Furies of Anne Gray Harvey: (content)

[billy]

An edit based on feedback received;

For you, my confessor,
from the garter-belt of my soul;
to the undergarments of my hell,
pressed upon the Hoffman.
Pressed within the steam of a child god.

The room cocoons me like a shroud
I'm a penguin out of water,
a fish out of oxygen;
facing the corner, crying poetry.
Feeling myself through cotton knickers.
You father, who thinks to sanitise me,
with your overbearing mouth.
You father, who wishes to own this parody of a sylph
you have always owned me.
I hate you for owning.

Words for you mother,
my words, bee stings that branded you.
Branded and stung you over and over,
Not lies but truths
hovering in your face, like a humming bird
sliding its tongue down that selfish throat.
You mother, who choked and gagged
like a toothless whore on them;
they were all of my own birthing
Mrs. Gray Harvey, my mother dear.

I see you loitering in my light,
like vampire moths ready to suck me,
ready to drink me; tête-a-tête.
I gave you poetry and you gave me what,
the catwalk, the dark catwalk
that gave you invisibility behind your garish flashbulbs?
why must it always be the dark, dark, dark.

My microphone; my husband's cock,
they listen like depraved monks
begging me to put out.
I live through them, wet with life and words.
Why do you, husband, force me? I feel alive and dead,
unsure which shoreline to follow.
Your grains of sand sharp and painful.

I know that much;
no don’t touch me, I’m alone without hands,
to reach out, whom can I touch --
Myself?
I know that much;
left in my naked reality
under a blanket of dark
light and isolation. a thorazine queen
barefoot and belt-less.
Will you feel my breasts,
my spine, a calf, the crease of me?
Feel them.
Bring me back.
Light me a cigarette.
Is anyone there, hello?

I the canary sang
for you,
you who would allow me to be gassed
snuffed, like the flame of a paper match.
Even when you parted me I was alone;
ready to be impaled like a piece of pork
and left on the heat of dead coals.

And I?
I rest with help, the fumes of carbon plumes
put my anguished self to sleep, read on the third,
dead on the fourth. The irony of death,
smoke inhalation to the extreme.
Sing me a cigarette in stilettos.
Sing me a vodka with olive.
Sing me a bed with Linda, divine Linda,
child of my fucking loins.
Loin of my unhappy thrush, song-less
among the dying magnolia.

I know that much;
I know of a girl in a room
Locked away like a dangerous thought.

---

Original:
For you, my confessor,
from the garter-belt of my soul;
for you the undergarments of my hell,
pressed upon the Hoffman.
Pressed within the steam of a child god.

The room cocoons me like a shroud
I'm a penguin out of water,
a fish out of oxygen;
facing the corner, crying poetry.
Feeling myself through cotton knickers.
You father, who may think to sanitise me,
with your overbearing mouth.
You father, who may wish to own this parody of a sylph
you have always owned me.
I hate you for owning.

Words for you mother,
my words, bee stings that branded you.
Branded and stung you over and over,
Not lies but truths
hovering in your face, like a humming bird
sliding its tongue down that selfish throat.
You mother, who choked and gagged
like a toothless whore on them;
they were all of my own birthing
Mrs. Gray Harvey, my mother dear.

I see you loitering in my light,
like vampire moths ready to suck me,
ready to drink me; tête-a-tête.
I gave you poetry and you gave me what,
the catwalk, the dark catwalk
that gave you invisibility behind your garish flashbulbs?
why must it always be the dark, dark, dark.

My microphone; my husband's cock,
it/they listen like depraved monks
begging me to put out.
I live through it/them, wet with life and words.
Why do you, husband, force me? I feel alive and dead,
unsure which shoreline to follow.
Your grains of sand sharp and painful.

I know that much;
no don’t touch me, I’m alone without hands,
unable to reach out, whom can I touch --
Myself?
I know that much;
left in my naked reality
under a blanket of dark
light and isolation. a thorazine queen
barefoot and belt-less.
Will you feel me, my breasts,
my spine, a calf, the crease of me?
Feel them.
Bring me back.
Light me a cigarette.
Is anyone there, hello?

I the canary sang
for you,
you who would allow me to be gassed
snuffed, like the flame of a paper match.
Even when you parted me I was alone;
ready to be impaled like a piece of pork
and left on the heat of dead coals.

And I?
I rest with help, the fumes of carbon plumes
put my anguished self to sleep, read on the third,
dead on the fourth. The irony of death,
smoke inhalation to the extreme.
Sing me a cigarette in stilettos.
Sing me a vodka with olive.
Sing me a bed with Linda, divine Linda,
child of my fucking loins.
Loin of my unhappy thrush, song-less
among the dying magnolia.

I know that much;
I know of a girl in a room
Locked away like a dangerous thought.

[heslopian]

For you, my confessor,
from the garter-belt of my soul;
for you the undergarments of my hell,
pressed upon the Hoffman. What's a Hoffman?
Pressed within the steam of a child god. Excellent line.

The room cocoons me like a shroud
I'm a penguin out of water, Did you say "penguin" because they're a flightless bird, as part of a metaphor-within-a-metaphor? I ask because it seems strange that you didn't just put "fish out of water" as opposed to this and the following line.
a fish out of oxygen;
facing the corner, crying poetry. I would say "crying poetry" is corny, but I feel as though I've read it before in a Sexton poem
Feeling myself through cotton knickers. Are the "cotton knickers" a reference to "Clothes"?
You father, who may think to sanitise me,
with your overbearing mouth.
You father, who may wish to own this parody of a sylph What's a "sylph"?
you have always owned me.
I hate you for owning.

Words for you mother,
my words, bee stings that branded you. Is this line a reference to "Said the Poet to the Analyst"?
Branded and stung you over and over,
Not lies but truths
hovering in your face, like a humming bird
sliding it's tongue down that selfish throat. "It's" shouldn't have an apostrophe when used in the possessive context.
You mother, who choked and gagged
like a toothless whore on them; This line was incredible. Though it isn't as obscene as a couple of the others it's still the most shocking line in the piece. I like it when a writer uses bad language well.
they were all of my own birthing.
Your schools did little for me,
though they taught me how to catch
the semen of my soon to be intended, This line doesn't feel like something Sexton would have written. I don't think she would have been so crude and blunt even in her later years. I also can't imagine her being that critical of her middle class schooling. Whatever else she was she was a WASP through and through.
mrs Gray Harvey, mother dear. "Mrs." should be written like so.

I see you loitering in my light,
like vampire moths ready to suck me,
ready to drink me; tête-a-tête.
I gave you poetry and you gave me what,
the catwalk, the dark catwalk
that gave you invisibility behind your garish flashbulbs? This is brilliant. Disregarding Sexton for a moment, everything from "the catwalk," to "flashbulbs?" is just great poetry.
why must it always be the dark, dark, dark.

My microphone; my husbands cock, "Husbands" needs an apostrophe before the second "s." The idea of her husband's cock being her microphone doesn't sit right with me. Her career as a poet was in sometimes violent opposition to her husband's wishes, so it seems strange to me to connect his phallus to her creative expression.
it/they listen like depraved monks
begging me to put out. Great line.
I live through it/them, wet with life and words.
Why do you husband, force me? The syntax here confused me a bit. I'd recommend putting another comma after "you." I feel alive and dead,
unsure which shoreline to follow.
Your grains of sand sharp and painful.

I know that much;
no don’t touch me, I’m alone without hands,
unable to reach out, whom can I touch --
Myself?
I know that much;
left in my naked reality
under a blanket of dark
light and isolation. a thorazine queen
barefoot and belt-less.
Will you feel me, my breasts,
my spine, a calf, the crease of me?
Feel them.
Bring me back.
Light me a cigarette.
Is anyone there, hello? Fantastic verse, as I've told you before.

I the canary sang
for you,
you who would allow me to be gassed
snuffed, like the flame of a paper match.
Even when you parted me I was alone;
ready to be impaled like a piece of pork
and left on the heat of dead coals. Everything after the semi-colon is perfect.

And I?
I rest with help, the fumes of carbon plumes
put my anguished self to sleep, read on the third,
dead on the fourth. The irony of death,
smoke inhalation to the extreme.
Sing me a cigarette in stilettos.
Sing me a vodka with olive.
Sing me a bed with Linda, divine Linda,
child of my fucking loins.
Loin of my unhappy thrush, song-less
among the dying magnolia.

I know that much;
I know of a girl in a room
Locked away like a dangerous thought. Again like I've told you before fantastic. The very last line sounds like it could have been lifted straight from a Sexton poem.

This must have been a hard poem for you to write as your personal is style is much less showy and more grounded in straightforward expression than Sexton's. Nevertheless you pull it off beautifully. Aside from maybe the semen line I never would have guessed, I don't think, that this was written by a man. That's how well you inhabit Sexton.

[billy]

a hoffman is a machine for steam pressing cloths, commonly known as a hoffman press.

i said penguin out of water because out of water they're clumsy as crap on a ballet floor.

cotton knickers are a reference to cotton knickers undergarment usually worn by young girls and old maids. in this case when she was a young girl.

a sylph is a graceful young woman.

the bee sting lines is reference to (you work it out hehe)

the semen section has been removed. as has the school reference

thanks for the kind words and help jack. i still think it needs work but i'll let it rest for a while.

the mic /cock thing i did because her poetry often included sex, cocks and all. and the mic i used as a metaphor for a bit of what she liked, though i know she wasn't keen on live venues, even if she was well followed for them

[addy]

This was truly a revelation. This was an fantastically done piece, especially considering how you wrote it in a voice and style so radically different from your usual. Beautiful, controlled, and you captured such a distinctly feminine perspective so well. I would never in a million years have guesses you could write Sexton like you just did, but damn. Fantastic job.

a few minor edits have been made but none that warrant a side by side showing.

For you, my confessor,
from the garter-belt of my soul;
for you the undergarments of my hell,
pressed upon the Hoffman.
Pressed within the steam of a child god. Beautiful line

The room cocoons me like a shroud
I'm a penguin out of water, Not sure "penguin" is the most effective
a fish out of oxygen;
facing the corner, crying poetry. I quite liked the touch of this... childish but says so very very much
Feeling myself through cotton knickers.
You father, who may think to sanitise me,
with your overbearing mouth.
You father, who may wish to own this parody of a sylph
you have always owned me.
I hate you for owning.

Words for you mother,
my words, bee stings that branded you.
Branded and stung you over and over,
Not lies but truths
hovering in your face, like a humming bird
sliding its tongue down that selfish throat. Really liked this, the darting energy you put into the image, when the discussion of "truth" could easily slip into the realm of heavyhanded
You mother, who choked and gagged
like a toothless whore on them;
they were all of my own birthing
Mrs. Gray Harvey, my mother dear.

I see you loitering in my light,
like vampire moths ready to suck me,
ready to drink me; tête-a-tête.
I gave you poetry and you gave me what,
the catwalk, the dark catwalk
that gave you invisibility behind your garish flashbulbs?
why must it always be the dark, dark, dark. Haunting

My microphone; my husband's cock,
it/they listen like depraved monks
begging me to put out.
I live through it/them, wet with life and words.
Why do you, husband, force me? I feel alive and dead,
unsure which shoreline to follow.
Your grains of sand sharp and painful. I like this, how the broadstroke image contracted into sensation

I know that much;
no don’t touch me, I’m alone without hands,
unable to reach out, whom can I touch --
Myself?
I know that much;
left in my naked reality
under a blanket of dark
light and isolation. a thorazine queen
barefoot and belt-less.
Will you feel me, my breasts,
my spine, a calf, the crease of me?
Feel them.
Bring me back.
Light me a cigarette.
Is anyone there, hello? This is my favorite stanza

I the canary sang
for you,
you who would allow me to be gassed
snuffed, like the flame of a paper match.
Even when you parted me I was alone;
ready to be impaled like a piece of pork
and left on the heat of dead coals. I like the general bright, burning feel you imparted in these lines...

And I?
I rest with help, the fumes of carbon plumes
put my anguished self to sleep, read on the third,
dead on the fourth. The irony of death,
smoke inhalation to the extreme.
Sing me a cigarette in stilettos.
Sing me a vodka with olive.
Sing me a bed with Linda, divine Linda,
child of my fucking loins.
Loin of my unhappy thrush, song-less
among the dying magnolia. ... and here smoky, the vogue of black and white and gray

I know that much;
I know of a girl in a room
Locked away like a dangerous thought. This felt a little short to me, a little abrupt, but I guess it's just because I wanted more of these beautiful lines

[billy]

i wasn't sure where to end so i thought i'd try and let it hang a little
and in doing so take you back from her death to her childhood where her thoughts of suicide probably
became the thought she finally gave in to.

oops, soory, i forgot to say thank you for the extremely kind words.

[addy]

D'oh, I didn't get the suicide allusion! Of course, it makes sense. And yes, that makes it the perfect ending then

[billy]

you're lucky, i often miss most of the intent of a poem hehe.
that you enjoyed it without knowing works for me just as well

[Todd]

Billy,

This deserves much more and I'm on a deadline for an anthology. Once I get past next week I'll try to come back. I think there are some things you can work on but holy fu%$k, this is brilliant.

I'm jealous how good some of this is...

I know that much;
I know of a girl in a room
Locked away like a dangerous thought.

God I loved that ending.

Best,

Todd

[billy]

thanks for the kind words todd. looking forward to your critique.

[Todd]

Hi Billy,

I'm back (this will probably be less of a critique and more an appreciation of what you've crafted).

a few minor edits have been made but none that warrant a side by side showing.

For you, my confessor,
from the garter-belt of my soul;
for you the undergarments of my hell,
pressed upon the Hoffman.
Pressed within the steam of a child god.

While I do like this opening (especially pressed within the steam of a child god--which strikes me as a capricious god), in L3 I don't really like the repetition of "for you". It's minor I know but I think you can still ride on L1's "For you" and substitute those words in L3 with "to"

The room cocoons me like a shroud--gives a sense of agoraphobia.
I'm a penguin out of water,
a fish out of oxygen;[b]--I like how you reverse familiar cliches
facing the corner, crying poetry.--normally I may find this a bit much, but when I consider some of confessional poetry it seems fitting. I would have never thought that I'd like crying poetry here as much as I do.
Feeling myself through cotton knickers.--Nice double entendre on feeling myself
You father, who may think to sanitise me,--You could cut "may" here and make think plural.
with your overbearing mouth.
You father, who may wish to own this parody of a sylph--again not a fan of "may"
you have always owned me.
I hate you for owning.--These last two lines are strong

Words for you mother,
my words, bee stings that branded you.
Branded and stung you over and over,--does the repetition buy you anything here?
Not lies but truths
hovering in your face, like a humming bird
sliding its tongue down that selfish throat.--the first image of the humming bird hovering is a bit common but you redeem it with having the bird do double duty with this line
You mother, who choked and gagged
like a toothless whore on them;--fantastic image
they were all of my own birthing
Mrs. Gray Harvey, my mother dear.--like the use of the name here

I see you loitering in my light,
like vampire moths ready to suck me,
ready to drink me; tête-a-tête.
I gave you poetry and you gave me what,
the catwalk, the dark catwalk
that gave you invisibility behind your garish flashbulbs?
why must it always be the dark, dark, dark.--last 3 lines here are brilliant

My microphone; my husband's cock,
it/they listen like depraved monks--it/they while technically right sounds bad. Maybe: "both listen like depraved monks" I do like the depraved monk bit and the idea that a microphone is listening
begging me to put out.
I live through it/them, wet with life and words.--again it/them feels awkward though wet with life and words is really good
Why do you, husband, force me? I feel alive and dead,
unsure which shoreline to follow.
Your grains of sand sharp and painful.--the alive and dead part feels too obvious. I also don't like the why do you husband here. We already have the mic and the cock. This could be better with simply following wet with life and words with:

I am unsure of which shoreline to follow.
Your grains of sand sharp and painful (great lines by the way)

I know that much;
no don’t touch me, I’m alone without hands,
unable to reach out, whom can I touch ----cutting unable would let hands play better off to reach out and without sort of does the work unable is doing.
Myself?
I know that much;
left in my naked reality
under a blanket of dark
light and isolation. a thorazine queen--adding light and isolation to a blanket of dark elevates it to something much more interesting.
barefoot and belt-less.
Will you feel me, my breasts,--you could cut the first me without losing anything
my spine, a calf, the crease of me?--I like how you ended this line
Feel them.
Bring me back.
Light me a cigarette.
Is anyone there, hello?--that's a nice line

I the canary sang
for you,
you who would allow me to be gassed
snuffed, like the flame of a paper match.--nice line
Even when you parted me I was alone;
ready to be impaled like a piece of pork
and left on the heat of dead coals.--again rife with sexual imagery and fitting for your topic

And I?
I rest with help, the fumes of carbon plumes
put my anguished self to sleep, read on the third,
dead on the fourth. The irony of death,
smoke inhalation to the extreme.
Sing me a cigarette in stilettos.
Sing me a vodka with olive.
Sing me a bed with Linda, divine Linda,
child of my fucking loins.
Loin of my unhappy thrush, song-less
among the dying magnolia.--these are the kind of moments in a poem that people will either love or hate. I happen to love it

I know that much;
I know of a girl in a room
Locked away like a dangerous thought.--such absolutely brilliant lines. You end this incredibly well.

Really solid poem Billy!

Best,

Todd

[billy]

hi Todd, great to see you dropping in.
.
thanks for the great feedback. hers a response;
i tried to write the poem as i thought she (sexton) may have wrote it, thats the reason for all the repetition, that said the extra 'for you' in the 1st can go.

the 2 'may's' in the 2nd can be cut without damaging the poem.

the 3rd verse rep; i think it does buy me something. to just say stung you with out the over and over doesn't feel like it's the way she would phrase it (only explaining because you put it in a question format hehe)

5th verse; i agree, both it/ they's can be re worked.

6th; the unable and me can be cut.

as i said above, thanks for the feedback and the kind words. i will definitely use most of your suggestions when i do an edit (probably today) i now your busy but try not to be a stranger

[billy]

An edit can be found here with thanks to jack and todd.