“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
I’m ceded, I ’ve stopped being theirs; The name they dropped upon my face With water, in the country church, Is finished using now, And they can put it with my dolls, My childhood, and the string of spools I ’ve finished threading too.
Baptized before without the choice, But this time consciously, of grace Unto supremest name, Called to my full, the crescent dropped, Existence’s whole arc filled up With one small diadem.
My second rank, too small the first, Crowned, crowing on my father’s breast, A half unconscious queen; But this time, adequate, erect, With will to choose or to reject, And I choose –– just a throne.
No, she discovered what Erik Erikson termed Autonomous Morality through deep introspection. This is what most most thinking people eventualy do. They don't need to wade through thousands of pages in tomes written by nineteenth an twentieth-centur philsophers, or so-called experts in the more esoteric aspects of modern psychology most of whom have striven manfully to make reatively simple concepts seem as complex, obscure and recondite as possible.
I can't pretend to appreciate Albert Einstein, but he reportedly said one thing that struck me as true, and has stayed with me through several deades of joy, sorrow, clarity, perplexity, laughter and tears.
Miss Dickinson was extraordinarily well educated for a woman of her time, yes, but having read every one of her poems at least twice, set twenty to music in a cycle for soprano and piano myself, and read every one of her letters I could find in print I feel I really do know her. I believe her Inner Vision –– the silent world she made for herself from which she drew both strength and solace –– was absolutely unique.
Here is the acrostic sonnet I was moved to write on her name a good many years ago. I believe it and the companion piece in free verse I called Her House characterizes the life she must have led fairly well. I like to think these two pieces may be the best work I've ever produced. Miss Emily has been a friend, a mentor, and an inspiration to me for sixty-five years.
_________ 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 unknown, a lonely wraith –– a mist –– No one heard the meek majestic rave Starved for Solace –– praying to be kissed. On secret Stiles of Silence one may climb –– Nunlike –– quite unnoticed in one's time.
6 comments:
I’m ceded, I ’ve stopped being theirs;
The name they dropped upon my face
With water, in the country church,
Is finished using now,
And they can put it with my dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools
I ’ve finished threading too.
Baptized before without the choice,
But this time consciously, of grace
Unto supremest name,
Called to my full, the crescent dropped,
Existence’s whole arc filled up
With one small diadem.
My second rank, too small the first,
Crowned, crowing on my father’s breast,
A half unconscious queen;
But this time, adequate, erect,
With will to choose or to reject,
And I choose –– just a throne.
~ Emily Dickinsin (1830-1886)
Born again? Who knew?
No, she discovered what Erik Erikson termed Autonomous Morality through deep introspection. This is what most most thinking people eventualy do. They don't need to wade through thousands of pages in tomes written by nineteenth an twentieth-centur philsophers, or so-called experts in the more esoteric aspects of modern psychology most of whom have striven manfully to make reatively simple concepts seem as complex, obscure and recondite as possible.
I can't pretend to appreciate Albert Einstein, but he reportedly said one thing that struck me as true, and has stayed with me through several deades of joy, sorrow, clarity, perplexity, laughter and tears.
"Imagnation is more important than knowledge."
Funny, I seem to recall that Emily was quite familiar with the works of both Thoreau and Emerson...
We all look outside ourselves for confirmation.
Miss Dickinson was extraordinarily well educated for a woman of her time, yes, but having read every one of her poems at least twice, set twenty to music in a cycle for soprano and piano myself, and read every one of her letters I could find in print I feel I really do know her. I believe her Inner Vision –– the silent world she made for herself from which she drew both strength and solace –– was absolutely unique.
Here is the acrostic sonnet I was moved to write on her name a good many years ago. I believe it and the companion piece in free verse I called Her House characterizes the life she must have led fairly well. I like to think these two pieces may be the best work I've ever produced. Miss Emily has been a friend, a mentor, and an inspiration to me for sixty-five years.
_________ 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 unknown, a lonely wraith –– a mist ––
No one heard the meek majestic rave
Starved for Solace –– praying to be kissed.
On secret Stiles of Silence one may climb ––
Nunlike –– quite unnoticed in one's time.
~ FreeThinke - for The Sandpiper
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