Thinking of the letters Elizabeth Bishop wrote to her psychiatrist that I posted about yesterday, here is a link to an article by poet Molly Peacock about her own therapist, called “My Analyst of 40 Years Had a Stroke—Then Became an Artist,” published in the Partisan Review (June 16, 2016.)
The topic of poets and their relationships with their therapists is a rather fascinating one. I assume we’ll see more stories about it in the following months, esp. after Peacock’s new book of poetry, The Analyst, “a new, visceral, twenty-first-century In Memoriamin which Peacock brilliantly tells the story of a decades-long patient-therapist relationship that now reverses and continues to evolve” (quote taken from the publisher’s description) is published next year. Here’s a poem from the upcoming book:
In Our Unexpected Future
Love-sadness prances across the flounces
of peach-gowned women in old-fashioned portraits
as an anniversary presses us toward them.
(Stick-stick: the sound of your cane tip on marble.)