Life, and Death, and Giants—

Life, and Death, and Giants—
Such as These—are still—
Minor—Apparatus—
Hopper of the Mill—
Beetle at the Candle—
Or a Fife's Fame—
Maintain—by Accident
that they proclaim—

     -FR777, J706, Fascicle 37, 1863

This poem continues the near nihilistic bent of fascicle 37 so far. In the first poem in the fascicle, FR773, Dickinson says that she senses a friendly and hospitable Presence in the vastness of space, but, after she gets that caveat out of the way, the next few poems are rather bleak.

This one seems to say that the things that feel Giant to us, like Life and Death and Fame, are all just small parts of a machine, and, moreover, merely accidents of nature.

In the first metaphor here, Life is compared to fodder for the mill. That seems stark, but if our lives are in a hopper awaiting the machinations of the mill, then it follows that something is being processed on the other side of that mill, like the way paper is made from trees. It’s interesting to think this metaphor through, to think of our bodies composting in the ground as a kind of mill from which life is reborn, or, perhaps, to think of our experiences as being grist for, say, a poem. 

The second metaphor shows us a beetle coming out of the dark toward a flame, presumably to be consumed by the fire, or perhaps to be quickly stepped on. Here we have visions of Kafka’s Gregor Samsa, waking up as a giant insect.

The flame here seems more in service of exposing the painful truth of the situation than it does in warming up the subject, but, nonetheless, you might say that, at least for a moment, there was some light and warmth for the lowly beetle. 

The last metaphor is my favorite of the bunch. Life is like a "Fife’s Fame." We believe we are making such grand music, but in the big scheme of things life is more like the music of a tin flute than it is like a symphonic orchestra. Okay, fine, but, again, I can’t help but note, at least there is music!

Life may be predicated on the accidental, and all “proclaiming” be therefore ironic, as this poem seems to, ironically, “proclaim,” but hey, you still have the product of the mill, the light of the candle and the small and tinny, but still miraculous, music from the flute.

You need not spin this poem in a positive light as I have to done here. It's helpful to remember that the things we see looming so large can be seen as small, and even terrible, accidents of nature. But isn't it interesting that the metaphors provided here by Dickinson point us back toward light and music, and even, with that mill, toward the productive?

The minor apparatus, when seen from the other side of the binoculars, are Giant indeed. 

       -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

Manet's "The Fifer" -1866

(playing an F note, the internet informs me)

Note:

This poem is laid out very differently by Christanne Miller in "Emily Dickinson's Poems as She Preserved Them."  It’s very difficult, in looking at the MS of the fascicle, to know how this poem is supposed to go on the page. It does seem, by looking at the MS, as if “Minor—Apparatus— Hopper of the Mill—” is all supposed to go on one line, but it makes so much more sense to split this line in two and keep this poem at 3 beats per measure, so that’s what I’ve done here. If Life and Death, which seem Giant, are still minor apparatus, then perhaps we could say that punctuation, and seemingly minor details like the layout of poems, seem small, but are major apparatus.