Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Anne Sexton's poem "With Mercy for the Greedy" is a complex exploration of faith, doubt, and the tension between spiritual yearning and existential skepticism. Addressed to a friend named Ruth, who urges the speaker to embrace religious confession and the symbol of the Cross, the poem delves into the speaker's conflicted relationship with Christianity, particularly the rituals and symbols associated with it. Through vivid imagery and a confessional tone, Sexton captures the struggle of someone who is deeply aware of their own flaws and sins, yet finds it difficult to fully embrace the faith that promises redemption.

The poem opens with a direct response to Ruth's letter, which included a small wooden cross and a suggestion to seek out the Sacrament of Confession. This personal context grounds the poem in a specific, intimate exchange, making the speaker's reflections feel immediate and authentic. The speaker acknowledges the Cross that Ruth has sent, describing it as "your own cross, / your dog-bitten cross, / no larger than a thumb." This description immediately imbues the Cross with a sense of vulnerability and imperfection, contrasting with the grand, often idealized image of the crucifix in Christian iconography. The Cross is small, humble, and marked by wear—an object of personal significance rather than a distant, untouchable symbol of faith.

The speaker's relationship with the Cross is ambivalent. She prays "to its shadow, / that gray place / where it lies on your letter... deep, deep." This suggests a connection not with the Cross itself, but with its shadow, the dark and uncertain space it casts. The repetition of "deep, deep" emphasizes the profound yet unresolved nature of the speaker's engagement with this symbol. The speaker acknowledges her sins and expresses a desire to believe in the Cross, yet there is a palpable distance between desire and belief: "I detest my sins and I try to believe / in The Cross." The phrase "try to believe" highlights the speaker's struggle, suggesting that belief is not something easily attained but rather something that requires effort, and perhaps remains elusive.

The speaker then touches on the physicality of the Cross, describing its "tender hips," "dark jawed face," "solid neck," and "brown sleep." These images anthropomorphize the Cross, making it a tangible, almost living entity, yet one that is still distant and inscrutable. The description of Jesus as "frozen to his bones like a chunk of beef" introduces a stark, almost brutal realism to the depiction of Christ. This image strips away the divine mystique, presenting Jesus in a state of suffering and helplessness. The speaker recognizes the desperation in Christ's suffering: "How desperately he wanted to pull his arms in!" Yet, even as the speaker touches "his vertical and horizontal axes," there is a recognition that "Need is not quite belief." This line crystallizes the speaker's dilemma: the intense need for faith and redemption does not automatically translate into true belief or spiritual certainty.

The poem shifts to the speaker's experience of wearing the Cross sent by Ruth, "hung with package string around my throat." The Cross taps lightly against the speaker, "as a child's heart might, / tapping secondhand, softly waiting to be born." This image evokes a sense of potential, something fragile and nascent, yet not fully realized. The child's heart, "tapping secondhand," suggests a life that is not yet fully independent or fully formed—perhaps a metaphor for the speaker's own fledgling or uncertain faith.

The speaker expresses genuine affection for Ruth, cherishing the letter she wrote, yet she also confesses a deep-seated, almost fatalistic awareness of her own sinful nature: "My friend, my friend, I was born / doing reference work in sin, and born / confessing it." This acknowledgment of sin as an intrinsic part of the speaker's identity underscores the difficulty of transcending it. The act of confessing, which Ruth advocates, is something the speaker has been engaged in all her life, yet it seems to have brought little peace or resolution.

The poem concludes with a reflection on the nature of poetry itself: "This is what poems are: / with mercy / for the greedy, / they are the tongue's wrangle, / the world's pottage, the rat's star." Here, poetry is presented as a form of confession and atonement, offering "mercy for the greedy"—a mercy that is not necessarily divine but human, fraught with imperfection and struggle. The "tongue's wrangle" suggests the internal conflict and verbal wrestling that characterize the poet's work, while "the world's pottage" and "the rat's star" evoke a sense of something both humble and essential, something that nourishes but is far from sublime. These closing images capture the raw, unglamorous reality of the human condition, where poetry becomes a means of grappling with sin, doubt, and the longing for something greater.

In "With Mercy for the Greedy," Anne Sexton explores the complexities of faith and the human need for redemption, set against the backdrop of personal doubt and existential struggle. The poem’s confessional style allows Sexton to articulate the tension between the desire for spiritual belief and the harsh realities of lived experience. Through her use of powerful imagery and a direct, introspective voice, Sexton creates a meditation on the nature of sin, the search for faith, and the role of poetry as a vehicle for navigating these profound human concerns.

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