“I see everyone as writing the same poem, only with many voices. We are all writing the poem of our time, everyone different, so my name is Anne Sexton, who lives here in Massachusetts out in Weston, the suburbs of Boston. I’m just one woman, who was a child, who is going through life, whatever life might bring forth. There is something universal in one person; death, the cold facts, and all that. These are not quite as important as how you master them, your reaction, or the poetical imagery, or the way it’s brought forth, or the story it tells. If you sat down and said, “This is my life”. Like to a psychoanalyst, you might say, “O.K., we’ve got an hour; I’ll tell you my history.” Snap, snap, snap. You couldn’t really do it in one hour of course. But if you would have written it all beforehand, in just a minimal outline, “Here are the horrors of my life; here are the good things of my life.” It would be rather dull: at least to me, deathly dull. It wouldn’t have any substance. I often feel like I am unconsciously resisting anything living and breathing but poetry itself.