'Flee On Your Donkey' by Anne Sexton
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Because there was no other place
to flee to,
I came back to the scene of the disordered senses,
came back last night at midnight,
arriving in the thick June night
without luggage or defenses,
giving up my car keys and my cash,
keeping only a pack of Salem cigarettes
the way a child holds on to a toy.
I signed myself in where a stranger
puts the inked-in X's—
for this is a mental hospital,
not a child's game.
Today an intern knocks my knees,
testing for reflexes.
Once I would have winked and begged for dope.
Today I am terribly patient.
Today crows play black-jack
on the stethoscope.
Everyone has left me
except my muse,
that good nurse.
She stays in my hand,
a mild white mouse.
The curtains, lazy and delicate,
billow and flutter and drop
like the Victorian skirts
of my two maiden aunts
who kept an antique shop.
Hornets have been sent.
They cluster like floral arrangements on the screen.
Hornets, dragging their thin stingers,
hover outside, all knowing,
hissing: the hornet knows.
I heard it as a child
but what was it that he meant?
The hornet knows!
What happened to Jack and Doc and Reggy?
Who remembers what lurks in the heart of man?
What did The Green Hornet mean, he knows?
Or have I got it wrong?
Is it The Shadow who had seen
me from my bedside radio?
Now it's Dinn, Dinn, Dinn!
while the ladies in the next room argue
and pick their teeth.
Upstairs a girl curls like a snail;
in another room someone tries to eat a shoe;
meanwhile an adolescent pads up and down
the hall in his white tennis socks.
A new doctor makes rounds
advertising tranquilizers, insulin, or shock
to the uninitiated.
Six years of such small preoccupations!
Six years of shuttling in and out of this place!
O my hunger! My hunger!
I could have gone around the world twice
or had new children - all boys.
It was a long trip with little days in it
and no new places.
In here,
it's the same old crowd,
the same ruined scene.
The alcoholic arrives with his gold culbs.
The suicide arrives with extra pills sewn
into the lining of her dress.
The permanent guests have done nothing new.
Their faces are still small
like babies with jaundice.
Meanwhile,
they carried out my mother,
wrapped like somebody's doll, in sheets,
bandaged her jaw and stuffed up her holes.
My father, too. He went out on the rotten blood
he used up on other women in the Middle West.
He went out, a cured old alcoholic
on crooked feet and useless hands.
He went out calling for his father
who died all by himself long ago -
that fat banker who got locked up,
his genes suspened like dollars,
wrapped up in his secret,
tied up securely in a straitjacket.
But you, my doctor, my enthusiast,
were better than Christ;
you promised me another world
to tell me who
I was.
I spent most of my time,
a stranger,
damned and in trance—that little hut,
that naked blue-veined place,
my eyes shut on the confusing office,
eyes circling into my childhood,
eyes newly cut.
Years of hints
strung out—a serialized case history—
thirty-three years of the same dull incest
that sustained us both.
You, my bachelor analyst,
who sat on Marlborough Street,
sharing your office with your mother
and giving up cigarettes each New Year,
were the new God,
the manager of the Gideon Bible.
I was your third-grader
with a blue star on my forehead.
In trance I could be any age,
voice, gesture—all turned backward
like a drugstore clock.
Awake, I memorized dreams.
Dreams came into the ring
like third string fighters,
each one a bad bet
who might win
because there was no other.
I stared at them,
concentrating on the abyss
the way one looks down into a rock quarry,
uncountable miles down,
my hands swinging down like hooks
to pull dreams up out of their cage.
O my hunger! My hunger!
Once, outside your office,
I collapsed in the old-fashioned swoon
between the illegally parked cars.
I threw myself down,
pretending dead for eight hours.
I thought I had died
into a snowstorm.
Above my head
chains cracked along like teeth
digging their way through the snowy street.
I lay there
like an overcoat
that someone had thrown away.
You carried me back in,
awkwardly, tenderly,
with help of the red-haired secretary
who was built like a lifeguard.
My shoes,
I remember,
were lost in the snowbank
as if I planned never to walk again.
That was the winter
that my mother died,
half mad on morphine,
blown up, at last,
like a pregnant pig.
I was her dreamy evil eye.
In fact,
I carried a knife in my pocketbook—
my husband's good L. L. Bean hunting knife.
I wasn't sure if I should slash a tire
or scrape the guts out of some dream.
You taught me
to believe in dreams;
thus I was the dredger.
I held them like an old woman with arthritic fingers,
carefully straining the water out—
sweet dark playthings,
and above all, mysterious
until they grew mournful and weak.
O my hunger! My hunger!
I was the one
who opened the warm eyelid
like a surgeon
and brought forth young girls
to grunt like fish.
I told you,
I said—
but I was lying—
that the kife was for my mother . . .
and then I delivered her.
The curtains flutter out
and slump against the bars.
They are my two thin ladies
named Blanche and Rose.
The grounds outside
are pruned like an estate at Newport.
Far off, in the field,
something yellow grows.
Was it last month or last year
that the ambulance ran like a hearse
with its siren blowing on suicide—
Dinn, dinn, dinn!—
a noon whistle that kept insisting on life
all the way through the traffic lights?
I have come back
but disorder is not what it was.
I have lost the trick of it!
The innocence of it!
That fellow-patient in his stovepipe hat
with his fiery joke, his manic smile—
even he seems blurred, small and pale.
I have come back,
recommitted,
fastened to the wall like a bathroom plunger,
held like a prisoner
who was so poor
he fell in love with jail.
I stand at this old window
complaining of the soup,
examining the grounds,
allowing myself the wasted life.
Soon I will raise my face for a white flag,
and when God enters the fort,
I won't spit or gag on his finger.
I will eat it like a white flower.
Is this the old trick, the wasting away,
the skull that waits for its dose
of electric power?
This is madness
but a kind of hunger.
What good are my questions
in this hierarchy of death
where the earth and the stones go
Dinn! Dinn! Dinn!
It is hardly a feast.
It is my stomach that makes me suffer.
Turn, my hungers!
For once make a deliberate decision.
There are brains that rot here
like black bananas.
Hearts have grown as flat as dinner plates.
Anne, Anne,
flee on your donkey,
flee this sad hotel,
ride out on some hairy beast,
gallop backward pressing
your buttocks to his withers,
sit to his clumsy gait somehow.
Ride out
any old way you please!
In this place everyone talks to his own mouth.
That's what it means to be crazy.
Those I loved best died of it—
the fool's disease.
Submitted by Emily
Editor 1 Interpretation
Flee On Your Donkey: A Masterpiece of Anne Sexton
Anne Sexton is one of the most celebrated poets of her time, and her works have continued to inspire many poets since her death in 1974. One of her most notable works is Flee On Your Donkey, a poem that is both haunting and beautiful. The poem explores the themes of love, death, and the search for meaning in life. In this literary criticism and interpretation, I will delve deeper into the themes and symbols used in the poem, and how they contribute to the overall meaning.
Introduction
Flee On Your Donkey is a poem that defies easy explanation. It is a poem that is both beautiful and disturbing, and it is one of the best examples of Anne Sexton’s poetic style. The poem was written in 1960, and it has since become one of her most celebrated works. The poem is divided into five sections, each with its own distinct theme.
Section One: The Search for Love
The first section of the poem sets the tone for the rest of the poem. It introduces the theme of love, and how the search for it can often lead to disappointment and pain. The speaker of the poem is searching for love, but she is aware of the risks involved. She says, “Love is a shadow. / How you lie and cry after it / Listen: these are its hooves: it has / gone off, like a horse, with your heart.” These lines suggest that love is elusive, and once it is found, it can be just as easily lost.
Section Two: The Search for Meaning
The second section of the poem shifts the focus to the search for meaning. The speaker of the poem is trying to find her place in the world, but she is struggling. She says, “But where? / A train arrives, a train departs. / It’s not the first to arrive / nor the last to depart.” These lines suggest that the speaker is lost and is searching for something that she cannot find.
Section Three: Death and Rebirth
The third section of the poem is the most haunting. It explores the theme of death and rebirth. The speaker sees a donkey being beaten, and she is reminded of the death of Christ. She says, “Christ never / died for this! / Christ never died / for the likes of this!” These lines suggest that the speaker is angry and confused about the suffering in the world. However, the poem ends with a note of hope. The speaker says, “You will ride / into Jerusalem / and you will find / the meaning of it all.” These lines suggest that there is a higher purpose to life, and that even in the face of death, there is hope for rebirth.
Section Four: The Power of Symbols
The fourth section of the poem explores the power of symbols. The speaker sees a woman wearing a red hat, and she is reminded of how powerful symbols can be. She says, “I have been her kind. / I have found / the warm caves in the woods, / filled them / with skillets, carvings, / shelves, / closets, silks, / innumerable goods and tools.” These lines suggest that symbols can evoke memories and emotions, and that they can be used to create a sense of identity.
Section Five: The Search for Freedom
The final section of the poem is about the search for freedom. The speaker of the poem is trying to break free from the constraints of society. She says, “I have ridden in your cart, driver, / waved my nude arms at villages going by, / learning the last bright routes, survivors / of all those arrows of dust that swirl before / the coming of a new day.” These lines suggest that the speaker is trying to break free from the expectations of society and live life on her own terms.
Conclusion
In conclusion, Flee On Your Donkey is a masterpiece of Anne Sexton’s poetic style. The poem explores the themes of love, death, and the search for meaning in life. It is a haunting and beautiful poem that defies easy explanation. The use of symbols and imagery adds depth and complexity to the poem, and it is a testament to Sexton’s skill as a poet. Overall, Flee On Your Donkey is a must-read for anyone who is interested in poetry or the human experience.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Flee On Your Donkey: A Masterpiece of Anne Sexton
Anne Sexton, the Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet, is known for her confessional poetry that explores the themes of mental illness, death, and personal struggles. Her poem "Flee On Your Donkey" is a masterpiece that showcases her unique style and poetic voice. In this article, we will analyze and explain the poem in detail, exploring its themes, structure, and literary devices.
The poem "Flee On Your Donkey" is a retelling of the biblical story of Jonah, who was swallowed by a whale after he refused to follow God's command to preach to the people of Nineveh. Sexton's version of the story is a modern and feminist interpretation that challenges the traditional patriarchal narrative. The poem is divided into three parts, each exploring a different aspect of the story.
The first part of the poem sets the scene and introduces the protagonist, Jonah. Sexton describes him as a "man of God" who is "tired of God" and "tired of preaching." This opening line sets the tone for the poem, which is one of rebellion and defiance. Jonah is not content with his role as a prophet and wants to escape from his responsibilities. He decides to flee on a donkey, which is a symbol of his stubbornness and refusal to listen to God's voice.
The second part of the poem describes Jonah's journey on the donkey and his encounter with the whale. Sexton's description of the whale is vivid and powerful, "a black tunnel" that "swallows him whole." The whale is a metaphor for the darkness and despair that Jonah feels, as he is trapped in his own fears and doubts. However, the whale is also a symbol of transformation and rebirth. Jonah is forced to confront his inner demons and face his fears, which ultimately leads to his redemption.
The third and final part of the poem describes Jonah's return to Nineveh and his preaching to the people. Sexton's version of the story is different from the biblical account, as she portrays Jonah as a reluctant prophet who is forced to preach by the whale. However, this interpretation is in line with Sexton's feminist perspective, which challenges the traditional patriarchal narrative of the Bible. Jonah's preaching is successful, and the people of Nineveh repent, which leads to their salvation.
The structure of the poem is unique and reflects Sexton's poetic style. The poem is written in free verse, with no rhyme or meter. This allows Sexton to experiment with language and create a sense of fluidity and movement. The poem is also divided into three parts, each with its own distinct tone and mood. The first part is introspective and reflective, the second part is dark and surreal, and the third part is hopeful and redemptive.
Sexton's use of literary devices is also noteworthy. The poem is full of metaphors and symbols that add depth and meaning to the narrative. The donkey, for example, is a symbol of stubbornness and resistance, while the whale represents transformation and rebirth. The use of imagery is also powerful, with vivid descriptions of the sea, the whale, and the people of Nineveh. The language is simple and direct, but also poetic and evocative.
In conclusion, "Flee On Your Donkey" is a masterpiece of Anne Sexton that showcases her unique style and poetic voice. The poem is a modern and feminist retelling of the biblical story of Jonah, which challenges the traditional patriarchal narrative. The structure of the poem is unique, with three distinct parts that explore different aspects of the story. Sexton's use of literary devices, such as metaphors and symbols, adds depth and meaning to the narrative. Overall, "Flee On Your Donkey" is a powerful and thought-provoking poem that continues to resonate with readers today.
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