My hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and my eyes, like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves. – Emily Dickinson
Besides the Autumn poets sing [131]
Emily Dickinson
Besides the Autumn poets sing
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the Haze –
A few incisive mornings –
A few Ascetic eves –
Gone – Mr Bryant’s “Golden Rod” –
And Mr Thomson’s “sheaves.”
Still, is the bustle in the brook –
Sealed are the spicy valves –
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The eyes of many Elves –
Perhaps a squirrel may remain –
My sentiments to share –
Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind –
Thy windy will to bear!
Her name is known to all, not only those who love poetry but also those who dismiss literature as folly. Emily Dickinson epitomized the drive that possesses all poets. Prolific fails to describe the passion that kept her hand scrawling passages on whatever scraps of paper she touched.
Unfortunately, her life has been characterized as that of a recluse who closeted herself away in her bedroom to write morbid verses. This viewpoint was without a doubt propogated by a non-poet. As poets, we know the experience of existing within creating, the zone that pushes time into a different dimension while creativity and imagination consume our beings as a famished dragon with his tastiest feast. The reality of Emily Dickinson’s life was that she was a serious artist consumed by her passion for poetry. She lived her life doing what she loved. In that sense, she should be envied.
Emily Dickinson was born in 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts as the middle child of Edward and Emily Norcross Dickinson. She received her education at Amherst Academy and Mount Holyoke Female Seminary. She was a social person in her youth, a trait that receded as she aged. Although she received at least one proposal, she defied convention and remained unmarried.
Dickinson composed approximately 1800 poems with less than a dozen published while she was alive. She frequently shared poetry through personal letters to family and friends yet rarely submitted her poetry for publication consideration. When she died at age 56, her family was surprised to find the treasure trove of more than 800 poems that she had kept completely private. Her material legacy consists of about 2500 poetry manuscripts and 1000 letter manuscripts.
The intimate restrictions of her work might have been influenced by her father’s opinion of poetry as noted in this statement, an exerpt from a letter written by Emily Dickinson to her brother, Austin in 1851:
“We dont have many jokes tho’ now, it is pretty much all sobriety, and we do not have much poetry, father having made up his mind that its pretty much all real life. Fathers real life and mine sometimes come into collision, but as yet, escape unhurt.” – Emily Dickinson
It is in Dickinson’s fragments, scraps of paper with notes and bits of incomplete poetry, that I feel the closest kinship. On my desk, I have a precious, precarious pile of gum wrappers, napkins, cards, envelopes, newspaper margins, and paper bags, all with thoughts that I don’t want to forget. With the discovery of Dickinson’s fragments, history expanded to intrigue and the reader becomes privy to private thoughts. Should anyone discover my fragments, I hope they take time to read rather than label me a slob and discard my “garbage.” 🙂
Amherst College digitized Dickinson’s fragments and made them fully accessible to the public through this link.
Which – has the
wisest men
undone –
Doubt has
the
wisest
As I draw this mini-biography to a close, I’d like to share one more Dickinson poem that tackles the difficult why question with incredibly unique and stunning comparisons.
“Why do I love” You, Sir?
Because —
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer — Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.
Because He knows — and
Do not You —
And We know not —
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so —
The Lightning–never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut–when He was by–
Because He knows it cannot speak–
And reasons not contained–
–Of Talk–
There be–preferred by Daintier Folk–
The Sunrise–Sire–compelleth Me–
Because He’s Sunrise–and I see–
Therefore–Then–
I love Thee–
Thank you for joining me for Pretzels & Bullfights. I hope you have a chance to look at Dickinson’s fragments and see the poetry within as well as read some of her lesser known work.
Reference:
Emily Dickinson Museum
Poetry Foundation
Poem Hunter
poets.org
Poetry Foundation
Bartleby.com
Amherst College Digital Collections
Lit Genius
dVerse 
Love Dickinson, one of my favorite New England poets. Her home and museum just a half-hours drive from my home. Thank you for sharing a bit of her work and story, for me both enlightening and inspiring.
Thanks, Ginny 🙂 The more that I read about her, the more I wanted to learn. I have put her home and museum on my list of New England places to visit.
I love her and all the words she gathered and strung together like jewels around the neck.
Words strung like jewels around the neck… Lovely. Thank you.
I never knew all of this and its nice to know now, will check the link.Thanks
Thank you for checking out the post and for the lovely comment 🙂
“Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind –
Thy windy will to bear”
Amen.
I love this sentence:
“As poets, we know the experience of existing within creating, the zone that pushes time into a different dimension while creativity and imagination consume our beings as a famished dragon with his tastiest feast.”
“with less than a dozen published while she was alive” … I didn’t know that. Nor this: “she died at age 56”
She is a gift; thank you for sharing this.
Shawna, I love your response to this post. Thanks so much.
Thank you for this loving tribute to the poet I have called – the mother of us all.
Wonderful, Beth!
Thank you very much 🙂
very nice, thanks for sharing this Beth. I suppose she was doing what she loved, but one can’t help wonder if she had anxiety that caused her to become less social.
In a way, her notes changed the world. I think the beauty of it is that she saw poetry everywhere – she measured the world with it.
I have to agree with you on her notes. Yes. She measured the world with poetry and im grateful. Thank you 🙂
Wonderful article, Beth! I have long been an Emily Dickinson fan; and I enjoyed reading more of her history.
Thanks, Mary 🙂
Oh! I love Emily Dickinson. The way her words, with unusual breaks and punctuation, create a whirlwind of emotive imagery is plain wonderful. One of my favorite poems by her is, “I’m nobody! Who are you?”
Fantastic! I agree. Thanks so much 🙂
I can fully understand the passion of a poet like that – somehow being untouched by editors and publishers during her lifetime make her poetry more real, it is really her undiluted voice we here.. I assume that it’s one of the reasons of her popularity..
It may be a reason for her popularity but for me, her work emotes with a unique vision and voice. Thanks so much, Björn 🙂
i so agree on how the little snippets of not quite poetry can really allow you to see some poets…i have several booths from several poets that are not poetry but those little scraps…and it is way cool to see how their mind thought beyond what ultimately became polished….
Perhaps we should grab a dozen scraps and piece them together… I wonder what the puzzle might hide. Thanks so much, Brian 🙂
This is a cool post. For some reason, I have never quite identified with her poetry, although she was a fascinating person. I have much respect for her and her compulsion to keep writing, keep writing, always be writing. From time to time I pick up a collection and try to get into the poems more; who knows? Maybe next time I try I will finally grasp what she was saying.
Im so glad you enjoyed this post. Perhaps you could pick up a single poem and keep sampling that one to see if the “ah-ha” moment arrives. Just a thought. Thanks so much 🙂
Sounds good. I think I read many that, to me, seemed vague and I couldn’t pick up on what she was referring to. Maybe I was trying too hard or I’m just too dense. 🙂 I’ll try some more.
She is one of my absolute favourites.
Thank you, Beth; she is one of my favorites as well..
such a great post…thankyou!
“As poets, we know the experience of existing within creating, the zone that pushes time into a different dimension while creativity and imagination consume our beings as a famished dragon with his tastiest feast. ”
This sentence made my day! What a lovely introduction to Emily!
Thank you, Beth. She’s a favourite of mine. And I thank you for pointing out her devotion to her art. Now that I am widowed, I have more time than ever to attend to mine. Though I am not reclusive, time alone is of course necessary, and doesn’t pass tediously when I’m engaged in writing. But when people ask me what I’ve been up to lately, I think they are a bit bemused when I say, ‘Well, I’ve written a lot of poems.’ To say, ‘I’ve just published a new book’ makes more impact — but they don’t seem to realise that it takes a lot of writing (and rewriting!) in order for that to happen.
I thought everyone wrote alone? In thought…recluse or not chatter would not work for me. Now to dabble in art I love having someone nearby, or I am uninspired in that area. Of course I am new at all this sharing out here. But I am learning the ropes from you all. I have readers who cannot leave comments. As they do not blog or do any forms of social media. They want to touch and hold a book. Or at least a Nook. Just rhyming. Emily Dickinson was probably one of the earliest authors my generation; did start reading poetry in literature courses.