That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main— The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—
-F906, J863, Sheet 8, 1865
The distance between the poet and her beloved is not a matter of physical distance, but of the Will. Distances can be crossed, but changing someone’s mind is a different matter altogether.
That Distance was between Us That is not of Mile or Main—
I had to look up “Main.” It turns out it is an old-fashioned word for the ocean. Shakespeare uses it in Othello: “I cannot ’twixt the heaven and the main descry a sail.” "Mile and Main" works well in Dickinson’s poem as a compactly alliterative way of saying “Land and Sea,” which is to say: every possible geographical separation.
The Will it is that situates— Equator—never can—
It is the Will that situates us where we are in a way that the Equator never can.
Two people can live far apart, on opposite hemispheres, and still feel close, or they can be emotionally divided even when living side by side.
Judith Farr thinks Emily intended this poem for Sue. As Sue lives just two hundred yards away, the distance between them is not of land or sea. It is Sue's Will that is keeping them apart, not an intervening ‘Equator.’
That makes sense to me, but there's another way to read this poem, a more hopeful one. If the Will can create an untraversable distance where there physically is none, that means it can also create closeness even if distance separates. If we have the Will to be together, then the physical distance means nothing.
If the Will can “situate” distance, then relationship itself depends on acts of inward orientation.
Split the Lark — and you'll find the Music — Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled — Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.
Loose the Flood — you shall find it patent — Gush after Gush, reserved for you — Scarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas! Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?
-F905, J861, Sheet 8, 1865
I was first made aware of this poem when I watched the episode of the Apple TV series "Dickinson" called “Split the Lark.” In this episode this poem is sung on an opera stage by Sue.
This made me take a deeper look at the poem and I have since come to view it as one of her best.
Let's start at the beginning, with the word "Split."
Then the trochaic rhythmic structure of the poem causes this word to be emphasized. (Trochaic rhythm is the opposite of the more common poetic rhythm, iambic meter. Iambic meter goes: ta DA ta DA ta DA. Trochaic meter goes: TA da TA da TA da TA da.) Because this poem begins on the beat, the word “Split” comes down on us like an axe. The effect is to give extra venom to an underlying anger. It's almost as if this word, and therefore this poem, is being spit out, like a metal shriek. SPLIT the Lark!
This move gets carried through the rest of the poem too, especially in the second stanza with the emphasis on the first words of the 5th and 8th line, “Loose” and “Now.” It’s a masterful use of the trochee.
Another brilliant thing about this poem is the way the letters of the word “Split the Lark” continue through the poem, almost as if the phrase itself is being split apart: S L and R sounds, especially, are scattered through the poem. I’ve seen Dickinson do this kind of thing before, using a single consonant cluster of a key word or phrase to inform the sound of the rest of a poem, but this is next level.
Also worth taking note of here is the use of the second person, "you." This is somewhat rare for a Dickinson poem. According to Google, “There is no single, publicly verified count of exactly how many of Emily Dickinson’s nearly 1,800 poems use the second person." I can think of a few. “I’m nobody, who are you?” comes to mind. In that poem though the "you" feels general. In this one it feels pointed at someone specific. This naturally makes us want to know who, in Dickinson’s wild and complicated private life, was the recipient of this poem? I’m not going to speculate too much here (see end notes), but I will share something which relates to this poem and further deepens the mystery. The second of Dickinson's so-called "Master letters" (L233) begins:
“Master, If you saw a bullet hit a Bird—and he told you he was'nt shot you might weep at his courtesy, but you would certainly doubt his word. One drop more from the gash that stains your Daisy's bosom—then could you believe? Thomas's faith in Anatomy was stronger than his faith in faith. God made me—(Sir) Master—I didn't be—myself. I dont know how it was done.”
(Gosh, I just re-read that letter six or seven times in a row and it got more strange with every pass. The line “Thomas’s faith in Anatomy was stronger than his faith in faith” stopped me in my tracks. It’s so wry!)
We’ve covered the first word, "Split," so now let’s contend with the rest of the first line.
Split the Lark — and you'll find the Music —
There is a long poetic history of the lark. Many of the poets Dickinson knew and loved, including Chaucer, Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, Milton, Bronte, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Emily's favorite) all used the lark in their poetry as a symbol of poetry itself.
What does it mean that if you split open the lark you'll find music?
Much of Dickinson’s poetry, especially in her prolific period from which this poem comes, is born from the pain of loss. It is elegy. She calls it the “White sustenance Despair” and hers is a “Soul at White Heat." (Elegy is, perhaps, at the very heart of poetry. See Elizabeth Bishop’s "One Art," for a prime example, where loss and poetry are posited as "One Art.")
This first line carries anger and sadness in its blood, what Federico Garcia Lorca called duende. It's the sound of heartbreak, like the voice of Merry Clayton on The Rolling Stones' Gimme Shelter when she belts out, “Rape, murder!”
The second line of the poem is equally astonishing,
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled —
I showed this poem to my HS senior English class and I asked them what they thought these bulbs were. I was given many possible answers. It must have something to do with music, because it follows directly from "you will find the music" in the previous line. But bulbs could refer to the bulbous organs found inside the split bird, "in Silver rolled," encased in the silver feathers of the bird. It could be bulbs of blood. It could be the bulb of the bird's throat as it expands over and over to chirp. It could refer to the bulb of the clapper of a silver bell. Bulb after bulb in silver rolled could be bullets that have split open the bird. There is a dense synaesthesia of music and image in these bulbs. The song itself, we are to understand, has a silver sound.
Because of the next line of the poem we might also see the bulbs as flower bulbs, seeds that are:
Scantily dealt to the Summer Morning
The notes of the bird song are like seeds which are scantily dealt. This music, this poetry, is rare.
It's difficult to make the turn between the first two lines of the first stanza and next two, but I think it is key to understanding the poem. The dense syntax of this poem goes something like this. Split the lark and you'll find music. You'll find it alright! gushing out, a profuse outpouring of agony. But the next lines tell us that a song bird doesn't normally gush. It deals its song scantily. You catch a little here and there, if you are lucky, on Summer mornings. The "reserved" song, the rareness, is what preserves it, what saves it for the long run, so that it be...
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.
If you can be patient, and just accept the little snatches of song, of love, when they come, then it will last you your whole life, but if your doubt, or your jealousy, causes you to be impatient, or greedy, because you couldn’t wait for the music, you will kill the bird.
"When Lutes be old" could be the two lovers, or Lutes, growing old together. That's how I take it. But it could also mean something like old-fashioned instruments (and ideas) as opposed to music that stays as fresh as the song of a lark.
The gist is that by not having faith and killing the bird you are getting all of its music at once, in this pained outpouring, instead of having it dealt out to you slowly over the long run. It won't last.
After a much needed breath of a stanza break the next gush of blood-song spurts up.
Loose the Flood — you shall find it patent —
Flood is a poignant word here. It rhymes with blood, a word which is not mentioned, but is at the center of this poem’s scarlet imagery. It's a flood of blood gushing out of the split-open bird. But it's also a flood of emotions, a flood to drown in. The word "patent," used in this way, is antiquated. Here it means something like "proof."
Gush after Gush, reserved for you —
This line does the same thing "Bulb after Bulb" did, which is to create a rhythmic surge. Gush gushes.
“Reserved for you” has an interesting double meaning here. It means, on one hand, all of this is for one chosen person. It’s not a general love, but a specific one. But “Reserved” can also mean to hold back. Both meanings play out here. It's reserved for you, and you can have it all now, painfully, or you can have it spread over the years, reserved.
Scarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas!
Experiment is an odd word to use in the context of this poem. If this song is about lack of faith killing a song bird, then how does experiment fit in? How is the lover experimenting? Is this poem about infidelity perhaps? However it plays out in the psychological drama at which it hints, “experiment” takes the poem into the realm of science, like the idea that you have to prove the existence of God, or music, through some kind of tangible evidence. If you look at the two previous poems in the sheet this poem was originally written on (the previous two poems on this blog), you’ll see the words “prove” and “doubt.” The poems on this one sheet can all be read in dynamic relationship to one another.
Dickinson adds a whole new idea here with that word “experiment.” When you try to analyze something (like a poem!) you can kill its music. It's like the irony of killing and dissecting a frog to find out how it lives. It reminds me of one of my favorite Kafka aphorisms, The Top, in which a philosopher wants to understand how a top spins, so he picks it up, which stops it from spinning, thus upsetting the kids, who then chase him away.
Dickinson could have written “doubting Thomas” here and it would have scanned just fine in the trochaic rhythm, but by using the word "Skeptic" she doubles up on that SK sound.The double SK sound in this line gives a harshness to the already vitriolic poem. You hear this sound subtly in the first line "Split the larK," and in "Scantily" in the third line, which prepares you for this. It's part of the scathing sound underlying the poem. This is intensified by those two exclamation points.
(The word Skeptic is spelled in this poem with a C. This is confusing because we naturally read this as a different word at first, sceptic as in sceptic tank. I assume though that in Dickinson's day it was just common to spell it with a C and the word should be "Skeptic.")
Thomas, for those of you who don't know the Gospels, is the one who had to touch Jesus' wounds to believe He was real. This reference gives the bird, and thus the "I" of this poem, a Christ-like quality. This poem can be imagined to be spoken by Christ himself.
It’s dazzling, and dizzying, how much is going on in this poem.
We finally end with the plaintive line,
Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?
All the disbelieving skeptics, all the scientists, all the jealous lovers, indeed, all of us, are hereby admonished. The Love of the poet, of nature, of music, is True. Be patient, it will be scantily dealt to you, saved for you when you get old. If you rush to prove it is true you will kill it. But hey, the poem sardonically reminds us, at least in killing it, you will have your proof!
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff
Notes:
1. David Preest, amongst others, has made the argument that the recipient of this poem was Thomas Wentworth Higginson. Dickinson referred to Higginson in a letter as her Preceptor, which is another term for Master. Also the reference to "skeptic Thomas" in the second stanza may be a sly reference to Higginson's first name, Thomas. I’d personally love to believe it was Higginson instead of Charles Wadsworth, who some believe to be "Master," just because I like Higginson better as a person. I’m also fine with "(Sir) Master" being Emily's sister-in-law Sue. (Johnny Cash's song "A boy named Sue" suddenly comes to mind). Anyway! This poem could be for anyone who sometimes doubts love, which is to say, I suppose, if we are honest, all of us.
2. There is much more to say about the play of consonance and rhyme in this poem, which is mind-boggingly well-composed. One small example I love is the way the sound of "Lutes" in the first stanza sets up "Loose" in the second.
Absence disembodies — so does Death Hiding individuals from the Earth Superstition helps, as well as love — Tenderness decreases as we prove —
F904, J860, 1865, sheet 8
(Note: I wrote the following essay based on the word "Superposition" in this poem where "Superstition" should have been. It has been brought to my attention by a sharp-eyed reader that this is incorrect. I made the mistake of cutting and pasting the poem from an online source without checking with the most recent source, Christanne Miller's "Poems As She Preserved Them."There are several versions online that say "superposition," but I'm going to assume they all came from one erroneous source. I like the poem better with "superposition," but oh well. It did seem like an odd left-field word. I've changed the poem back to say "Superstition," but I haven't changed the essay because I like the discussion of Superposition in the comment section. So be it. Sometimes a mistake can lead to a revelation.)
This poem is chewy like a jawbreaker. (Do you remember those? The good ones had a tart but sweet center that made all of the hard work worth it, not unlike this poem.)
Death, like any absence, takes the body away from us. This leaves us in anguish. But "superposition" and love both help us deal with this pain.
Love is something we each have our own deep feeling for. I guess if I had to define it I would say it is the summation of feeling we have built up for a particular person. But the problem is that it's often iffy whether or not that feeling comes from attachment or concern. It's slippery.
Superposition though? What is that?
Superposition, I take it, is a position above the position, like an overlay. It is a position removed from the position of presence, left behind in the imagination. (Now days the term "superposition" is used in Quantum Mechanics, but not back in Dickinson’s time.*)
One possibility for superposition here is that you hold both the present and the past (your memory with the other person) at once. Hope might be in there too, the possibility of seeing them again someday. There may also be the idea that you are connected together in some kind of immortal sphere, beyond time. The emphasis in the second line of "Earth" helps us see "superposition" as something beyond the earth, a view from above.
The wonder is that Dickinson goes into such far out territory with this one word, as if summing up an entire theoretical understanding. It's tantalizing.
I think the clue to what superposition means can be found in the final line.
Tenderness decreases as we prove —
When we are with someone, when we "prove" our connection through presence, then our tenderness for the other person lessens. That line alone gives us a lot to chew on. It's like the final layer of the jawbreaker, the hardest one yet. It's a line full of irony, like "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." But "tender" is a better word here than "fonder," and one that clues us into the "superposition."
Tenderness is one of those words that shifts as you look at it. Tenderness means sensitivity. But what causes sensitivity? Pain. When we feel pain we therefore become sensitive to the pain of others.
This is, I think, the superposition. We are in pain due to loss and therefore become more tender toward others. Conversely then, when the beloved is near we are, unfortunately, less tender. We may be in a state of bliss, but because we are, we are less aware.
When you see that the corresponding gain of tenderness is in proportion to loss, it helps. There is a painful, but beautiful exchange.There’s a sour dramatic irony there, no doubt, but it's one that still leaves us, in the end, with something sweet too.
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff
Schrodinger's cat, like Emily, in a superposition
* Quantum superposition is, according to Google, a fundamental principle in quantum mechanics where a photon exists in multiple states or configurations simultaneously. Instead of being in one definite state, a quantum object exists in a linear combination of all possible states, described by a wave function, until a measurement causes it to "collapse" into a single, observed result.
The poem uses "Superposition" then almost prophetically in the way that it resembles the language of quantum physics. Uncertainty sustains Love. Proof collapses possibility.
A Doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find -
An Unreality is lent, A merciful Mirage That makes the living possible While it suspends the lives.
-F903, J859, 1865, sheet 8
It seems as if Dickinson purposely made many of her poems to be one size fits all. This one, for example, carries a general idea that anyone can fit into their own situations. All of us have struggled with doubts and insecurities about belonging and being accepted, and all of us find some kind of comfort in a fantasy that helps us deal with this and go on with life. Our doubts lead us to our illusions.
This is an idea worth thinking about. It spurs me to ask myself what constitutes my own merciful mirage. Am I suspending my real life in a fantasy? In asking myself this question I come up against some uncomfortable answers. But I'm glad. I'd rather not "suspend" my life.
It’s mind-boggling to think about how many ways there are to apply this maxim. Here's one. I recently heard that Gen Z was the “parasocial” generation. I asked my 16 year old daughter Sofia what Parasocial meant. She said it basically meant a one-sided relationship with celebrities on social media.* The rise of AI “friends" is another pertinent example. In both cases real Lives are being suspended. There are countless ways to suspend reality.
Okay, let’s take a deep dive into the poem. A Doubt if it be Us
We can apply this poem in our own particular way, but still one is always deeply curious what the poem meant to Dickinson. It’s hard to say what the impetus of this poem was though. The word “Doubt” suggests the anguish of not being a "believer." Dickinson’s struggle with her self-exclusion from the church can be seen in many of her letters and poems.
But there might be another genesis for this poem. The word “Us” may point to a relationship. The lost faith may be predicated on lost love. Either way, this doubt...
Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish
If doubt assists the mind in an 'extremer Anguish," then that means the anguish was already extreme. When you are deep in extreme anguish, you so badly want to believe in someone or something. To not have the comfort of that belief in the midst of extreme discomfort is doubly devastating.
Until it footing find -
Footing may mean anything that gives you a toehold out of the extremer anguish, but the word "footing" gives us a possible hint as to what Dickinson meant. The word "feet" is almost always code for metrical feet (or verse) in Dickinson's lexicon, so the idea of finding "footing" may be read here as finding poetry.
An Unreality is lent, A merciful Mirage
The Merciful Mirage that Dickinson escaped to may be poetry, but it also might have been a good novel? When I read “Unreality is lent” I suddenly think of a library. Fiction is lent to us from the library. What else could be lending this Unreality? What does it mean that it is lent to us? Are we finding the mirage or is the mirage finding us?
That makes the living possible While it suspends the lives.
Note the contrasting meanings of “living” and “lives” here. It’s a paradox. How is “living” possible if the “lives” are suspended? The false kind of life, the unreal mirage, isn’t really LIVING. Instead, it suspends real life.
“Suspends” is a super interesting word. It has a double meaning. The Unreal mirage suspends our lives, like a castle in the air, but it also causes us to suspend, or put off, really living.
I also hear an echo in this poem of the phrase that was coined by the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge in his 1817 work Biographia Literaria, which I'm sure Dickinson must have read: "that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith."
We suspend our disbelief, so that we may live. But deep down? We can't believe it.
“Parasocial relationships, ersatz intimacies, are shaping Gen Z in ways we are only beginning to understand. From the rise of finstas (secondary Instagram accounts where users post more personal, unfiltered content) to ceaseless online commentary lamenting the paucity of real-life relationships, it’s clear that Gen Z craves authenticity and connection. And yet members of Gen Z are more likely than those of older generations to bail on commitments and reflexively distrust the very peers they long to connect with. This simultaneous craving for, and retreat from, the real is symptomatic of a crisis of belonging.”
Too little way the House must lie From every Human Heart That holds in undisputed Lease A white inhabitant—
Too narrow is the Right between— Too imminent the chance— Each Consciousness must emigrate And lose its neighbor once—
-F902, J911, 1865
Dickinson often does a funny thing where she speaks of her subject in a purposefully indirect way.
House…undisputed Lease…white inhabitant…Right…emigrate…neighbor? For a minute I thought this poem had something to do with white property owners and immigrant rights. That wouldn't be a very Dickinsonion theme though so we are suspect. Sure enough, with a closer reading, this line of thought appears to be a ruse. It seems as if the poem purposely misdirects you.
This misdirection does a few things. First, I think it is a way of making a meta-commentary on both the subject and the metaphor. It adds a layer of meaning and gives a deeper dimensionality to the poem. (For instance, to follow one possible thread of thought, I think the metaphor in this poem may be making a subtle side-swipe at the narrow-mindedness of the rich in the line, "Too narrow is the Right between—").
Another thing about this misdirection is that, though frustrating, it adds to the power of the poem to pull you in. That puzzle-loving part of us is awakened. We want to see the puzzle, and therefore the poem, completed. But Emily doesn't make it easy.
After a few readings of the poem, paying attention to all of the clues at our disposal, we come to the conclusion that House means grave. Once we see this, then “white inhabitant” becomes "corpse." Okay, we have a starting point.
Too little way the House must lie From every Human Heart
Life is short and the grave is close. The Human Heart brings in the idea of life-force, but also, love.
That holds in undisputed Lease A white inhabitant—
Does "That" refer to the Human Heart or the grave? Both, perhaps. Both hold a body in undisputed Lease; the Heart in memory, and the grave in physical residence.
Death as a permanent undisputed lease is a provocative idea. The idea of paying “rent” here has a dark humor. It makes me think, in contrast to an undisputed lease, about how difficult it is to pay rent when you are living. Your rent is always in “dispute” when you are alive. Too narrow is the Right between—
This line seems to further the “Too little way” in the first line. If it does, then it means something like: our life-time is too narrow between birth and death. In this case, we have a kind of “Right” to life, though it is a very limited one. It also carries the sense of "Right now." This is your in-between, don't miss it.
The line could also easily mean the “narrow” space in the ground, the space of the grave, where the body has its lease. In this case “Right” could mean a number of other possible things, the "Right" to be dead, for instance. More dark humor.
It’s a bit mind-boggling how Dickinson pulls off simultaneous readings. Does the "narrow... between" refer to time or space? And, if so, why is it "Right" between?
Too imminent the chance—
What Dickinson means by “chance” here is pretty hard to pin down too. It might mean something like the “chance” to really live while we still can. This is the reading I prefer. I suppose this exposes my optimistic idealism, because there's another way to read the line. If the thing that is imminent is the House (grave), then it might also be referring to the chance of death. Death is the imminent chance. To think of death as a chance is darkly funny too. It's not a chance, but a certainty.
There is another option I can think of for the meaning of "Chance" here, which is introduced in the next lines about emigrating. "Chance" could refer to escaping the grave after death, the chance of the spirit being released into Paradise. If so, there is perhaps the suggestion that there is something we can do to increase that chance. Each Consciousness must emigrate And lose its neighbor once—
These lines could mean that since our consciousness must emigrate to the house of the grave, we should embrace our neighbors while we can.
But, following the other track of meaning, these lines could mean that each consciousness must (should) emigrate from the grave to Paradise and lose the neighborhood of corpses it once had.
Both meanings have power.
The “once” at the end of the poem is poignant. It could mean that we only get "once" to be here, only one go around. But if you take “death” as the “Right” in this poem, then the “once” refers to the joy of leaving this earth and going to paradise, like in the old spiritual: "Some bright morning when this life is over, I'll fly away."
I far prefer the former reading, the one which seems to say to us, "Take the chance of life while you can." But the latter reading, the wish to emigrate from the House of the grave to the spirit in the sky may be more in line with Dickinson’s meaning.
On top of this, there is still that subtext about white inhabitants and emigrating at play in the subtext of this poem, whatever we are to make of that.
The Soul's distinct connection With immortality Is best disclosed by Danger Or quick Calamity—
As Lightning on a Landscape Exhibits Sheets of Place— Not yet suspected—but for Flash— And Click—and Suddenness.
-F901, J974, 1865
This poem points us to a revelation. Since the landscape is dark, though, we don't know what that revelation is. All we have is the finger pointing into the dark. This poem bears witness to an experience of Truth. The revelation is best described by this witness as "the soul's distinct connection with Immortality."
This revelation, she tells us, is best disclosed by danger and calamity. Dickinson is like Dante returning from hell, albeit with far more brevity in her poetry. What our wizened witness reveals to us in this poem, in the fewest words possible, is just the word Immortality and the realization of our Soul's distinct connection to it. Since these words "Immortality" and "Soul" are quite slippery ones, everything hinges on how you interpret them.
What is a Soul? What is Immortality? (And how can Emily wield these words with such impunity?)
For most people Immortality means the self goes on forever. Immortality, though, is impossible. It is a self-negating paradox. To be mortal is to have flesh and blood, so one cannot be not mortal.
The only way one could be immortal would be to live beyond the confines of the body. And for that to be there would have to be some way for the memories of the self to remain beyond the body. Something would have to carry the memories. One wonders, is there a back-up storage for the brain, like memories stored in the Cloud? Perhaps, who knows. Belief in this kind of perpetual self is a mere matter of Faith.
If Immortality is not some kind of living-forever of the self, then what is it? What kind of immortality is it that Danger and Calamity Reveals? What is this "distinct connection"?
According to this poem, those who have experienced intense Danger and Calamity would best know the answer to this question. I don’t think I have ever quite felt this myself. I’ve felt terror, and have experienced some horrible things, but none of them made me see a flash of Immortality lighting up the landscape. On the contrary, Danger and Calamity have the opposite effect on me. They make me want to cling tighter to the temporal.
What I feel in moments of Danger and Calamity is a deeper sense of what is real and meaningful to me, a deeper connection to loved ones and to the earth and stars beyond. Perhaps love comprises a kind of immortality then?
Yesterday Tom C, faithful Prowling Bee reader and writer, was in Queens and paid a call. We had a talk about this poem, since I had been thinking about it. He told me his experience of going through grief and how it gave him a real sense that Love is permanent. Love doesn't diminish, said Tom.
There is something immortal in that feeling of human connection. In one of my favorite Dickinson poems she states that the smallest human heart’s extent reduces Infinity to nothing: The Life we have is very great. The Life that we shall see Surpasses it, we know, because It is Infinity.
But when all Space has been beheld And all Dominion shown The smallest Human Heart’s extent Reduces it to none.
I’ve long been fascinated by Dickinson's conception of immortality. It goes beyond the usual definition of the word. In one of her letters she writes, "It may be she came to show you Immortality." I suspect she was speaking of a young one who died. But she might just as well be speaking of herself too. So what is it she came to show us? The following quotes are all taken from her letters.
"No heart that break but further went than Immortality."
"Emerson's intimacy with his "Bee" only immortalized him."
"The 'infinite beauty' of which you speak comes too near to seek."
"Show me eternity, and I will show you Memory- Be you - While I am Emily - Be next - what you have ever been - Infinity."
"There is no first, or last, in Forever- It is Centre, there, all the time."
"The risks of immortality are perhaps its charm."
"A letter always seemed to me like Immortality, for is it not the Mind alone, without corporeal friend?"
"Dear friend, can you walk, were the last words that I wrote her. Dear friend, I can fly- her immortal reply."
"An hour for books those enthralling friends the immortalities"
"The immortality of flowers must enrich our own."
"Show me eternity, and I will show you Memory- Be you - While I am Emily - Be next - what you have ever been - Infinity."
"Amazing human heart- a syllable can make to quake like jostled tree- what Infinite - for thee!"
What do you make of all that? Immortality is tied in with a broken heart, with intimacy with a bee, with the cycles of nature, with memory, with what you have always been, with the eternal moment, with risks, with the written word (letters and books), with flight, flowers, and the power of the human heart.
She’s getting at the circumference of something profound here, and this poem is just another clue: Danger and Calamity.
***
Okay, all that said, and that was a lot, one thing we haven't broached yet is the word "distinct." Distinct means "identifiable, separate, clearly different from others." So then, Immortality, in this poem, is either about our distinct selves going on forever into the future, or its about the way we hold the distinction of each other in a forever way in our heart. I suspect for Dickinson, it is about the latter.
***
Another thing worth mentioning here is the amazingly cool imagery of this poem, the way it conflates lightning and photography and spiritual insight together into one thing. It’s an awesome way to conceive of something larger than what it is we can ordinarily perceive. The lightning flash is like a 3D photograph, but of a temporal landscape of Immortality! Whoa.
Twas awkward, but it fitted me — An Ancient fashioned Heart — Its only lore — its Steadfastness — In Change — unerudite —
It only moved as do the Suns — For merit of Return — Or Birds — confirmed perpetual By Alternating Zone —
I only have it not Tonight In its established place — For technicality of Death — Omitted in the Lease —
-F900, J973, 1865
'Twas awkward, but it fitted me —
An Ancient fashioned Heart —
I love "Ancient fashioned Heart." The heart is not just old-fashioned, it's Ancient fashioned. That word Ancient is so deep in time. It's like saying, "My love has been around forever, and therefore it's not going anywhere soon."
Why is this ancient fashioned heart awkward though? I think Dickinson is implying it's not the newest thing that counts, the new interesting person, it’s the tried and true, the old friend, the society of the soul.
This "awkward" business is funny. Dickinson's poetry is awkward not because it’s old-fashioned, but rather because it’s always new and difficult to get used to. Suffice to say, the most important thing is that the heart, and the poetry too, are ever true:
Its only lore — its Steadfastness —
This line is funny also, because there is SO much lore that has been created about Emily Dickinson. Scores of lore. Emilycore. And yet here it is as if she is saying that you can set all that aside. The only lore she has for us is her Steadfastness. It's remarkable too because here she still is, her Ancient heart still travelling into the future, steadfast as ever.
In Change — unerudite —
Yet another funny line. To be erudite is to have deep and arcane knowledge about subject. It’s to be in the know. By saying “In Change — unerudite —" it’s as if she is saying that change, the newest knowledge, is not what she knows about. Maybe one can read a hint of fear here. The poem takes a turn at the end, and so we know change is imminent for this Steadfast heart. It only moved as do the Suns — For merit of Return —
Are you kidding me with these lines? Dickinson aligns her Ancient heart with the Sun. We get the idea that Dickinson's Heart moves as the Sun does. And the reason it moves is merely for the merit of returning again. But wait? What? The sun doesn’t move, does it? Rather the earth moves around the sun. The line is a kind of trick of perspective. Rather it is the lover, the reader, that is always returning to the Steadfast Sun of Emily’s Ancient Heart.
Still, this idea of moving, for the sake of returning, whether it is the sun or the earth, is shrewd. Dickinson is declaring eternal steadfast love, but she’s also acknowledging the dance.
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing"
Or Birds — confirmed perpetual By Alternating Zone —
The birds perpetually fly south for the winter and north in the summer. Now Dickinson’s heart isn’t just the Sun, it’s the "confirmed perpetual" movement of life toward the Sun at all times, following it just as the birds do, from north to south in the winter and back again in the summer.
The change is all contained in a larger love, just like the seasons are overseen by the sun. It’s a wonderful way to look at both the heart and the sun. The two become one, the heart and the Sun.
I only have it not Tonight In its established place —
Ugh, crushing lines. The way Dickinson wields a “not” is wicked. (See F891.) Dickinson’s heart is steadfast, so why isn’t in its established place? It must be because the lover’s heart wasn't as constant?
For technicality of Death — Omitted in the Lease —
Either someone literally died, and Emily’s Steadfast heart can’t follow them into death, or for some reason the other person could not be steadfast in return. (Who knows what that reason might be, but it's worth mentioning, perhaps, that Dickinson's two greatest loves, Sue Gilbert and Charles Wadsworth, were married to other people.)
Here Dickinson switches her tone from the eternal language of nature, of birds and suns, to a legal language. Her father and brother were lawyers, so this kind of terminology in her poems often has, I've noticed, a bit of a bite. The poem begins so earnestly and grand and ends in a "technicality? " A broken lease due to the cause of death?
There’s the tone to me in those last lines of an icy finality. Either Emily’s begrudging the business-like transaction of death, or she's bitter because of a lover's neglect, as if to say, hey! you broke a contract with the Sun!
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff
Our Lady of Sorrows at the Church of the True Cross, Salamanca, Spain
Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By — Paradox — the Mind itself — Presuming it to lead
Quite Opposite — How Complicate The Discipline of Man — Compelling Him to Choose Himself His Preappointed Pain —
-F899, J910, 1865
The first thing that stops me in this poem is the adjective "Angled." In a letter to T.W. Higginson Dickinson writes, "I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine." "Angled" starts to shine when you look at it.
Experience is the Angled Road
Here "Angled" means that the road isn't straight. But Dickinson could've used other words, like windy for instance. Why use "Angle?" Well, for one, it gives the impression of a sudden sharp turn. Experience leads to sharp, painful, turns. But there is another meaning of "Angled Road," which is the idea of something being "angled" for. That one word carries the "paradox" of this poem. You are not expecting the road to angle, and yet you are angling for just that. Neat.
The next thing that stops me is to wonder what is doing the preferring?
Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By — Paradox — the Mind itself —
Is it “Paradox” or the “Mind" that is doing the preferring? It depends on how you punctuate the lines. Both readings are fitting, but one has an emphasis on fate and one on freewill, which is an undercurrent throughout this poem. Either the mind prefers something against itself (against its own desire,) or the principle of Paradox itself is preferring it for us, because that’s just how life is.
Either way the first stanza is basically saying that Experience is a road with surprising turns, and though the mind would prefer an easier and more straight-forward path our actual experience takes us a different way.
Experience goes against what the mind thinks it wants and yet it is still preferred. Why? How could we prefer something that we don’t want?
No pain, no gain. We choose experiences we know may hurt, like starting a new relationship after a painful breakup, or committing to something grueling like marathon training, because they promise us meaning and growth, and maybe even self-respect.
Quite Opposite— How Complicate
It's fun to say this line, the way the K, P and T sounds interweave, and the rhyme of Opposite and Complicate. "Quite opposite— How Complicate."
There is a great scene in the movie "The Five-Year Engagement" where Jason Segal is telling Emily Blunt why instant gratification can be a wiser choice than self-discipline.
It's complicated!
The word "Complicate" also describes the syntax of this poem. That may or not be on purpose, but it's apt.
— How Complicate The Discipline of Man —
The word "Discipline" clues you into the idea in this poem that something is being "angled" for. The complication is that we are of two minds; satisfaction in the moment as opposed to a long term gain.
Compelling Him to Choose Himself His Preappointed Pain —
How complicated human discipline becomes, since our goals compel us to choose our own suffering. We are forced to participate in our own struggle.
This poem is funny. It's a God's eye view of the tragi-comedy of being human. The Self must act in spite of the self to become the Self. Haha! Good luck, humans!
On one hand the mind doesn’t want pain, especially in lieu of pleasure, but on the other hand, there are great benefits to be had from choosing pain. So what's a girl to do?
"Preappointed" is another word that stops me cold. Does "Preappointed" mean that the pain is fated? On one hand it is probably true that pain is fated no matter what "road" you choose. But here "Preappointed" seems directly tied into discipline, so the one doing the preappointing is either fate or the self, it's up to you. Have your pain now or later. Just like with the word "Angled," this word encompasses the paradox of this poem.
The question this poem begs for me is what it is that is "Compelling" us to "Choose" pain. This is a question worth leaving open.
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff
P.S. A story I love that asks the same open question is Cream by Haruki Murakami. Check it out if you get half a chance.
P.P.S. I've never heard of the Lithuanian poet, Jonas Zdanys, but I dig the title of his collected poems, "The Angled Road." From a review of the book by Ken Hada, "Emily Dickinson’s 'angled road' of experience is the touchstone for Zdanys, her lines declaring a “paradox” that surpasses intellectual abstraction to confirm the authority of art.' According to Hada then, Art is the thing that compels us to choose pain. That's one angle anyway.
