Dyes — said He — have I —
Could disparage a Flamingo —
Show Me them — said I —
Cochineal — I chose — for deeming
It resemble Thee —
And the little Border — Dusker —
For resembling Me —
FR786, J748, Fascicle 37, 1863
Let’s "overlook" that opening line:
Autumn — overlooked my Knitting —
Autumn — overlooked my Knitting —
The word "overlooked” is misleading here, because it has the connotation of "looking past” or "ignoring," but in the context of the rest of the poem, it merely means “looked over.”
Autumn, in poetry parlance, is the season of reflection, both a remembrance of the youth of summer, and a preparation for the winter of old age and death. It is also the time of harvest.
Another parallel with Autumn is Dusk, a word which appears in the second stanza of this poem. Dusk is to Night as Autumn is to Winter and as Old Age is to Death.
“Knitting,” in the context of this poem, is self-referential. It is one way to speak of the writing of poems. I’m sure there have been some terrific essays written on Dickinson’s use of this analogy. (You can see this motif on display in one of her earliest poems, which parallels this one in more ways than one, F21.)
So, we might say that, figuratively, old age is looking over the poet’s shoulder as she writes her poem. He offers her a better, richer color palette:
Dyes — said He — have I —
Could disparage a Flamingo —
There is word play in “Dyes” here, a homonym with "Dies." This is apropos, since this poem, at heart, is about the acceptance of the richness and beauty of death.
Autumn’s Dyes would disparage a flamingo. A flamingo carries the color of pink, of spring, of newness. It's a tropical, exotic bird. The word flamingo carries the word "flame" in it too. It reminds us of the heat of summer. Pink is the color of newborns, and of little girls.
Autumn’s Dyes "disparage" all of this. According to the Dickinson Lexicon, disparage means to “dishonor by a comparison of greater value.”
Flamingo pink is hot, says august Autumn, but I’ve got something even better than that.
Show Me them — said I
The Poet looks into the face of death and bravely demands to see these dyes. “Show Me them.” She chooses one.
Cochineal — I chose — for deeming
It resemble Thee —
Autumn shows the poet colors of a richer, deeper hue and the poet chooses, from among them, Cochineal. If spring’s pink is red with a dab of white, Autumn's cochineal is red with a dab of black.
Cochineal is notable, also, for being almost the exact color of blood.
are thoughtlessly killed every year to color everything
from Nerds candy to rouge and lipstick. (Natural Dye #4)
The poet says she chooses this color because it resembles “Thee,” her beloved. Perhaps it reminds the poet of "Thee" because cochineal is the blood-red color of the heart, of life. There is also a flowering cactus called a Cochineal. Could it be that Dickinson was making a pointed joke about the prickly nature of this love?
cochineal cactus
Then for the coup de grâce we get these final lines:
And the little Border — Dusker —
For resembling Me —
Just by adding that word "Dusker" here Dickinson conjures up a sunset to accompany the deepening red of this poem.
What is Dickinson knitting here? A scarf? A blanket? Surely it is something to keep her beloved warm, and perhaps even to cover them both.
I always read myself (and, by extension, all readers) into the role of “Thee” in Dickinson’s poems. She is knitting this poem for us, too, to keep us warm in the chilly depths of winter.
She has woven herself into the “border” of this blanket. The blood-red color of “Thee” takes up the bulk of this blanket. The poet is just visible at the blanket's edge. What color is dusker than cochineal? What color is a little closer to the darkness of midnight black? A deep maroon perhaps? It might look something like this.
I always read myself (and, by extension, all readers) into the role of “Thee” in Dickinson’s poems. She is knitting this poem for us, too, to keep us warm in the chilly depths of winter.
She has woven herself into the “border” of this blanket. The blood-red color of “Thee” takes up the bulk of this blanket. The poet is just visible at the blanket's edge. What color is dusker than cochineal? What color is a little closer to the darkness of midnight black? A deep maroon perhaps? It might look something like this.
The blanket your cool goth grandma might knit for you
Now this blanket poem, like a precious heirloom, is passed along to Thee, the reader. May it keep you warm when the temperature drops.
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff