“They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear, - but left the shield.”
―Philip Freneau
.
And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again?
Archilochus
A Charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld — The Lady dare not lift her Veil For fear it be dispelled —
But peers beyond her mesh — And wishes — and denies — Lest Interview — annul a want That Image — satisfies —
~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
I believe the short poem above may provide a better explanation of Emily's meaning than the young man's strained analysis of the more abstract piece you offered.
Subtle implications planted gently in the subconscious by a true artist awaken slowly in the mind, expand and grow with the passage of years.
Awareness brought about through poignant imagery and the power of suggestion has a far more lasting effect than any vulgar blast of "unvarnished truth" expressed either didactically, or emotionaly with anger or derision.
Eking out Existence phrase by phrase –– Moved by deep desire –– maimed by dread –– Inward seeing –– words like “chrysoprase” Lay beneath the commonplaces said Yesterday, aloud in Pale Austerity. Dumb neath neat, white frock a passion soared In silent, self-made world, and saw the Verity Contained in visions stark, but leading toward –– Kashmir! –– perhaps Brazil? –– the Alps! –– the Grave. In life bereft –– a lonely wraith –– a mist –– No one heard the meek, majestic Rave Seeking Solace –– praying to be kissed. On secret Stiles of Silence one my climb –– Nunlike –– quite unnoticed in one’s time.
Once so fresh, so pure, so white, so chaste –– Pristine glory –– virginal –– Divine –– Cannot help, once in this world of waste, But lose appeal as it loses its shine.
Life, a ceaseless process, wears us down, Sullies and defiles us from the creche, Layering grime on all who wear a crown, Till the fields, or pick the flowers fresh.
Rulers and the slaves who do their bidding Nature treats without a hint of favor Of cruel equality there is no ridding –– Lives once faded start to lose their savor.
And so, the way of piles of grimy snow Eventually, must every mortal go.
A distant grinding far above Then roaring fills the sky A raucous, shining metal bird –– A pterodactyl come to life!
A wonder –– yet a terror –– What might it mean for me –– Who so far gazed at birds and clouds Through branches of a tree?
As soon as it was heard As quickly disappeared Leaving just a trail of steam And Silence once again.
~ FreeThinke
_________________________ *My impression of how a first encounter with an airplane might have struck Miss Emily had she had the opportunity to experience such a thing.
I like to see it lap the Miles –– And lick the Valleys up –– And stop to feed itself at Tanks –– And then –– prodigious step
Around a Pile of Mountains –– And supercilious peer In Shanties –– by the sides of Roads –– And then a Quarry pare
To fit its sides And crawl between Complaining all the while In horrid –– hooting stanza –– Then chase itself down Hill ––
And neigh like Boanerges –– Then –– prompter than a Star Stop –– docile and omnipotent At it's own stable door ––
~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
_____________________
Though she never uses the term, it should be obvious to all but the dullest of dolts that Emily is giving her impression of what it was like to observe an "iron horse" in action in the mid-nineteenth century. She may have been introspective to a fault, but Miss Dickinson was also a keen observer of Nature, and the "phenomena" novel to her day –– AND she had a taste for whimsy and harbored incisive satirical views of her fellow citizens second to none. That she kept imost of it to herself, and expressed it mainly in her poetry, which she wrote in solitude, only serves to indicate she had a rich capacity both to instruct –– and entertain –– herself. Miss Dickinson was far from the lonely, sorrowful, embittered spinster many imagine she must have been. In many ways she led a most BLESSED existence.
I sang my song deep in the shaded wood Only the birds, the squirrels, the deer –– and God –– Were there to hear, and learn just where I stood. Not one of them gave me the smallest nod.
It didn't matter in the least to me. I sing because I want to sing, that's all. I'm grateful to be able to be me. The forest's fine. I don't need a great hall.
I noticed long ago the goddess Fame Was in fact a Sham –– a great Deceiver –– A Lure –– a Siren Call leading to Shame For one who'd hoped to be a great Achiever.
God's voice they say is rarely ever heard, And yet I'm sure He hears our every word.
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church ___ I keep it staying at home With a Bobolink for a Chorister ___ and an Orchard for a Dome
Some keep the Sabbath in surplice ___ I just spread my wings And instead of soundig the bell for church' ___ our Little Sextonlsongs.
God preaches –– a noted Clergyman! –– ___ and the Sermon is never long, So instead of getting to Heaven at last __ I'm going all along!
~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
________________________ This whimsical, rather merry little poem reveals as much about Emily Dickinson's worldview, character and disposition as she was ever willing to reveal –– even to herself. And in light of it, who but the dourest drearist fundamentalist bigot bereft of insight and Imagination could not find her lovable?
10 comments:
A Charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld —
The Lady dare not lift her Veil
For fear it be dispelled —
But peers beyond her mesh —
And wishes — and denies —
Lest Interview — annul a want
That Image — satisfies —
~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
I believe the short poem above may provide a better explanation of Emily's meaning than the young man's strained analysis of the more abstract piece you offered.
Subtle implications planted gently in the subconscious by a true artist awaken slowly in the mind, expand and grow with the passage of years.
Awareness brought about through poignant imagery and the power of suggestion has a far more lasting effect than any vulgar blast of "unvarnished truth" expressed either didactically, or emotionaly with anger or derision.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
_________ EMILY DICKINSON _________
Eking out Existence phrase by phrase ––
Moved by deep desire –– maimed by dread ––
Inward seeing –– words like “chrysoprase”
Lay beneath the commonplaces said
Yesterday, aloud in Pale Austerity.
Dumb neath neat, white frock a passion soared
In silent, self-made world, and saw the Verity
Contained in visions stark, but leading toward ––
Kashmir! –– perhaps Brazil? –– the Alps! –– the Grave.
In life bereft –– a lonely wraith –– a mist ––
No one heard the meek, majestic Rave
Seeking Solace –– praying to be kissed.
On secret Stiles of Silence one my climb ––
Nunlike –– quite unnoticed in one’s time.
~ FreeThinke
They’ll find me soon
I know they will
I need to be alone.
Their nattering demands are shrill,
They chill me to the bone.
The thumping, bawling whining drone ––
Persistent raucous blast ––
Seeks each secret hiding place ––
Shatters every caste.
They’ll find me soon,
I know they will,
But till they do I’ll fight ––
Eccentric –– lost ––
But steeled against ––
The Realm of Endless Night.
~ FeeThinke
_________ A Simile Suggested ________
Once so fresh, so pure, so white, so chaste ––
Pristine glory –– virginal –– Divine ––
Cannot help, once in this world of waste,
But lose appeal as it loses its shine.
Life, a ceaseless process, wears us down,
Sullies and defiles us from the creche,
Layering grime on all who wear a crown,
Till the fields, or pick the flowers fresh.
Rulers and the slaves who do their bidding
Nature treats without a hint of favor
Of cruel equality there is no ridding ––
Lives once faded start to lose their savor.
And so, the way of piles of grimy snow
Eventually, must every mortal go.
~ FreeThinke
_______ Emily’s Airplane* _______
A distant grinding far above
Then roaring fills the sky
A raucous, shining metal bird ––
A pterodactyl come to life!
A wonder –– yet a terror ––
What might it mean for me ––
Who so far gazed at birds and clouds
Through branches of a tree?
As soon as it was heard
As quickly disappeared
Leaving just a trail of steam
And Silence once again.
~ FreeThinke
_________________________
*My impression of how a first encounter with an airplane might have struck Miss Emily had she had the opportunity to experience such a thing.
I like to see it lap the Miles ––
And lick the Valleys up ––
And stop to feed itself at Tanks ––
And then –– prodigious step
Around a Pile of Mountains ––
And supercilious peer
In Shanties –– by the sides of Roads ––
And then a Quarry pare
To fit its sides
And crawl between
Complaining all the while
In horrid –– hooting stanza ––
Then chase itself down Hill ––
And neigh like Boanerges ––
Then –– prompter than a Star
Stop –– docile and omnipotent
At it's own stable door ––
~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
_____________________
Though she never uses the term, it should be obvious to all but the dullest of dolts that Emily is giving her impression of what it was like to observe an "iron horse" in action in the mid-nineteenth century. She may have been introspective to a fault, but Miss Dickinson was also a keen observer of Nature, and the "phenomena" novel to her day –– AND she had a taste for whimsy and harbored incisive satirical views of her fellow citizens second to none. That she kept imost of it to herself, and expressed it mainly in her poetry, which she wrote in solitude, only serves to indicate she had a rich capacity both to instruct –– and entertain –– herself. Miss Dickinson was far from the lonely, sorrowful, embittered spinster many imagine she must have been. In many ways she led a most BLESSED existence.
I Sang My Song Deep in the Shaded Wood
I sang my song deep in the shaded wood
Only the birds, the squirrels, the deer –– and God ––
Were there to hear, and learn just where I stood.
Not one of them gave me the smallest nod.
It didn't matter in the least to me.
I sing because I want to sing, that's all.
I'm grateful to be able to be me.
The forest's fine. I don't need a great hall.
I noticed long ago the goddess Fame
Was in fact a Sham –– a great Deceiver ––
A Lure –– a Siren Call leading to Shame
For one who'd hoped to be a great Achiever.
God's voice they say is rarely ever heard,
And yet I'm sure He hears our every word.
~ FreeThinke
AND LAST VERY POSSBLY MY FAVORITE DICKINSON POEM:
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church
___ I keep it staying at home
With a Bobolink for a Chorister
___ and an Orchard for a Dome
Some keep the Sabbath in surplice
___ I just spread my wings
And instead of soundig the bell for church'
___ our Little Sextonlsongs.
God preaches –– a noted Clergyman! ––
___ and the Sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven at last
__ I'm going all along!
~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
________________________
This whimsical, rather merry little poem reveals as much about Emily Dickinson's worldview, character and disposition as she was ever willing to reveal –– even to herself. And in light of it, who but the dourest drearist fundamentalist bigot bereft of insight and Imagination could not find her lovable?
She was, no doubt, an amazing figure.
A Bobolink
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