Ann Sexton "The Room of My Life"

Ann Sexton is a very visual poet--not with the laid-out image of the words, like ee cummings, but by utilizing the power of language to evoke detailed imagery in the mind of the reader. The rhythm of her sentences, as determined by punctuation and line breaks, forces the reader to question the varying potential values of words. For instance, some words could function either as a noun, verb, or both depending upon the spontaneous form they take when spoken through the mouth of the reader.
“The Room of My Life” is a poem that describes household objects in unconventional ways. Sexton presents images--like ashtrays, a typewriter, a black chair--that instantly call forth specific images in my head. When thinking of these words alone I see: a shallow metal bowl with indentations for cigarettes to rest; an antiquated typing machine with white letters on the keys; and a Naugahyde-upholstered dining chair.
In the poem, these very objects take on unexpected roles that skew my original ideas of object purpose. The speaker uses the ashtray to catch tears (4). The keys on the typewriter look at her-- “each an eyeball that is never shut” (7). The chair resembles a dog’s coffin (Or maybe the dog sleeps on the chair, looking lifeless). Instantly new possibilities emerge for every common, ostensibly task-specific object. Each object actually takes on life, becomes a character.
When reading this poem aloud, it sounds to me like the poetic thoughts of a journalist. Taken out of context, the sentences are descriptive but succinct. Look at the sentence enjambed between lines 27 - 29. “Each day I feed the world out there / although birds explode / right and left.” Stretched out, this sentence strikes me as a single complete thought. But Sexton breaks it up into three lines, thus fragmenting it to expand it possibilities. As a reader, I have to pause to think about what it means to feed the world. Then I picture birds exploding. Then I consider direction. After that, I go back to view the sentence as a whole, and my mind fills up with different imagistic interpretations. Does she feed the birds until they burst? Does she plant seeds? Does she live in a chaotic environment in which birds spontaneously combust for no known reason? Do two birds fly off in separate directions after eating something she has given them, then explode in midair on either side of her? So many possibilities are pouring into my brain!
The final sentence of “The Room of My Life” perfectly articulates what occurs in the heads of Sexton’s readers:
My objects dream and wear new costumes,
compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands
and the sea that bangs in my throat. (33-35)
All the aforementioned specific objects come alive with possibility. They really do break free of expectations, showing how multi-faceted they can be (shaking up my ideas of potentiality in purpose). And they do it through language, not visual animation. Being that each reader will picture the objects that are at first familiar and individual to his or her experiences, the images are uniquely vivid in unlimited ways.