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The Frog Prince Analysis



Author: Poetry of Anne Sexton Type: Poetry Views: 206

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Frau Doktor,

Mama Brundig,

take out your contacts,

remove your wig.

I write for you.

I entertain.

But frogs come out

of the sky like rain.Frogs arrive

With an ugly fury.

You are my judge.

You are my jury.My guilts are what

we catalogue.

I'll take a knife

and chop up frog.Frog has not nerves.

Frog is as old as a cockroach.

Frog is my father's genitals.

Frog is a malformed doorknob.

Frog is a soft bag of green.The moon will not have him.

The sun wants to shut off

like a light bulb.

At the sight of him

the stone washes itself in a tub.

The crow thinks he's an apple

and drops a worm in.

At the feel of frog

the touch-me-nots explode

like electric slugs.

Slime will have him.

Slime has made him a house.Mr. Poison

is at my bed.

He wants my sausage.

He wants my bread.Mama Brundig,

he wants my beer.

He wants my Christ

for a souvenir.Frog has boil disease

and a bellyful of parasites.

He says: Kiss me. Kiss me.

And the ground soils itself.Why

should a certain

quite adorable princess

be walking in her garden

at such a time

and toss her golden ball

up like a bubble

and drop it into the well?

It was ordained.

Just as the fates deal out

the plague with a tarot card.

Just as the Supreme Being drills

holes in our skulls to let

the Boston Symphony through.But I digress.

A loss has taken place.

The ball has sunk like a cast-iron pot

into the bottom of the well.Lost, she said,

my moon, my butter calf,

my yellow moth, my Hindu hare.

Obviously it was more than a ball.

Balls such as these are not

for sale in Au Bon Marché.

I took the moon, she said,

between my teeth

and now it is gone

and I am lost forever.

A thief had robbed by day.Suddenly the well grew

thick and boiling

and a frog appeared.

His eyes bulged like two peas

and his body was trussed into place.

Do not be afraid, Princess,

he said, I am not a vagabond,

a cattle farmer, a shepherd,

a doorkeeper, a postman

or a laborer.

I come to you as a tradesman.

I have something to sell.

Your ball, he said,

for just three things.

Let me eat from your plate.

Let me drink from your cup.

Let me sleep in your bed.

She thought, Old Waddler,

those three you will never do,

but she made the promises

with hopes for her ball once more.

He brought it up in his mouth

like a tricky old dog

and she ran back to the castle

leaving the frog quite alone.That evening at dinner time

a knock was heard on the castle door

and a voice demanded:

King's youngest daughter,

let me in. You promised;

now open to me.

I have left the skunk cabbage

and the eels to live with you.

The kind then heard her promise

and forced her to comply.The frog first sat on her lap.

He was as awful as an undertaker.

Next he was at her plate

looking over her bacon

and calves' liver.

We will eat in tandem,

he said gleefully.

Her fork trembled

as if a small machine

had entered her.

He sat upon the liver

and partook like a gourmet.

The princess choked

as if she were eating a puppy.

From her cup he drank.

It wasn't exactly hygienic.

From her cup she drank

as if it were Socrates' hemlock.Next came the bed.

The silky royal bed.

Ah! The penultimate hour!

There was the pillow

with the princess breathing

and there was the sinuous frog

riding up and down beside her.

I have been lost in a river

of shut doors, he said,

and I have made my way over

the wet stones to live with you.

She woke up aghast.

I suffer for birds and fireflies

but not frogs, she said,

and threw him across the room.

Kaboom!Like a genie coming out of a samovar,

a handsome prince arose in the

corner of her bedroom.

He had kind eyes and hands

and was a friend of sorrow.

Thus they were married.

After all he had compromised her.He hired a night watchman

so that no one could enter the chamber

and he had the well

boarded over so that

never again would she lose her ball,

that moon, that Krishna hair,

that blind poppy, that innocent globe,

that madonna womb.






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