I have never seen "Volcanoes"—
But, when Travellers tell
How those old – phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still –
Bear within – appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men –
If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place –
If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome –
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?
If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy "Pompeii"!
To the Hills return!
F165 (1860) J175
The poem takes a bit of patience to unravel because Dickinson has left out, as she does in numerous poems, certain grammatical constructions that would transition one stanza and thought to another. The first two stanzas start off simply and clearly, leading the reader by almost imperceptible degrees into an awareness of a seething passion of love and/or rage beneath the surface of the poet (although the case is framed as abstract speculation, I doubt if the poet would be surprised that readers make assumptions about her).
The last three quatrains are phrased as hypotheticals: if this, if this, if this; and it is up to the reader to make the connections. Okay, let’s go:
If humans are like dormant volcanoes, then the face may be quite still while a “pain Titanic” (referring to Titans and the convulsing pain that followed their utter defeat) smolders within. But like an awakened volcano the pain will eventually burst through, overcoming the “Vineyard” of the body (its living wine and fruits), ultimately causing its death and burial “in the dust.” And yet there is the hope of “Resumption Morn” (and Dickinson takes religious liberties here with the idea of Resurrection – as if life were to simply resume rather than the souls resurrected into a new spiritual state in heaven) where even Pompeii, the fabulous city famously buried by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius will shake off its ashes in response to the call of a “loving Antiquary” or historian.
This is the first of several poems Dickinson will write that liken her passions to volcanoes. Unlike later poems, though, this one ends on a note of hope. The historian can recall his beloved Pompeii. Perhaps whoever aroused this passion in the poet will also call her back to life as well.
|Eruption of Mt. Vesuvius|
Although the torment seems deadly real, readers can be glad for the volcano churning inside Dickinson because no doubt that is where a lot of the poetry came from.