“WordsBe careful of words,even the miraculous ones.For the miraculous we do our best,sometimes they swarm like insectsand leave not a sting but a kiss.They can be as good as fingers.They can be as trusty as the rockyou stick your bottom on.But they can be both daisies and bruises.Yet I am in love with words.They are doves falling out of the ceiling.They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.They are the trees, the legs of summer,and the sun, its passionate face.Yet often they fail me.I have so much I want to say,so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.But the words aren't good enough,the wrong ones kiss me.Sometimes I fly like an eaglebut with the wings of a wren.But I try to take careand be gentle to them.Words and eggs must be handled with care.Once broken they are impossiblethings to repair.”
In Anne Sexton's quote, she delves into the power and limitations of words. She starts by acknowledging the beauty and magic that words can hold, describing them as both miraculous and trustworthy. She compares words to various things, from fingers to doves, highlighting their versatility and significance in human expression. However, Sexton also recognizes the potential harm that words can cause, referring to them as both daisies and bruises. This dichotomy of words as both sources of comfort and pain mirrors the complexity of human communication. Sexton emphasizes the importance of handling words with care, as once spoken, they can have lasting impact that is difficult to undo. This quote serves as a poignant reminder of the weight that words carry and the responsibility one has in their use.
In this poignant poem by Anne Sexton, she explores the power and limitations of words. The way words can be both beautiful and harmful mirrors the complexities of communication in our modern world. With the prevalence of social media and instant messaging, it is more important than ever to choose our words carefully. Sexton's message serves as a reminder to handle words with care, recognizing their potential to both heal and harm.
In this poetic passage by Anne Sexton, the power and complexity of words are beautifully expressed. The author emphasizes the importance of choosing words carefully, as they have the potential to both uplift and harm. Despite their limitations, Sexton's love for words shines through as she compares them to doves, oranges, and the sun, showcasing their beauty and fragility.
Reflecting on Anne Sexton's poem about the power and limitations of words, consider the following questions:
“Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren”
“Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.”
“Cigarettes and Whiskey and Wild, Wild Women" Perhaps I was born kneeling, born coughing on the long winter, born expecting the kiss of mercy, born with a passion for quicknessand yet, as things progressed, I learned early about the stockadeor taken out, the fume of the enema.By two or three I learned not to kneel, not to expect, to plant my fires undergroundwhere none but the dolls, perfect and awful, could be whispered to or laid down to die.Now that I have written many words, and let out so many loves, for so many, and been altogether what I always was—a woman of excess, of zeal and greed, I find the effort useless.Do I not look in the mirror, these days, and see a drunken rat avert her eyes? Do I not feel the hunger so acutelythat I would rather die than lookinto its face? I kneel once more, in case mercy should comein the nick of time.”
“Anne, I don't want to live. . . . Now listen, life is lovely, but I Can't Live It. I can't even explain. I know how silly it sounds . . . but if you knew how it Felt. To be alive, yes, alive, but not be able to live it. Ay that's the rub. I am like a stone that lives . . . locked outside of all that's real. . . . Anne, do you know of such things, can you hear???? I wish, or think I wish, that I were dying of something for then I could be brave, but to be not dying, and yet . . . and yet to [be] behind a wall, watching everyone fit in where I can't, to talk behind a gray foggy wall, to live but to not reach or to reach wrong . . . to do it all wrong . . . believe me, (can you?) . . . what's wrong. I want to belong. I'm like a jew who ends up in the wrong country. I'm not a part. I'm not a member. I'm frozen.”
“and God was there like an island I had not rowed to,still ignorant of Him, my arms, and my legs worked,and I grew, I grew,I wore rubies and bought tomatoesand now, in my middle age,about nineteen in the head I'd say,I am rowing, I am rowingthough the oarlocks stick and are rustyand the sea blinks and rollslike a worried eyebal,but I am rowing, I am rowing,though the wind pushes me backand I know that that island will not be perfect,it will have the flaws of life,the absurdities of the dinner table,but there will be a doorand I will open itand I will get rid of the rat insdie me,the gnawing pestilential rat.God will take it with his two handsand embrace it”
“I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.”