Next Monday I’ll be attempting to confront the question of the relative value of extremely bleak or intensely negative works of art such as Plath’s, as against those such as Hayden’s that do not shirk the darkness but also have a clearer sense that there is light. One of the poems I may be looking at is Hayden’s Those Winter Sundays.
It seemed a good idea to give everyone a chance to ponder before I start sounding off.
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