Our little Kinsmen—after Rain
In plenty may be seen,
A Pink and Pulpy multitude
The tepid Ground upon.
A needless life, it seemed to me
Until a little Bird
As to a Hospitality
Advanced and breakfasted.
As I of He, so God of Me
I pondered, may have judged,
And left the little Angle Worm
With Modesties enlarged.
-F932, J885, sheet 15, 1865
I’m surprised this is not one of the more famous poems. It’s funny and dark, sweet and sour, signature Dickinson.
Our little Kinsmen—after Rain
In plenty may be seen,
We start with a riddle. It’s a pretty simple one though and if you haven't figured it out by the first stanza, then you probably will by the time you get to the bird breakfasting in the second. Worms are our kinsmen. On one hand this implies a kinship among all living things (sweet) but on the other, the poet is comparing us to worms (sour).
If we are like worms, we can begin to ask a question here. Do we also come out “after Rain”? What does it mean to come out after rain? Does it mean we are metaphorically tired of the solitary pain (rain) and long for the open communal joy of the sun?
A Pink and Pulpy multitude
The tepid Ground upon.
Pink and pulpy. What a pair of descriptors for humanity. Together it sounds repulsive. And why is the ground “tepid?” It’s like an alien Yelp review of humanity. "I checked out the humans and found them to be pink, pulpy and tepid. Zero stars.” (It reminds me of Thomas Hobbes review of life, “nasty brutish and short.")
A needless life, it seemed to me
Until a little Bird
As to a Hospitality
Advanced and breakfasted.
This pink, pulpy and tepid humanity seems as needless to the poet as the pink, pulpy and tepid worms. But then the poet notices that the worms make an excellent breakfast for birds. The implication is that we humans, if we can at least provide sustenance for the “birds,” may be worthwhile after all.
This begs the question of what it might it mean, metaphorically, to give ourselves up to feed the birds? One answer might be in the song-like nature of Poetry. Emily, in her poems, is giving the “higher nature” in each of us, our inner bird, poems to sing. She is feeding us the poetic sustenance of Truth and Beauty.
But anything that adds purpose to our lives, that gives us wings, may do. How to do that though is left up to you.
As I of He, so God of Me
I pondered, may have judged,
This is a pithy way to say, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” I’m judging the worms, and, by comparison, humanity itself, says the poet, but am I not human? And it is perhaps even implied that we are worse than the worms, because at least the worms aren't judging anyone.
And left the little Angle Worm
With Modesties enlarged.
Is it the worm or poet who is "left... with Modesties enlarged"? It's neat how Dickinson's use of grammar here conflates ourselves and the worms.
This realization (this... “Angle”?) of being comparable to, and indeed worse than, the Angle Worm is what gives us humility. Humility shows us Truth and Truth, set in the frame of Beauty, gives us poetry.
As I of He, so God of Me
I pondered, may have judged,
This is a pithy way to say, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” I’m judging the worms, and, by comparison, humanity itself, says the poet, but am I not human? And it is perhaps even implied that we are worse than the worms, because at least the worms aren't judging anyone.
And left the little Angle Worm
With Modesties enlarged.
Is it the worm or poet who is "left... with Modesties enlarged"? It's neat how Dickinson's use of grammar here conflates ourselves and the worms.
This realization (this... “Angle”?) of being comparable to, and indeed worse than, the Angle Worm is what gives us humility. Humility shows us Truth and Truth, set in the frame of Beauty, gives us poetry.
I’m reminded of a line from the new Odyssey film by Christopher Nolan. “The clearest view of man is from below.“ Odysseus becomes reduced to a humble beggar at the end of his Odyssey and therefore can see mankind for what it is. But here, Dickinson gives us a gorgeous metaphor for what we can aspire to be, a humble banquet for the song birds.
This poem pairs well with an earlier one, F359:
A Bird came down the Walk—
He did not know I saw—
He bit an Angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,
And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass—
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass—
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all around—
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought,
He stirred his Velvet Head—
Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer Home—
Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam—
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon
Leap, plashless as they swim.
The rain/pain drives us out to the sun where we can be seen and, therefore enjoyed, by the birds, giving them sustenance for flight and song. We can offer the bird only crumbs, but it may be enough for him to "unroll his feathers" and row softer home, plashlessly dividing the "Everywhere of Silver."
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff
This poem pairs well with an earlier one, F359:
A Bird came down the Walk—
He did not know I saw—
He bit an Angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,
And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass—
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass—
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all around—
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought,
He stirred his Velvet Head—
Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer Home—
Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam—
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon
Leap, plashless as they swim.
The rain/pain drives us out to the sun where we can be seen and, therefore enjoyed, by the birds, giving them sustenance for flight and song. We can offer the bird only crumbs, but it may be enough for him to "unroll his feathers" and row softer home, plashlessly dividing the "Everywhere of Silver."
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff
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