Anne Sexton, poetess, would rise
To heights of poetry acclaim,
Winner of the Pulitzer Prize.
Exuberance propelled her fame.
But mental illness demons held
Her hostage to the dark of life.
Within that space she too oft dwelled,
Not present as mother and wife.
In poetry she did confess
Her many improprieties.
But any hope turned more hopeless.
Her demons she could not appease.
In her car as fumes took her breath,
Anne Sexton traded life for death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So sad but true! Perfectly written, unforgettable, too.