybe I ain’t got nottin to say? Maybe these are loose and flaccid? You said they were hard to comment on because they weren’t in iambic pentameter couplets. Neither is the poem “That Day” and you liked that.
You answered Maxine about her book so fulsomely that I think in this case I’m a little jealous. True, this isn’t a book, but I’d like to know what you’d think if I made it a book. At any rate, read “The Little Peasant” [TR]. It might amuse you.
I am thrilled to hear that you are coming to BU. It will be wonderful to have you so close after all these years. I hope you will see to it that I continue to be hired there. I enjoy teaching as well as needing the money. I even think I’m good at it in my kind of inarticulate half-assed manner. If you weren’t so happily married, I’d have an affair with you. That’s just a fact for you to put in your Univac machine.
Love,
[To Thomas Alexander
Cape Cod Community College]
[14 Black Oak Road]
May 11, 1970
Dear Mr. Alexander:
I would love to come and read my poetry and talk about it some day next year. It looks like you really have interesting lecturers, and I bet Jim Dickey set you on fire. He’s quite a showman.
My fee is $1500 plus expenses. However, the expenses would be negligible, and I am willing to modify the fee somewhat because of your proximity. Let me know how this strikes you and your budget as my calendar is getting full for next year.
Sincerely,
[To Philip Legler]
[14 Black Oak Road]
May 19th, 1970
Dear Phil Baby,
I will have to burn your letter as incriminating evidence … but that’s not the point. Your letter is full of love and I wish I could keep it. I do know you love me more than most people do. Perhaps my husband more because he had to live with me. Sometimes I think he deserves an award for putting up with me. Other times I think he’s pretty lucky. Lucky because I’m quite naturally a loving, affectionate person. But then, even that can get to be a bore.
I’m sorry I put your hand in a tin box. God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to really. You know I’ve never slept with anyone on a reading … never a one-night stand … never something so casual or lighthearted. I’m just not the type. I’m a pretty faithful type when you come right down to it. Sleeping with someone is almost like marrying them. It takes time and thought. If you lived in Boston or I lived where the lovely fog horns are … but even then I’m not sure. Just that it wasn’t possible that time. I’ve got to be true to myself as well as to you. Further, I think I’m so busy fighting the suicide demons that I have little time for love. You saw how I go to sleep—not sleep at all. You said it [:] “death touched me.” I hope to hell my present shrink can help me work this out before it’s too late.
I zapped into your life and I’m so glad I did. I’ll never really zap out. Put me there, friend, friend, forever.
… next day …
I’ve been out killing dandelions. It’s a lovely spring day. I think I’ll go out into [it] again. The manager (Bob) of “Her Kind” (my rock group) is coming over for lunch, or rather bringing the lunch. I will sit in the shade (thorazine makes me allergic to the sun) and he will sit in the sun. How I miss that!
I finished that fairy tale (“The Maiden Without Hands”) [TR] last week and am thinking about doing Hansel and Gretel. My transformations of the Brothers Grimm are full of food images but what could be more directly food than cooking the kids and finally the wicked lady. Smack in the oven like a roast lamb.
Readings are accumulating for next year. I’ll do few of them I hope. Enough to pull in some dough to help out but not enough to drain me too much. I find them very hard to do … particularly those informal classes where (as they say) I can do anything I want … Mostly I don’t want. That’s the trouble. But you, Phil, make it easy on me and helped in every way. I thank you. That’s still the nicest Holiday Inn I ever stayed in. And I can remember those ghost-like fog horns. I remember too you tucking me in bed and patting my head so gently. I don’t forget! Love to you, my dear,
Annie Babe
[To Thomas Alexander
Cape Cod Community College]
[14 Black Oak Road]
May 26, 1970
Dear Mr. Alexander: Dear Director of External Affairs:
I suppose I could come for $775 although it’s a little low from my point of view. However, I have my own proposal to make. I propose that you come up to Weston, pick me up and drive me down to Hyannis or that someone does. Thus I will be saved the arduous trip. I will be glad to talk informally after the reading, but I would prefer not to meet classes.
February 10th is okay with me if you can put up with the thought that there may be a major nor’easter that day.
It occurred to me that if you paid Jim Dickey $775 plus expenses, you must have paid him at least $900, or let me put it this way, it must have cost you $900. I would think if you could raise it for Dickey you could raise it for Sexton, but I hate to quibble. What do you think?
Sincerely,
Anne Sexton
Director of Internal Affairs
[To Paul Brooks]
[14 Black Oak Road]
July 17, 1970
Dear Paul,
Welcome back from Europe! You were missed. David Harris handled my problems and much to my advantage. Houghton Mifflin is certainly the most gracious publishing house in America. It is a pleasure to be connected with you in my own small way.
The honorary degree from Tufts was wonderful and further, it saved my job at Boston University where I am teaching creative writing and discovering poets and developing poets who will outlast me. In a few years their manuscripts will be coming in to Houghton Mifflin. It is kind of like believing in God to see the young ones lift up the banner.
You will find on your desk a long involved letter from a fan of mine, Miss Alice Smith. She came to the party. I have kind of taken her under my wing. She’s a spunky old gal (and extremely intelligent) and she has been promoting my books in every bookstore in New York City for five or six years. I would say that many of
my sales can be attributed to her zeal. She lives in Brooklyn on welfare, has been very seriously ill for the last year, and six years ago she had spent four years in a state mental hospital. My books, she tells me, contributed to her coming to terms with life and getting well. This is not an uncommon experience for me and, of course, I get hundreds of letters like her first one, but for some reason I took her on.
She has made me very aware of the lack of advertisements for my book. Perhaps this can be remedied in the future. I sell well, to be sure, but think of how well I would sell with an ad in The Village Voice and a large ad in the Sunday New York Times. Doubleday did James Dickey a full-page ad for his poems in the Sunday Times. Naturally, I was jealous. Your advertising manager stated to Alice Smith that ads don’t sell books. That’s a hell of an attitude for an advertising manager to have! He doesn’t even believe in his own work. I find that strange. It would seem to me that it might be time to write a NEW ad telling the public that all my books are in print and that they’re selling damn well. Love Poems, in this short time and as you undoubtedly know, has sold over 14,000 copies. Well, Paul, I don’t mean to be a whining author begging for advertisements and becoming a fool, but I did think I ought to let you know how I felt about this. Maybe the advertising manager doesn’t care if my books sell, but I know you do, and I know you will fight for me if it’s within reason.
I’m working away on a new book. There was an article in the Globe about it as I spilled the beans on my secret. I would send you the Globe article except that I think the poems will present themselves better than the news media could. It’s something quite strange and different, and I’m having an awfully good time.
With love,
[To Tillie Olsen]
[14 Black Oak Road]
July 21, 1970
Dear Tillie,
I haven’t meant to keep you waiting, and I imagine you had given up on me, but I didn’t know how to answer your letter. I am glad that there were some things in Love Poems that you liked. I understand you could not write to me when you were busy with your own work. At that crest time one must hoard their own fullness. And the fact that you did not write later can be understood. I am a terrible correspondent myself and have slighted people—people whom I love—without meaning to. And over-sight can be so easily forgiven. I do not usually harbor grudges.
I was so shocked those many years ago when you said that I shallowized Maxine’s book that I could have not possibly written you a letter of anger—it was like a knife in the back. No, Tillie, I never understood what you meant. If you would ever care to tell me, I would surely listen and listen hard. It wouldn’t matter to me if I didn’t love and respect you, but I do, and it still matters. One of Maxine’s favorite writers is John Cheever. Maybe he shallowized her book. Her new book is about a black and white relationship (no influence by me). Maybe you will like that better. Even if you can’t explain the shallowizing to me, please know that I am your devoted reader and wish you all the best in your life and in your work.
Anne
In June, Anne wrote to Cindy Degener, who was now placing her poems, and suggested that she send “The Little Peasant” to Playboy for its Ribald Classics series.
[To Claire S. Degener]
[14 Black Oak Road]
August 18, 1970
Dear Cindy,—maker of the popular culture whoopee
I am pleased with the luck you’ve had in placing my poems. I’m not sure I approve and God knows what Houghton Mifflin will think when it comes time to publish the book. It worries me a little to be published in Playboy. They exploit women, and now I’ve got a hand in it. As you say, I’m “in,” but I was never conscious of being out. Still, what the hell. I’d feel a lot worse if they’d turned them down.
Dickey at Esquire is my enemy as you know. He is a truly disgusting man although I like some of his work. He seems to like me but not my work.
It is good, Cindy, to know that what I am doing has worth. I have confidence in it myself, but it is nice to know I’m not alone.
Audience Magazine, as you probably know, is interested in seeing some transformations. They will pay $1000 for two of them or maybe one of them, depending on the length. I’ve been working on one all summer. Since about June 15th to August 14th. Sometimes it’s hard to write a poem. As soon as The New Yorker, by the end of September, I think, turns them down, I will have two new ones for you.
Other matters. You did notice, I hope, the revised royalty statement from Houghton Mifflin. I improved things by over $700. I noticed that you took 10% commission on that. Last I heard you were taking 5% commission on Love Poems. It’s probably not that important … a matter of $20 probably, but you might make note of it for the future as Love Poems is selling pretty well for a book of poems. I am having lunch with Paul Brooks this Friday. Perhaps there will be more news by next week. I will have to tell him I’m part of the US heritage.
You’re wonderful, Cindy. Love and kisses,
[To Alice Smith]
[14 Black Oak Road]
August 19, 1970
Dear Alice,
Here are two poems. “Sleeping Beauty” [TR] took me from July 5th to August 17th … a long block was in process. It was a difficult poem for me as you might imagine and seems now to deal with one of the themes of Mercy Street. As many times as I saw that play, I never worked it out. I guess therapy is the place for it, not the stage.
Other matters. We [Her Kind] gave a concert July 24th at U of Mass. and I wish you could have been there. It was sensational. We had the world’s best sound system provided by the University, and it was held outdoors to about 2,000 people. It was a very warm night and just the right atmosphere. We didn’t have Mark [Levinson]’s hysterics to put up with, and it was a great relief. Our new bass player is a black fellow named Hank [Hankinson]. When not playing, he is a bartender at the Harvard Club. His playing is not as good as Mark’s but he will do. He sings a song that Steve [Rizzo] wrote to one of my poems. Steve used to sing it but it just didn’t sound professional. Hank has a nice voice and it was a beautiful moment so unlike Emmanuel Church fraught with tensions and dissent and sound problems. I wish we could save the money to buy our own sound system and maybe we will.
Other matters. This summer I’ve been seeing Dr. Chase three times a week and working at a high pitch. Everything was going fine until a week ago last Monday when I woke up feeling very strange. Matters got worse and I went in to see her. I could hardly talk. About the only thing I could say was “I’m on a trip.” Everything had strange colors and sounds were either very loud or very far away. She should never have let me leave that office in that condition. Driving home I became convinced that Maxine was dead and headed for Joan Smith’s house (my former nurse and Maxine’s very good friend). I tried to tell Joan some of my confusion. She called Maxine who is in New Hampshire, and I talked with Maxine but was convinced it was a tape recording. I remember that I cried when I talked with her. At any rate then Joan drove home with me and meanwhile Maxine had called Dr. Chase. When I got home Dr. Chase called me. It’s hard to remember much from then on. I remember that Dr. Chase said “you’re out of your tree but I don’t think you need to be hospitalized.” Out of your tree meaning crazy. I thought she then said “at any rate, you’re not going to kill yourself,” but she says that I said that. She told me to take two thorazine which certainly wouldn’t have done much, certainly didn’t. Joan came in and I took two thorazine and two noludar. Kayo was home suddenly and he was going to drive Joan home. I told him I might take my pills and go to sleep. He left with Joan and I took 17 noludar. Maxine called after I’d taken them and I told her what I had done. I don’t remember if I thought she was dead then or not. She had convinced me to call Dr. Chase and tell her what I had done and the last thing I said to her was I can’t see to dial the phone. I don’t remember saying that but that’s what Max says I said. Max screamed on the phone and got Joy’s attention. Max told Joy what I had done and Joy called Dr. Chase. Poor Joy. How
could I have left her with that. Dr. Chase called my mother-in-law and then Kayo came home. According to Kayo I was stiff by then. He called the internist who said to bring me into Mass. General which Kayo driving, my mother-in-law holding me in the back seat they did. They got stuck in a traffic jam on Storrow Drive and they could hear my breathing get shallower and shallower. At any rate they made it. I got pumped out and put in intensive care and came to the next day. I was in the hospital for two days and then home. Dr. Chase has taken all my pills away from me and put me on much higher doses of thorazine which she doles out and three cloralhydrate to sleep. It took me a while to adjust, but I find I’m sleeping quite well. I’m taking six to eight hundred thorazine a day. I still feel quite weak and I’m still terrified by what happened, but at least I survived. I blame myself for all that happened but Dr. Chase is trying to help me work that out. She refers to it as an attack. I wonder what it was. I guess it was an attack, but it certainly was a strange one. I can only remember thinking I was crazy and that I’d have to kill myself. At any rate it’s over. I’ve told you the facts coldly and clinically almost because I couldn’t bear to tell them with feeling. Hell is too wide to describe.
I’m glad that you’re to go to Chicago. I think it’s a fine idea. Yes, Alice, you can go home again. Well, I’ve got to get on to other things, Alice. Sorry to tell you this whole sad, grisly story but it didn’t seem to me I could keep it from you.
Love as always,
In August, she sent “The White Snake,” “Godfather Death,” “The Little Peasant,” “Hansel and Gretel,” “Iron Hans,” and “Rapunzel” to Paul Brooks. Houghton Mifflin did not take well to the dark ribaldry of her book, and told her so in no uncertain terms. Undaunted by subtle pressure from Houghton Mifflin not to publish her book, Anne hinted that she might take her work elsewhere. Ultimately, Transformations was to sell more hard-bound copies than any other Sexton book.
[To Paul Brooks]
[14 Black Oak Road]
August 25, 1970
Dear Paul,