Truth — is as old as God —

Truth — is as old as God —
His Twin identity
And will endure as long as He
A Co-Eternity —

And perish on the Day
Himself is borne away
From Mansion of the Universe
A lifeless Deity.


    -Fr795, J836, sheet 23, 1854


Truth equals God, and always will. What does that mean? Truth equals God is a kind of tautology that doesn’t tell us much about either one. The truth is God. God is the truth. It doesn’t sound to me like something Dickinson would write.

“Truth” is usually more complicated in Dickinson poems. “Tell the truth but tell it slant,” she writes in a later poem. Is there anything slant in this poem? Perhaps. On one hand you could read the poem as saying that Truth won’t perish until God does. One presumes that this means it will last forever, “Co-eternities.” On the other hand the poem ends with the dark image of a Lifeless Deity. That’s the feeling you are left with, the possibility of a Godless universe.

This poem was attached to a letter to Dr. Josiah Holland, a pious man, and the father of one of Emily’s best friends, Elizabeth Holland. In an earlier letter to the Hollands, we have a hint of Emily’s doubts.

In the letter Emily speaks of having a dream she was with the Hollands and they were picking roses in a lovely garden. But, “though we gathered with all our might, the basket was never full.” There is a sense in this dream of working hard to gather beauty, but never, somehow, being completely fulfilled by this effort.

Then the letter states the following:

“The minister to-day, not our own minister, preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those, meaning Austin and me, who behaved improperly - and somehow the sermon scared me, and father and Vinnie looked very solemn as if the whole was true, and I would not for worlds have them know that I troubled me, but I longed to come to you, and tell you all about it, and learn how to be better. He preached such an awful sermon though, that I didn't much think I should ever see you again until Judgment Day, and then you would not speak to me, according to his story. The subject of perdition seemed to please him, somehow. It seems very solemn to me.”

But perhaps this poem was meant in a less complicated, more straightforward, way, befitting its recipient. We find out from Dr. Holland’s granddaughter, Theodora Van Wagenen Ward, that there was a generational shift in faith experience with her grandfather. She states that Dr. Holland “loved God with the same fervor that his ancestors feared Him.” So perhaps he exemplified that kind of love for Emily.

          -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

P.S. I love the way the final word of this poem, Deity, takes up both the "ee" sound of the rhymes in the first stanza and the "ay" sound of the rhymes of the second stanza. 

From Us She wandered now a Year,

From Us She wandered now a Year,
Her tarrying, unknown,
If Wilderness prevent her feet
Or that Ethereal Zone

No eye hath seen and lived
We ignorant must be—
We only know what time of Year
We took the Mystery.


     -Fr794, J890, sheet 60, early 1864


In the Franklin ordering of the poems we have now left the fascicles and moved on to some poems that were written on separate sheets of paper and were believed by Franklin to have been written in early 1864. I would've preferred to have moved onto the next fascicle as I believe Dickinson put her "keeper" poems into fascicles, which she arranged with a certain sense of order. But as this blog has, from the beginning, followed the Franklin ordering of the poems, with the project of attempting to include them all, we will tackle several before we get onto the next fascicle.

This one feels slighter than usual, but presuming that all of Dickinson's poems were written with purpose in mind, let's do our best to get a sense of what she is doing here.

Here we have a woman who "From Us...wandered" a year ago. I presume this means that she died. But it's possible that this woman merely disappeared and wandered off. It says we don't know whether the "Wilderness" prevented her feet from going forward, or it was an "Ethereal Zone."

This poem centers around the idea that no one knows what comes after death. It is a mystery. "We only know what time of Year." Maybe that's all this poem is doing, just stating that no one knows. This is, in itself, bold in a time when the majority of people professed faith in an afterlife.

What is the difference, then, between death as a Wilderness or death as an Ethereal Zone?

Both the Wilderness and an Ethereal Zone give us a sense of the unknown, though one is earthly, and one is of the ether, beyond the earth. Ethereal, according to the Dickinson Lexicon, means: Unearthly; supernatural; mystical; mysterious; unexplainable; immortal; beyond death.

So the question here seems to rest on whether when we die we simply return to the earth or transcend to some unknown zone beyond.

I think either possibility, earth or ether, is made more beautiful by Dickinson's word choices of Wilderness and Ethereal Zone.

The last line of this poem "We took the Mystery" is a pretty remarkable way of looking at death. When someone dies all we can do is take the Mystery.

The poem is a striking example of Keats' idea of Negative Capability, which he defines as "capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.”


      -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

The Monk by the Sea by Caspar David Friedrich, 1808

Biographical note: "Thomas Johnson suggests that the dead woman may be Lamira Norcross, the young wife of Emily’s mother’s youngest brother. If so, the ‘us’ of the poem may include Emily’s cousins, Louise and Frances Norcross, nieces of Lamira Norcross." -David Preest

My Soul—accused me—And I quailed—

My Soul—accused me—And I quailed—
As Tongue of Diamond had reviled
All else accused me—and I smiled—
My Soul—that Morning—was My friend—

Her favor—is the best Disdain
Toward Artifice of Time—or Men—
But Her Disdain—'twere lighter bear
A finger of Enamelled Fire—

     -Fr793, J753, fascicle 37

Emily Dickinson was her own best critic. Her "Soul" cut her with its "Tongue of Diamond," to the point that she "quailed," and because it cut so deep, no one else's accusations could touch her. She just smiles at anyone else's censure. It is only her own exacting Soul that she is concerned with. It is her "friend," she says. 

And why was it her friend? I suspect it was because it kept her grounded to what is Real, to what is beyond the temporal, beyond the artificial relationship, beyond "Artifice of Time—or Men—" 

And what is Real? I think for Dickinson the Real might be defined as true intimacy in the eternal moment. As she says in a later a poem, all of Dominion is reduced to nothing in comparison to the heart's smallest extent.

This is no small part of why we turn to Dickinson. For true love she suffered no fools, and not least of which herself. 

"Tongue of Diamond" is a great phrase because it conjures up "hard," and "cutting," but also, "precious."  

Why did the poet's Soul accuse her "that morning?" Is Dickinson speaking of a particular incident here, or is "morning" meant to invoke youth? Or is it "morning" because her Soul is waking her up? 

The second stanza begins with a profound idea. "Her favor—is the best Disdain/ Toward Artifice of Time—or Men—" The favor of your Soul is, in itself, so pleasing that you will naturally want to disdain the artificial. The Soul's favor is positive reinforcement.

On the flipside, if you don't disdain the artificial, then you have negative reinforcement to contend with and it would be easier ("lighter") to bear a "finger of Enamelled Fire." Here is another fantastically rich image. A finger suggests someone pointing in accusation. "Enamelled Fire" is a striking oxymoron. Fire is all consuming, but enamel is decorative and even protective. So here Dickinson is combining the destructive and the ornamental, fusing burning pain with surface perfection. 

Be quiet and listen to your Soul. Dickinson makes it seem like the easy and obvious choice here, but as we all know, it is anything but. Still, a poem like this, paid close attention to, brings us a little closer to the Soul's favor. And what more could we ask for?

      -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

Note: 

1. It is worth thinking about this poem in relation to the famous one about the Soul selecting Her Own Society. For an excellent discussion of that poem see Prowling Bee Fr409. 

2. This is the last poem of Fascicle 37. The first poem in the fascicle, Fr773, also refers to a "friend," though the "friend" of that poem is a Him rather than a Her. You would expect a word like "friend" to be capitalized in a Dickinson poem, but it is lower case in both poems. It is perhaps significant that this fascicle is book-ended by two friends, a shapeless He who visits the poet, and a She, who is her very Soul. 

So the Eyes accost—and sunder

So the Eyes accost—and sunder
In an Audience—
Stamped—occasionally—forever—
So may Countenance

Entertain—without addressing
Countenance of One
In a Neighboring Horizon—
Gone—as soon as known—


       -Fr792, J752, Fascicle 37, 1863


That opening line is so curt and to the point. There is a violent thrust to the sound of that word "accost," and a feeling of finality with that word "sunder."

These eyes accost the narrator and sunder her from what? From herself? From society? From reality? From happiness?

And whose eyes are these that have accosted the narrator? We are left to wonder. It is part of the mystery.

These eyes, though, we are told, accost and sunder "in an audience." Why is there an audience? It's as if it is a play we are witnessing. And who is in this audience? Us? We are witnessing the Witnessing.

Perhaps this intense gaze is just the glance of a would-be lover who is passing by in a crowd. But there is also a sense of a divine Countenance that the poet is facing. I get this idea from the sense of deity that the word "Countenance" connotes, but also from two poems mentioned earlier in this fascicle, Fr773, and Fr783. Both of these poems are also about a mysterious and divine visitation. If you read the three together, the mystery just deepens.

This visitation, which may be earthly in origin, but begins to seem almost supernatural, had a profound effect on the poet, imbuing in her a sense of Eternity:

Stamped—occasionally—forever—

Imagine the gaze that must have stopped Emily Dickinson in her tracks and stamped forever upon her. She turns the gaze here into mythic territory, into divine Countenance itself, conflating the human realm with the Heavenly. It's signature Dickinson. In many of her poems the human and divine appear to be inextricable.

Stamped "occasionally." This might mean that this kind of thing happens "occasionally," ever so often, once in a while. But I think here it more likely means, "upon a single occasion." It happened upon one occasion. The occasion becomes eternal when the eyes meet. Then it is that "now" is stamped with "forever." I love when Dickinson brings eternity into the moment. She does this most famously in Fr690, "Forever is composed of Nows." The poem continues,

So may Countenance

Entertain—without addressing

Countenance of One
In a Neighboring Horizon—

Entertain "a countenance of One/ in a Neighboring Horizon" without addressing it? No names are spoken. Perhaps no names are known? This encounter is, perhaps, just an anonymous passing-by on the street. Have you had that encounter with someone, a momentary connection, that feels somehow eternal? By the way, this could also be describing a visitation from an author, who is entertaining us without addressing us.

But, on a deeper level, this line gets at something about the possessive need to name (address) and own the present, instead of freely allowing oneself to be entertained in the moment.*

I take the "Countenance of One/ in a Neighboring Horizon" in this poem to refer to the poet Herself. The Countenance of God, or lover, or passer-by on the street, is entertaining, but does not deign to address the poet. Hey, says the Poet, there is a "Countenance of One" over here on this side too! It's as if she is saying, "I've got a Countenance to match yours," but you wouldn't know, because you left, as soon as you came...

Gone—as soon as known—

The moment was intense, and in it, something came to be Known, but now that moment is gone.

Do you think Dickinson is happy with this ephemeral, but eternal encounter, or would she rather have been properly introduced and addressed?

Ultimately, for me, this poem is about the potential immediacy and intensity of any moment of true Witness. The poem itself, like its subject, peers through reality into something Beyond.


             -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

photo by Steve McCurry, story of the phote here

* This idea recalls Fr783, another poem about a mysterious presence which can "entertain" without being introduced (and addressed):

Better entertain
Than could Border Ballad—
Or Biscayan Hymn—
Neither introduction
Need You—unto Him—

My Worthiness is all my Doubt —

My Worthiness is all my Doubt —
His Merit — all my fear —
Contrasting which, my quality
Do lowlier — appear —

Lest I should insufficient prove
For His beloved Need —
The Chiefest Apprehension
Upon my thronging Mind —

Tis true — that Deity to stoop
Inherently incline —
For nothing higher than Itself
Itself can rest upon —

So I — the undivine abode
Of His Elect Content —
Conform my Soul — as 'twere a Church,
Unto Her Sacrament —


       -Fr791, J751, fascicle 37, 1863


There is a tricky thing Dickinson does in the first line of this poem, a move she often makes wherein, through syntax and the use of the line break, she is able to give two very different meanings to a line. For instance, you could read the first line here as saying, “I doubt my own worthiness,” but you could also read it as, “All my doubting is what makes me worthy.” These two opposing readings of the line get at the tension that underlies the poem. In trying to parse this poem, it's helpful to keep both readings of this line in mind at the same time. It's tough to do, especially because of the elided syntax. I’m reminded of Robert Frost’s useful warning that explication consists of “saying a poem over again, only worse.”

The first reading of this line sets up a pretty straightforward reading of the poem. The speaker is filled with doubt about her own spiritual adequacy and fears that she cannot live up to the perfection of the divine. Yet she reflects that it is in God's very nature to “stoop," to reach down to what is lower, since nothing is higher than God Himself. This realization allows the speaker, though she sees herself as an “undivine abode,” to prepare her soul like a church ready to receive a sacrament. 

But the second possible reading of the poem, based off the idea of there being worth in doubt, is trickier. It is triggered not only by the ambiguity of the first line, but also by the telling word "appear" in the phrase, "Contrast which, my quality do lowlier appear." It appears lowlier, but it isn't, because it is only in our doubts and struggles that we can relate to one another. 

Read this way, the tone of the entire poem changes. In the first reading of the poem, for instance, that second line, "His Merit — all my fear —" means something like, "I fear I can never reach the merit of God," but in the second reading it changes to fear of the Merit itself. The Merit itself is in question. I think it suggests that God is an impossible ideal, and you might even say this is at the root of the doubt. 

You see these two readings come to a head in the third stanza of this poem:

'Tis true — that Deity to stoop
Inherently incline —
For nothing higher than Itself
Itself can rest upon —

You can see the paradox in the idea that God must stoop to "incline." In other words, this poem is cleverly saying that to reach up, we must reach down. And so, being low is actually the ideal state, as it is what allows us to "conform" to the sacrament of the church. To reach up is to stoop. Stooping here is shorthand for dying on the cross, for humility, for helping the less fortunate, etc.

The second reading sets up the idea that it is our doubts that help make us worthy, because they are part of our humanity, part of our humility, and therefore part of what allows others to lean on us, and us, on them. Likewise, God must become human (become Christ) in order to be "rest upon." One thinks of Christ’s moment of doubt on the cross, “Why hast thou forsaken me?” That doubt, like Dickinson’s, makes Him human, and therefore relatable. 

I feel as if I put all of this badly, but I'm hoping that in wrestling with this poem I have gotten across its paradoxical point. The low is held high. This is at the crux of Christianity itself, and I think it is the part Dickinson felt aligned with. But conversely the gist of the second reading is that the high and mighty is held to be low. There is a "fear" of the arrogance of anything that purports to be perfect and above us. This ambiguity can be found in the tension of the fabric of the poetry itself.

Another key word in the poem is "content." The last stanza, if we fill in the elisions, goes something like this:

So I — the undivine abode
Of His Elect (am, though undivine, nonetheless) Content —
(to) Conform my Soul — as 'twere a Church,
Unto Her Sacrament —

We are "undivine," and are content to be so, because how else could we be truly aligned with our community (the church)? It's this alignment with the suffering of others that is sacred, that leads us to "Her Sacrament.

     -/)dam Wade l)eGraff


Note: It is interesting that God in this poem is a He and the church is a She. It's the Her of the church that Dickinson appears to be conforming to here, not some perfect Him on high.

Growth of Man—like Growth of Nature—

Growth of Man—like Growth of Nature—
Gravitates within—
Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it—
But it stir—alone—

Each—its difficult Ideal
Must achieve—Itself
Through the solitary prowess
Of a Silent Life—

Effort—is the sole condition—
Patience of Itself—
Patience of opposing forces—
And intact Belief—

Looking on—is the Department
Of its Audience—
But Transaction—is assisted
By no Countenance—



      -Fr790, J750, Fascicle 37, 1863

This poem is a guide to living your best life.

Growth of Man—like Growth of Nature—
Gravitates within—

For starters, we are reminded that we take our cues from nature. If you look at nature, you see that there is something innate within living beings from which growth takes place. What does this mean? Just like flowers, we have the blueprint for growth, but we must go within to find it. We will find out what that entails as the poem proceeds.

“Gravitates” is a powerful verb here. Growth stems from our own center of gravity.

Atmosphere, and Sun endorse it—
But it stir—alone—

I take the Sun here to mean, in the context of this poem, something like the approval and happiness of those around us, and the Atmosphere, the pleasantness of our surroundings. Both of these "endorse" our growth, but there must be something deeper we can draw on than set and setting, which, after all, can be mercurial.

“Endorse” is an intriguing word. It’s as if the potential within us is a political candidate, which may be endorsed by sun and atmosphere, but must decide to run for office on its own.

There is also the word “stir,” which is...stirring. We must “stir” —alone—

Apropos, "alone" is set off by itself between two dashes. 

Each—its difficult Ideal
Must achieve—Itself—

These lines present a challenge to us. Each of us have a singular ideal state of becoming, of blooming, but to achieve it, we must muster the wherewithal to get there by ourselves. Can we? Yes, we can. But the implied question is: will we? These lines lead us to ask ourselves this question, difficult to ask because it is asking for something difficult.

Through the solitary prowess
Of a Silent Life—

To achieve this ideal state takes not only solitude, but prowess within this solitude, and not just Silence, but a lifetime of silence. All of our skill, harnessed in silent solitude, not to mention all of our Life, is necessary to get there.

It gives us pause when we realize that Dickinson’s famous reclusivity was in service to this. And further, that within her own solitary prowess, what she was able to harness was, in part, this very set of compact instructions, lyrically composed to last. The fruit of her labors are to help others achieve the fruit of theirs, if they only will. 

Effort—is the sole condition—

Effort is the sole condition. That’s it!  It just takes effort. What kind of effort?

Patience of Itself—

Patience. One pertinent question is, what does the "it" in this poem refer to? It's as if the self, or the engine of the self's growth, were a thing. (It makes me wonder; if Dickinson were a young person in 2025, what pronoun would she take? Would she choose... "it?") Regardless, whatever "it" is must be patient of the process of becoming. I think Dickinson is basically saying here that one must be very patient with one's self. It's a process. It takes time. Mistakes will be made. Effort is what matters. 

Patience of opposing forces—

Not only must one be patient of one's self, but also patient with the forces in opposition to one's self too, all those manifold things that get in the way of becoming our true selves.

And intact Belief—

And we must keep our belief in ourselves, in our ideal potential, intact, unharmed by outside influences. We must protect it from opposing forces. 

Looking on—is the Department
Of its Audience—

I think this is saying that watching the process (the "it") is for others to do, which really just means that it is not for us to do. How do you self-correct without watching yourself? There's a seeming paradox here, but if you are truly blooming, you aren't correcting yourself. It's like that line about dancing like no one is watching you. Once you are inside the music you no longer are conscious of how you look to others. So the self-judgment is the mistake that must be corrected. This is what we are making an effort to transcend. It's a catch 22. One must try to not try. There is no try, there is only do.  

But Transaction—is assisted
By no Countenance—

Countenance, according to the Dickinson lexicon:

Old French, cuntenance, manner of holding oneself, bearing, behavior, aspect. 

1. Other; additional person; person exterior to oneself.

2. Face; visage; facial expression; [fig.] appearance; bearing; demeanor; personality.
3. Glory; radiance; sunbeams; solar illumination; refulgent light; intense shining of the sun.

All of these meanings are possibly at play in this poem, but since we have just had the idea of an audience looking, we may say that what is being said here is that the countenance of another, the opinion of another, will not help us transact into full blossom. This we must do ourselves. 

Transaction is defined by the Dickinson lexicon as: "Effort; labor; exertion." So again, it comes down to effort and even though we may be endorsed by the refulgent light of others, they can't assist us where it truly matters, a decision that must be rooted in belief that must remain intact beyond the vagaries of opinion. 

Here we consider Dickinson's poetry. A poem that proceeds this one in the fascicle, Fr788, "Publication is the auction of the mind of man," is thinking along a similar line. We are getting more and more insight in fascicle 37 as to why these poems, although clearly written for the edification of others, refused to be influenced by them. 

File this one under Emily Dickinson poems to be inspired by. 

       -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

Solitude by Thomas Harrison, 1889

P.S. That line "dance like no one is watching you" always reminds me of Danse Russe by William Carlos Williams, one of my all time favorite poems.