Anne Sexton
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Notable San Francisco: 12/28–1/3
Wednesday 12/28: Back in the day, when Isaac Fitzgerald used to host the monthly Rumpus variety show at The Make-Out Room, comedian Nato Green was a frequent and popular guest. Tonight, he’ll be headlining at The Punch Line. That’s a…
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The Sunday Rumpus Interview: Jericho Parms
What is lost still has substance, is malleable, can take on new impressions, and be molded again to our experience, often resulting in the most lasting force that determines how we see the world.
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The Rumpus Poetry Book Club Chat With Camille Rankine
The Rumpus Poetry Book Club chats with Camille Rankine about her new book Incorrect Merciful Impulses, history, and trying to be a writer every day.
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The Amazing Disappearing Woman Writer
To refuse to disappear at mid-life—I am forty-two as of the writing of this essay—is perhaps the best rebellion a woman poet can make to the literary world and to the world at large.
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In Plain Sight: The Vanishing of Ellen Bass
Putting her experiences into a broader context, [Bass] now saw, was essential to “creating openings for readers to enter her poems and for the poems to enter her readers.”
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Dear Son or Daughter
Here is the problem in writing letters to your kids—perhaps especially as a writer, who has arguably spent her entire professional life writing letters to everyone who isn’t her kids: How do you suddenly start writing in a grand literary…
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It Ends With Eating a Strawberry
It might be snowing outside, but April is still National Poetry Month, and Tin House has a wonderful interview up with poet Ellen Bass. Read about her writing routine, the Miss America Pageant, expectations, and what it was like to study with Anne…
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“Who the Hell Cares About Anne Sexton’s Grandmother?”
When we read a piece of fiction, we don’t assume—or at least we know we’re not supposed to assume—it’s a faithful recreation of an event in the author’s life. But what about when we read a poem? For Poetry, Kathleen Rooney writes…
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The Rumpus Saturday Essay: Me Be Pretty One Day
When I was younger and lonelier and knew more about other people than I did about myself, I thought

