'The Double Image' by Anne Sexton

AI and Tech Aggregator
Download Mp3s Free
Tears of the Kingdom Roleplay
Best Free University Courses Online
TOTK Roleplay



1.

I am thirty this November.
You are still small, in your fourth year.
We stand watching the yellow leaves go queer,
flapping in the winter rain.
falling flat and washed. And I remember
mostly the three autumns you did not live here.
They said I'd never get you back again.
I tell you what you'll never really know:
all the medical hypothesis
that explained my brain will never be as true as these
struck leaves letting go.

I, who chose two times
to kill myself, had said your nickname
the mewling mouths when you first came;
until a fever rattled
in your throat and I moved like a pantomine
above your head. Ugly angels spoke to me. The blame,
I heard them say, was mine. They tattled
like green witches in my head, letting doom
leak like a broken faucet;
as if doom had flooded my belly and filled your bassinet,
an old debt I must assume.

Death was simpler than I'd thought.
The day life made you well and whole
I let the witches take away my guilty soul.
I pretended I was dead
until the white men pumped the poison out,
putting me armless and washed through the rigamarole
of talking boxes and the electric bed.
I laughed to see the private iron in that hotel.
Today the yellow leaves
go queer. You ask me where they go I say today believed
in itself, or else it fell.

Today, my small child, Joyce,
love your self's self where it lives.
There is no special God to refer to; or if there is,
why did I let you grow
in another place. You did not know my voice
when I came back to call. All the superlatives
of tomorrow's white tree and mistletoe
will not help you know the holidays you had to miss.
The time I did not love
myself, I visited your shoveled walks; you held my glove.
There was new snow after this.

2.

They sent me letters with news
of you and I made moccasins that I would never use.
When I grew well enough to tolerate
myself, I lived with my mother, the witches said.
But I didn't leave. I had my portrait
done instead.

Part way back from Bedlam
I came to my mother's house in Gloucester,
Massachusetts. And this is how I came
to catch at her; and this is how I lost her.
I cannot forgive your suicide, my mother said.
And she never could. She had my portrait
done instead.

I lived like an angry guest,
like a partly mended thing, an outgrown child.
I remember my mother did her best.
She took me to Boston and had my hair restyled.
Your smile is like your mother's, the artist said.
I didn't seem to care. I had my portrait
done instead.

There was a church where I grew up
with its white cupboards where they locked us up,
row by row, like puritans or shipmates
singing together. My father passed the plate.
Too late to be forgiven now, the witches said.
I wasn't exactly forgiven. They had my portrait
done instead.

3.

All that summer sprinklers arched
over the seaside grass.
We talked of drought
while the salt-parched
field grew sweet again. To help time pass
I tried to mow the lawn
and in the morning I had my portrait done,
holding my smile in place, till it grew formal.
Once I mailed you a picture of a rabbit
and a postcard of Motif number one,
as if it were normal
to be a mother and be gone.

They hung my portrait in the chill
north light, matching
me to keep me well.
Only my mother grew ill.
She turned from me, as if death were catching,
as if death transferred,
as if my dying had eaten inside of her.
That August you were two, by I timed my days with doubt.
On the first of September she looked at me
and said I gave her cancer.
They carved her sweet hills out
and still I couldn't answer.

4.

That winter she came
part way back
from her sterile suite
of doctors, the seasick
cruise of the X-ray,
the cells' arithmetic
gone wild. Surgery incomplete,
the fat arm, the prognosis poor, I heard
them say.

During the sea blizzards
she had here
own portrait painted.
A cave of mirror
placed on the south wall;
matching smile, matching contour.
And you resembled me; unacquainted
with my face, you wore it. But you were mine
after all.

I wintered in Boston,
childless bride,
nothing sweet to spare
with witches at my side.
I missed your babyhood,
tried a second suicide,
tried the sealed hotel a second year.
On April Fool you fooled me. We laughed and this
was good.

5.

I checked out for the last time
on the first of May;
graduate of the mental cases,
with my analysts's okay,
my complete book of rhymes,
my typewriter and my suitcases.

All that summer I learned life
back into my own
seven rooms, visited the swan boats,
the market, answered the phone,
served cocktails as a wife
should, made love among my petticoats

and August tan. And you came each
weekend. But I lie.
You seldom came. I just pretended
you, small piglet, butterfly
girl with jelly bean cheeks,
disobedient three, my splendid

stranger. And I had to learn
why I would rather
die than love, how your innocence
would hurt and how I gather
guilt like a young intern
his symptons, his certain evidence.

That October day we went
to Gloucester the red hills
reminded me of the dry red fur fox
coat I played in as a child; stock still
like a bear or a tent,
like a great cave laughing or a red fur fox.

We drove past the hatchery,
the hut that sells bait,
past Pigeon Cove, past the Yacht Club, past Squall's
Hill, to the house that waits
still, on the top of the sea,
and two portraits hung on the opposite walls.

6.

In north light, my smile is held in place,
the shadow marks my bone.
What could I have been dreaming as I sat there,
all of me waiting in the eyes, the zone
of the smile, the young face,
the foxes' snare.

In south light, her smile is held in place,
her cheeks wilting like a dry
orchid; my mocking mirror, my overthrown
love, my first image. She eyes me from that face
that stony head of death
I had outgrown.

The artist caught us at the turning;
we smiled in our canvas home
before we chose our foreknown separate ways.
The dry redfur fox coat was made for burning.
I rot on the wall, my own
Dorian Gray.

And this was the cave of the mirror,
that double woman who stares
at herself, as if she were petrified
in time -- two ladies sitting in umber chairs.
You kissed your grandmother
and she cried.

7.

I could not get you back
except for weekends. You came
each time, clutching the picture of a rabbit
that I had sent you. For the last time I unpack
your things. We touch from habit.
The first visit you asked my name.
Now you will stay for good. I will forget
how we bumped away from each other like marionettes
on strings. It wasn't the same
as love, letting weekends contain
us. You scrape your knee. You learn my name,
wobbling up the sidewalk, calling and crying.
You can call me mother and I remember my mother again,
somewhere in greater Boston, dying.

I remember we named you Joyce
so we could call you Joy.
You came like an awkward guest
that first time, all wrapped and moist
and strange at my heavy breast.
I needed you. I didn't want a boy,
only a girl, a small milky mouse
of a girl, already loved, already loud in the house
of herself. We named you Joy.
I, who was never quite sure
about being a girl, needed another
life, another image to remind me.
And this was my worst guilt; you could not cure
or soothe it. I made you to find me.

Editor 1 Interpretation

Anne Sexton's "The Double Image": A Masterpiece of Dark and Haunting Poetry

When it comes to poetry that is both disturbing and beautiful, few can match the mastery of Anne Sexton. In her seminal work "The Double Image," Sexton weaves a haunting tale of a mother's love for her daughter, exploring the dark and hidden corners of the human psyche in the process.

At its core, "The Double Image" is a poem about the nature of love and identity. Through vivid imagery, metaphorical language, and a keen sense of psychological insight, Sexton explores the complex dynamic that exists between a mother and her child, and the ways in which this dynamic can shape our sense of self.

The Dark and Haunting Imagery of "The Double Image"

From the very first line of the poem, Sexton transports the reader into a world of darkness and shadow. "I am thirty this November," she writes, "You are still small, in your fourth year." This opening sets the stage for a journey into the unknown, a journey that will take the reader deep into the psyche of a mother struggling to define herself and her relationship with her daughter.

Throughout the course of the poem, Sexton employs a wide range of images and metaphors to convey the complex emotions that lie at the heart of the narrative. We see the "black lake" of the mother's mind, the "ruby throat" of the daughter's bird, the "cancerous moon" that hangs over the landscape. Each of these images is carefully crafted to evoke a sense of dread and unease, to convey the sense that there is something deeply wrong at the heart of the mother-daughter relationship.

One of the most striking images in the poem is that of the "double image" itself. Sexton writes:

It is not my intention to be caught staring. It was only that I was looking at the mirror. I saw you behind me, reflected in the yellow glass. And there was nothing but you, and I, there together, in the mirror.

This image is at once beautiful and terrifying. It suggests a merging of identities that is both intimate and disturbing, a blurring of boundaries that leaves the mother feeling both comforted and trapped.

The Psychological Insight of "The Double Image"

One of the things that makes "The Double Image" such a powerful poem is the psychological insight that Sexton brings to her subject matter. Through her careful attention to detail and her use of metaphorical language, she is able to convey the complex emotions and motivations that drive the mother-daughter relationship.

At its heart, the poem is about the struggle for identity that lies at the heart of all human relationships. The mother is desperately trying to hold onto her sense of self, to define herself as something other than a mother. At the same time, she is deeply invested in her daughter's well-being, and is willing to sacrifice her own sense of self in order to protect her child.

This tension between self and other is beautifully captured in the following lines:

But I am not deceived, I know that we are both here, I and my child,
staring at the world from the same branchless tree.

Here, Sexton evokes a sense of shared experience and shared identity between mother and daughter, while at the same time highlighting the fact that they are two separate individuals, each struggling to define themselves in relation to the other.

Conclusion

In conclusion, "The Double Image" is a masterpiece of dark and haunting poetry, a work that explores the complex dynamics of the mother-daughter relationship with a keen sense of psychological insight and a mastery of poetic craft. Through her use of vivid imagery and metaphorical language, Anne Sexton is able to convey the complex emotions and motivations that drive this relationship, evoking a sense of both beauty and horror that will stay with the reader long after they have put down the poem. If you are a lover of dark and haunting poetry, "The Double Image" is a must-read.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

The Double Image: An Analysis of Anne Sexton's Classic Poem

Anne Sexton's poem, The Double Image, is a haunting and powerful exploration of the complexities of identity and the struggle to reconcile conflicting parts of oneself. Written in 1960, the poem is a classic example of Sexton's confessional style, which was characterized by its raw honesty and willingness to confront taboo subjects. In this analysis, we will explore the themes, imagery, and language of The Double Image, and examine how they contribute to the poem's impact and enduring relevance.

The poem is structured in three stanzas, each of which consists of four lines. The brevity of the lines and stanzas gives the poem a sense of urgency and intensity, as if the speaker is struggling to express something that is difficult to put into words. The first stanza sets the tone for the rest of the poem, with its stark imagery and sense of disorientation:

I am thirty this November. You are still small, in your fourth year. We stand watching the yellow leaves go queer, flapping in the winter rain.

The opening lines establish the speaker's age and the age of the child she is addressing. The use of the word "small" to describe the child emphasizes her vulnerability and dependence on the speaker. The image of the yellow leaves going "queer" is a striking one, suggesting a sense of disorientation and confusion. The use of the word "flapping" to describe the leaves also creates a sense of movement and instability, as if the world is in a state of flux.

The second stanza introduces the central metaphor of the poem, which is the idea of the "double image":

You are silent, you do not know. You will not know for years. You may kiss my face then, but I am not there.

The speaker addresses the child directly, acknowledging that she is not yet capable of understanding the complexities of the speaker's identity. The line "You may kiss my face then, but I am not there" is a powerful one, suggesting that the speaker is not fully present in her own body. The idea of the "double image" is introduced here, as the speaker suggests that there are two versions of herself: the one that the child sees and interacts with, and the one that is hidden from view.

The final stanza brings the poem to a powerful conclusion, as the speaker grapples with the implications of the double image:

I have been woman for a long time beware my smile I am treacherous with old magic and the noon's new fury with all your wide futures promised I am woman and not white.

The repetition of the phrase "I am" emphasizes the speaker's assertion of her identity, while the use of the word "treacherous" suggests that there is something dangerous and unpredictable about her. The reference to "old magic" and "noon's new fury" suggests that the speaker is tapping into powerful forces that are beyond her control. The final line, "and not white," is a powerful one, as it suggests that the speaker is not only grappling with issues of gender and identity, but also with issues of race and privilege.

One of the most striking aspects of The Double Image is its use of imagery. The poem is full of vivid and evocative descriptions that create a sense of disorientation and unease. The image of the yellow leaves going "queer" in the first stanza is a powerful one, as it suggests that the world is in a state of flux and instability. The use of the word "flapping" to describe the leaves also creates a sense of movement and chaos.

The metaphor of the "double image" is also a powerful one, as it suggests that there are two versions of the speaker: the one that is visible to the world, and the one that is hidden from view. This creates a sense of disorientation and unease, as the reader is forced to confront the idea that there may be more to the speaker than meets the eye.

The language of the poem is also striking, with its use of repetition and alliteration. The repetition of the phrase "I am" emphasizes the speaker's assertion of her identity, while the use of alliteration in the phrase "noon's new fury" creates a sense of power and intensity.

In conclusion, The Double Image is a powerful and haunting poem that explores the complexities of identity and the struggle to reconcile conflicting parts of oneself. The use of vivid imagery, metaphor, and language creates a sense of disorientation and unease, as the reader is forced to confront the idea that there may be more to the speaker than meets the eye. The poem's enduring relevance is a testament to its power and impact, and it remains a classic example of Anne Sexton's confessional style.

Editor Recommended Sites

Web LLM: Run Large language models from your browser. Browser llama / alpaca, chatgpt open source models
Developer Cheatsheets - Software Engineer Cheat sheet & Programming Cheatsheet: Developer Cheat sheets to learn any language, framework or cloud service
Entity Resolution: Record linkage and customer resolution centralization for customer data records. Techniques, best practice and latest literature
ML Assets: Machine learning assets ready to deploy. Open models, language models, API gateways for LLMs
Optimization Community: Network and graph optimization using: OR-tools, gurobi, cplex, eclipse, minizinc

Recommended Similar Analysis

Half-And-Half by Naomi Shihab Nye analysis
Dirge Without Music by Edna St. Vincent Millay analysis
Crumbling is not an instant's Act by Emily Dickinson analysis
Ecstasy , The by John Donne analysis
A Song For St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 by John Dryden analysis
Once by the Pacific by Robert Lee Frost analysis
A Hymn To God The Father by John Donne analysis
Gunga Din by Rudyard Kipling analysis
Well, I Have Lost You by Edna St. Vincent Millay analysis
All Day Long by Carl Sandburg analysis