Content Synopsis
In this poem, one of Sexton's most famous and admired; the speaker begins, appropriately enough, by emphasizing the word “I”—perhaps the key word in the entire work. This, after all, will be a poem of self-assertion, self-definition, and self-explanation. Paradoxically, however, the precise identity of the opening speaker is never made entirely clear, and indeed, there even seem to be several speakers in this work (perhaps as many as four). In the first line, however, none of this confusion or ambiguity is immediately apparent. Instead, the poem begins as a straightforward gothic (or even supernatural) lyric as the speaker identifies herself as “a possessed witch” (1). The poem thus opens in a way that seems to suggest that it is fanciful, not to be taken entirely seriously, and remote from real, present concerns. Even in responding to the first lines, questions begin to arise: what kind of “witch” (a word that receives especially strong metrical emphasis) does the speaker mean? Is this “witch” real or simply metaphorical? In what sense is this “witch” “possessed”? Is she evil? Is she satanic? Alternatively, are these possibilities merely fanciful and deliberately ironic? In what sense(s) has the speaker “gone out” (1)? By the end of the first line, then, Sexton has already aroused, in various ways, our sense of curiosity and has created an appropriate air of mystery and suspense.
Line 2 continues to create an atmosphere of mystery and ambiguity, first by describing the witch “haunting the black air,” then by describing her as “braver at night.” Even the word “haunting” is fundamentally ambiguous, since on the one hand it connotes the habit of frequenting a particular place as it implies frequenting such a place with a malign or troubling intent. The fact that the “air” that is haunted by this witch is described as “black” might reinforce the latter of these two interpretations, but then the witch herself is described as “braver at night” (2) suggesting that she is more vulnerable, more apprehensive, or less powerful during the day. The first half of line two suggests the power of this witch, but then the second half of the line limits or circumscribes that power. Once again, then, the tone of the poem is essentially mysterious or ambiguous. The witch can be simultaneously threatening and threatened, dangerous and sympathetic.
In the shift to line three, the witch seems more unambiguously evil as she dreams, but even the phrasing seems strangely qualified. After all, she confesses that she is merely “dreaming” evil, not doing it, and then the tone of the poem alters to the almost-comic when the speaker announces that she has “done [her] hitch”—phrasing that makes being a witch sound almost like performing temporary military service. The phrasing here seems almost briefly humorous, and then there is a shift back to the perspective of line two, as the witch describes herself hovering “over the plain houses, light by light” (4). The adjective “plain” suggests a contrast between these uninteresting homes and the mysterious witch herself, while the phrase “light by light” not only contrasts with the darkness emphasized earlier but suggests, perhaps, that the witch is alluding to the closely nestled homes found in suburban neighborhoods.
Whatever the case, the air of confusion and mystery remains: we have no idea who, exactly, this “witch” is, what her precise motives are, in what period she lives, or how seriously we are meant to take her. In the shift to line five, the tone of the work becomes even more ambiguous: the witch now describes herself as a “lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.” The first phrase makes her sound sympathetic and almost pitiable (and thus counter-acts the reference to “evil” in line 3). The second phrase alludes to a physical deformity that can seem both unnatural and a reason for further sympathy. Yet, the third phrase”out of mind”--is especially ambiguous, since it can suggest that she is literally insane while also suggesting (in addition, or alternatively) that she is ignored or not even part of the consciousness of the people she might earlier have seemed to haunt. A witch who might previously have seemed somewhat dangerous now seems nearly off the communal radar. She may be “possessed,” “haunting,” and “dreaming evil,” but no one seems to be taking much notice.
Finally, in line six, the identity of the witch as a “woman” is emphasized (twice), and yet even as this line stresses her womanhood, it qualifies that assertion: “A woman like that is not a woman, quite” (6). Thus, the poem's dominant tone of ambiguity continues, and now an even further uncertain element is introduced: “like that” implies the witch herself is no longer speaking—that a new speaker has unaccountably been introduced into the poem. Suddenly, then, we have both a new speaker and a new perspective, and this fact is emphasized in the shift to line seven: “I have been her kind.” Who is this new “I”? In what sense has she been the witch's “kind”? No sooner, however, do we begin to ponder these questions than the poem goes off, in the second stanza, is another confusing and thought-provoking direction.
The ambiguity continues as the second stanza opens. It is natural for a reader to assume that the “I” who begins speaking in this second stanza is the same “I” who began speaking at the start of stanza one, and, for a moment, the imagery sustains this possibility. The speaker of stanza two mentions having inhabited “warm caves in the woods”—habitations that might indeed be fitting for a witch, although the adjective “warm” already implies an abode less dark and gloomy than one would expect of a sorceress who dreams of evil. By the time we reach lines nine and ten, in which the speaker mentions having filled those caves “with skillets, carvings, shelves / closets, silks, [and] innumerable goods,” we can no longer be confident that the speaker is now the witch of stanza one. She seems, instead, almost the central figure in some benign domestic fairy tale, especially when she mentions having “fixed suppers for the worms and the elves” (11)—phrasing which is itself peculiar, especially when the speaker states, even more confusingly, that she has been “whining, rearranging the disaligned” (12). The behavior of a witch is archetypically familiar, and many of the details mentioned in stanza one (possession, haunting, activities at night, deformities, associations with evil) conform to those familiar patterns. In the second stanza, however, we are dealing with a new woman whose circumstances, motives, and identity are far less recognizable.
Indeed, the woman featured in stanza two is not given a simple or convenient label, such as “witch.” She seems, in some ways, to resemble a modern suburban housewife, particularly in her emphasis on domestic activities and caring for others, but by the end of the stanza we are no more sure than we were at the beginning who or what, precisely, this woman is. Little wonder then, that the other speaker who enters in line thirteen says, “A woman like that is misunderstood.” Others who populate her world presumably misunderstand such a woman, but she does not seem to be understood any better—if at all—by those who stand outside that world, including Sexton's readers. Thus, it is even more puzzling and ambiguous when the speaker of the final lines of the second stanza says of this puzzling woman, “I have been her kind” (14). What kind, exactly, is being examined now? Even more than in the first stanza, Sexton writes in a way that seems deliberately disorienting and confusing. The poem seems designed to be mystifying and unsettling; certainly, it has had this effect on many readers. There is something odd, strange, mystical, and mythical in the very phrasing of the poem, not only in the two female perspectives it has described so far.
Ambiguity and mystery become, if anything, even more pronounced in the third stanza. Now the speaker is an unidentified woman who has driven in a “cart” and who directly addresses the cart's unnamed, unidentified “driver” (15). The reference to a “cart” implies a pre-modern mode of transportation, and the suggestion of a pre-modern setting continues in the reference to “villages” in the next line (16). The fact that the speaker refers to waving her “nude arms” while passing these villages suggests, once more, a pre-modern sense of proper dress: bare arms would not typically, in the modern era, be described as “nude.” Further details—such as the reference to “flames” biting the speaker's “thigh” and the reference to her “ribs” being “cracked” due to the winding of “wheels” (18–19)—also imply pre-modern forms of torture and punishment. Yet despite all these consistent details, we cannot be entirely sure who this woman is, or why she is being punished. Is she punished for adultery, fornication, or some other sexual sin (as the glancing use of the word “nude” may imply)? Is she punished for alleged witchcraft, as all the pre-modern details may suggest? Is she a martyr of some sort, especially since she is said to be “not ashamed to die” (20)?
In some ways, the identity of the woman in the third stanza is even more uncertain than the identities of the women in the preceding two, and indeed, there seems to be increasing ambiguity stanzas as the poem progresses. We know, at least, that the woman in the first stanza identified herself as a “witch.” We became less sure about what to call the speaker of the second stanza; and now the identity of the voice in the third stanza (as well as the precise nature of her apparent crime) is even less clear. This fact makes the final restatement of the poem's refrain, “I have been her kind” (21), seem all the more enigmatic. There is, indeed, a riddling quality to the entire poem, and the final line, while seeming to offer a clear, definite assertion, only helps enhance our sense of the poem's ultimate mystery. What “kind,” precisely, does the speaker of the refrain have in mind? For that matter, who is the speaker of these refrains? Is it the poet herself? Is it some invented, symbolic speaker? In what ways, precisely, has the speaker been the same “kind” as all these other women? The poem, effectively enough, does not say; instead, it leaves us to ponder the various possibilities that it both vaguely and vividly suggests.