Why are you so obsessed with me?
You call it stalking, I call it hyper fixation. You say following, I say subscribing.
For today’s Chaotic Inspo, we’re spiralling deep down into the dark, suffocating abyss of poetic obsession. This isn’t for the faint of heart. We’re talking love so intense it borders on madness, desire that consumes everything in its path, and a fixation so deep it’s almost macabre. We’re about to plunge into the feverish world of poets who couldn't let go, whose words are dripping with the raw, visceral intensity of obsession. This is poetry that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go until you’re gasping for air. Well, it could hold on a little longer, y’know, if you’re into that kinda thing…
John Keats and "Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil"
Let’s start with the master of Romantic obsession, John Keats. In his poem Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil, Keats tells the twisted tale of Isabella, who, after her lover Lorenzo is murdered by her brothers, digs up his corpse and plants his severed head in a pot of basil, which she then tends with a morbid obsession.
And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun,
And she forgot the blue above the trees,
And she forgot the dells where waters run,
And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze;
She had no knowledge when the day was done,
And the new morn she saw not: but in peace
Hung over her sweet Basil evermore,
And moisten’d it with tears unto the core.
Isabella’s grief and obsessive love are palpable, reaching a fever pitch that’s both haunting and grotesque. You can feel the earthy decay, the damp, sodden & saline soil, the sickly sweet scent of basil and death.
Edgar Allan Poe and "Annabel Lee"
Edgar Allan Poe’s Annabel Lee is a prime example of obsessive love that transcends death. Poe’s narrator is so consumed by his love for Annabel Lee that even after her death, he lies down by her tomb by the sea, night after night, his mind unraveling with every moonlit hour.
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Poe’s intense fixation on Annabel Lee’s death and the notion of eternal love creates a chilling, almost necrophilic devotion that makes your skin crawl. His words linger like a cold, damp mist, seeping into your bones.
Sylvia Plath and "Daddy"
Sylvia Plath’s Daddy is a tumultuous, cathartic exorcism of her obsession with her father. The poem’s raw, visceral intensity captures a sense of entrapment and overpowering fixation that is both electrifying and terrifying.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
Plath’s language is unflinchingly direct, capturing the rage and desperate longing of a daughter obsessed with her lost father. Her words cut deep, leaving a trail of blood and anguish.
Anne Sexton and "The Truth the Dead Know"
Anne Sexton’s The Truth the Dead Know deals with her profound obsession with death and the emotional turmoil that comes with it. The poem is a raw, aching cry from the depths of grief and longing.
My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one’s alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.
And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in their stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
Sexton’s relentless preoccupation with mortality seeps through every line, creating a visceral, haunting exploration of loss that feels like a punch to the gut. If you’ve ever surpassed a sensation to the point of becoming at one with it, this is the poem for you.
Charles Baudelaire and "The Vampire"
Charles Baudelaire’s The Vampire delves into a dark, erotic obsession that feels almost parasitic, leaving you feeling violated and enthralled in equal measure.
You, who like a dagger ploughed
Into my heart with deadly thrill:
You who, stronger than a crowd
Of demons, mad, and dressed to kill,
Of my dejected soul have made
Your bed, your lodging, and domain:
To whom I'm linked (Unseemly jade!)
As is a convict to his chain,
Or as the gamester to his dice,
Or as the drunkard to his dram,
Or as the carrion to its lice —
I curse you. Would my curse could damn!
Baudelaire’s portrayal of obsessive, destructive love is both all-consuming and terrifying, capturing the essence of fatal attraction that digs its claws into your very soul.
Contemporary Voices
Richard Siken and "Crush"
Richard Siken’s Crush is a modern masterpiece of obsession, with an intensity that burns through every poem, searing itself into your psyche. Here’s an excerpt from the incredible poem “You Are Jeff”, probably one of the most quoted excerpts but it fits the theme of obsession perfectly.
You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves
you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terr-
ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself
a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy,
and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to
choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and
he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your
heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you
don't even have a name for.
Siken’s desperate longing and raw emotion make Crush an unflinching exploration of obsessive love that leaves you breathless, but longing for further moments of breathlessness.
Maggie Nelson and "Bluets"
Maggie Nelson’s Bluets is a fragmented, lyrical exploration of obsession, focusing on the colour blue. Her writing captures the all-consuming nature of fixation in a beautifully poetic way. Part memoir, part lyric poetry, part essay, part fragmented intertextual braiding of language in multiple, barely distinguishable shades of the same colour.
Suppose I were to begin by saying that I had fallen in love with a color. Suppose I were to speak this as though it were a confession; suppose I shredded my napkin as we spoke. It began slowly. An appreciation, an affinity. Then, one day, it became more serious. Then (looking into an empty teacup, its bottom stained with thin brown excrement coiled into the shape of a sea horse)it became somehow personal.
And so I fell in love with a color—in this case, the color blue—as if falling under a spell, a spell I fought to stay under and get out from under, in turns.
Nelson’s obsession with blue becomes a metaphor for all-consuming desire and grief, creating a deeply personal and visceral work. I highly recommend reading any of Nelson’s work, but particularly this one. Her latest one is still on my TBR pile though, so I may have to revise that statement.
Ocean Vuong and "On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous"
Ocean Vuong’s novel-in-verse On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous blends poetic language with an obsessive exploration of family, love, and trauma.
In Vietnamese, the word for missing someone and remembering them is the same: nhớ. Sometimes, when you ask me over the phone, Có nhớ mẹ không? I flinch, thinking you meant, Do you remember me? I miss you more than I remember you.
Vuong’s work captures the painful beauty of obsession, offering a poignant look at how it shapes our identities and relationships. Their poetry captures much of the same intense feeling of longing and disconnectedness.
The Art of Obsession
These poets and their works delve into the dark, sometimes disturbing realm of obsession. They show us how fixation, whether on love, death, or even a colour, can consume and transform us. These intense, often macabre explorations of obsession remind us of the power of poetry to capture the raw, visceral depths of human experience. If you’ve never watched Tom Hardy as Heathcliff sitting in Cathy’s grave, cradling her decaying body and demanding that she haunt him, and thought “same”. Maybe we’re a little different, to say the least. But it’s something. At the very least go watch Tom Hardy with a Yorkshire accent, it’s very interesting.
In the spirit of this exploration, here's a poetry writing prompt for you:
Route #1:
Write a poem about an obsession that has gripped you, something you can't let go of, that consumes your thoughts and dreams. Let your words reflect the intensity, the beauty, and the darkness of your fixation. Dive deep, and let your poetry become a testament to the art of obsession. Roll each sensation over your fingers, between your toes, over your tongue, become intimate with its texture, taste, its subtle vibrations.
Route #2:
Write a poem about an obsession with something seemingly trivial. Think about what an obsession really means. Paddington Bear fucking loves marmalade sandwiches, but I doubt if it’s an obsession. When I tell you I was obsessed with jam sandwiches as a child it probably seems more like the habit of a fussy eater with a sweet tooth. Push it further. Interact with this thing like no-one has ever interacted with it in this way before. Scare yourself a little. Play with the darknesses of it.
Route #3:
Go even weirder.
If someone doesn’t read your poem and ask if you’re okay, you’ve probably done it wrong. Obsession should be all-consuming, it should make you worry about the pattern of thoughts that are suddenly emanating from you, dominating your senses. You worry about your sanity at times.
Okay, we’ve gone quite dark there for a bit. Maybe we should take a moment to chill before we look up and interact with people again. If you’re still stuck in a mode of obsession, there’s a button down here you can hyper fixate on for a while. Don’t just click it will-nilly, tease it for a while. Ask it if you can extinguish your cigarettes on its skin to see if it can still feel pain.
Too much?