You said that I “was Great” — one Day —

You said that I “was Great” — one Day —
Then “Great” it be — if that please Thee —
Or Small — or any size at all —
Nay — I’m the size suit Thee —

Tall — like the Stag — would that?
Or lower — like the Wren —
Or other heights of Other Ones
I’ve seen?

Tell which — it’s dull to guess —
And I must be Rhinoceros
Or Mouse —
At once — for Thee —

So say — if Queen it be —
Or Page — please Thee —
I’m that — or nought —
Or other thing — if other thing there be —
With just this Stipulus —
I suit Thee —


    - F736, J738, fascicle 35, 1863

To follow the psychological and philosophical dynamics of a poem such as this one is tricky. What exactly is being said?

Here is Emily being told by an admirer that she is Great. (And who would argue?) Emily, who seems to be immune to flattery, responds by saying that she’ll be Great if that’s what suits the adoring lover (or reader). But if another size suits, she’ll be that instead. She is as great or small as we need her to be. Is she being humble? She’s beyond humble, she’s “relative" to our needs, if we but knew what our needs were. Ironically, it is Dickinson's transcendence of the need to be Great that makes her so Great.

When told that she is “Great,” the poet makes a number of sly moves.

1. She starts by acknowledging that perception is tied into the desires of the perceiver. “You said that I “was Great” — one Day —/ Then “Great” it be — if that please Thee —”

2. The desire for Greatness stems from the lover, but the poet’s responding desire is to be whatever the lover wishes her to be, whatever pleases.

3. “Or Small — or any size at all —/ Nay — I’m the size suit Thee —” Here the poet subverts the compliment. She takes the idea of “greatness” and applies it to size instead of “worth.” In this way she’s is transcending the idea of worthiness. Great means, simply, large. The complimenter has been derailed. That’s not what they meant by “Great.”

4. Just in case we don’t get that she’s talking about size, Dickinson gives us some examples. Would you have me be tall like a stag? Would that do for you? Or would you prefer me small like a wren. This is a philosophical move. She has let us know that she can be any size that suits us, but she is also questioning the relative worth of sizes all together. Is a stag better than a wren just because it is taller?

5. Then in stanza two she makes another funny move. She says, “Tell which — it’s dull to guess —” Even though she’s subtly dismissed the relative worth of sizes, she’s still asking the lover/reader to be clear about what they want. Do you want me to be small or large, make up your mind. There is also a human quality in this statement. The poet is expressing a degree of vulnerability, as she has been left guessing. The implication here is that when we are not clear about our desires, we leave others hanging unfairly. I believe she saying something to the effect of, “You tell me I’m great, but then you ignore me. Which is it?" This tracks with a few other poems in Fascicle 35 in which Dickinson wonders why an unnamed friend is withholding their smile, including the poem just preceding this one, which contains the lines, “But what must be the smile/ Upon Her Friend she could confer/ Were such Her Silver Will —” 

6. “And I must be Rhinoceros/ Or Mouse —/At once — for Thee —” I take this as saying, “When you don’t let me know what you want from me I don't know whether to make myself small (recede in the background) or large. Since I'm willing to be whatever pleases you, the least you can do for me is to let me know what that is."

Here we run into the constant “problem” we have with interpreting Dickinson’s poetry. On one hand these poems are “personal,” and stem from her real-life circumstances and relationships. On the other, they are public and written for the general reader. In a letter to Thomas Wentworth Higginson, in 1862, Dickinson wrote, “When I state myself, as the Representative of the Verse – it does not mean – me – but a supposed person” (L268)

So, in a poem like this one, we are getting a kind of philosophical treatise on relativism, but it is also being delivered from the standpoint of a real person dealing with a real-life situation. This makes it doubly valuable for us. For what would be the value of reading about a squabble between lovers without a dispassionate reflection. And on the flip side, what is the value of philosophical distancing without real world practicality? Thus, in the fine line between the two, we have the unique value of poetry.

7. “So say — if Queen it be —/ Or Page — please Thee —” In the fourth and final stanza Dickinson makes another move as she switches from talking about relative size to power dynamics. A Queen commands and a Page is a servant. (There is also some gender dynamics at play here, as a Page is traditionally male, but subservient to a Queen.) This is interesting in how it plays out in the poem itself. Dickinson is both playing the Page in this poem, “I’ll do whatever suits you, my Queen,” AND playing the Queen by demanding something of the lover/reader/page. She is asking for an assertion of will, but also is willing to be subservient to that will. Emily wants her lover/reader to be assertive about what they want. “It’s dull to guess.”

8. “I’m that — or nought —/ Or other thing — if other thing there be —/ With just this Stipulus —/ I suit Thee —” Though Dickinson is tired of guessing, she is very amenable to the lover/reader’s needs, if he/she would only be clear about them. She can be anything, or nothing ("nought,") either way is okay. She just has one stipulation, that it suits you. (And really, there is another implied stipulation here; that it works for you, and that you tell what works for you.)

Dickinson makes up a word here, “Stipulus.” I’m guessing she did this because "stipulation" didn’t fit the scansion of the poem. She does provide “requirement” as an alternative word in the original MS, but the made-up word is more fun. It suits me.

    -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

a small wren astraddle

P.S. In looking up the letter to Higginson in which Dickinson speaks of her poetic voice as a "supposed person," I made a small discovery. In this same letter she also compares her (real) self to to a small wren, and asks if "this will do." So this letter may be a precursor to this very poem. Here is the letter in full:

"Could you believe me-without? I had no portrait, now, but am small, like the Wren, and my Hair is bold, like the Chestnut Bur- and my eyes, like the Sherry in the Glass, that the Guest leaves- Would this do just as well?

It often alarms Father-He says Death might occur, and he has Molds of all the rest- but has no Mold of me, but I noticed the Quick wore off those things, in a few days, and forestall the dishonor-You will think no caprice of me-

You said "Dark." I know the Butterfly-and the Lizard-and the Orchis -

Are not those your Countrymen?

I am happy to be your scholar, and will deserve the kindness, I cannot repay.

If you truly consent, I recite, now-

Will you tell me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince, than die. Men do not call the surgeon, to commend - the Bone, but to set it, Sir, and fracture within, is more critical. And for this, Preceptor, I shall bring you-Obedience-the Blossom from my Garden, and every gratitude I know. Perhaps you smile at me. I could not stop for that-My Business is Circumference-An ignorance, not of Customs, but if caught with the Dawn - or the Sunset see me - Myself the only Kangaroo among the Beauty, Sir, if you please, it afflicts me, and I thought that instruction would take it away.

Because you have much business, beside the growth of me-you will appoint, yourself, how often I shall come-without your inconvenience. And if at any time-you regret you received me, or I prove a different fabric to that you supposed - you must banish me -

When I state myself, as the Representative of the Verse-it does not mean-me-but a supposed person. You are true, about the "perfection."

Today, makes Yesterday mean.

You see my posture is benighted.

To thank you, baffles me. Are you perfectly powerful? Had I a pleasure you had not, I could delight to bring it.

Your Scholar"

The Moon was but a Chin of Gold

The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
A Night or two ago —
And now she turns Her perfect Face
Upon the World below —

Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde —
Her Cheek — a Beryl hewn —
Her Eye unto the Summer Dew
The likest I have known —

Her Lips of Amber never part —
But what must be the smile
Upon Her Friend she could confer
Were such Her Silver Will —

And what a privilege to be
But the remotest Star —
For Certainty She take Her Way
Beside Your Palace Door —

Her Bonnet is the Firmament —
The Universe — Her Shoe —
The Stars — the Trinkets at Her Belt —
Her Dimities — of Blue —

     -F735, J737, Fascicle 35, 1863

In this poem Dickinson pens a paean to the Moon.

It begins with the poet looking at the round face of the Moon and remembering how just a few days ago only the golden chin of this face was showing. The moon is not only alive, but golden, and She slowly reveals Her perfect face to us below.

Dickinson describes the face of the Moon in the richest of terms. The forehead, for instance, is of amplest blonde. The phrase “amplest blonde” is underscored with its open “ahh” assonance. It's not just ample blonde. It's the amplest. In these incremental ways, this poem, like the moon, reveals the glory of itself. 

It’s worth noting that this is the second time Dickinson has used the word “blonde” in fascicle 35. (Here is an interesting essay on the word “blonde” in Dickinson’s oeuvre, including this poem, if you are interested.)

In the second stanza we find out the moon’s cheek is like hewn beryl. The word hewn gives us the idea of the moon’s face having been sculpted, or at least cut like a gem. 

Raw beryl ready to be hewn into a moon's cheek.

Then we get this lovely comparison, “Her Eye unto the Summer Dew/ The likest I have known —” The way Dickinson has phrased this, "Her eye unto the Summer Dew," gives the sense that the summer dew is somehow emanating from the eye of the moon itself, like tears, or a liquid gaze. The second half of this phrase, “The likest I have known,” makes the connection between the moon and the dew complete. The thing most like the rejuvenating dew of the morning is seen in the glistening eye of the moon. This is the third time the word “dew” has been used in fascicle 35. In F733, Dickinson writes of how the dew is the same the world through, on earth as it is in heaven, and here, in this poem, you see a reflection of this idea, as the dew on the earth appears to be reflected in the moon’s eye.

Her Lips of Amber never part —
But what must be the smile
Upon Her Friend she could confer
Were such Her Silver Will —

The moon’s face is shown to be a kind of patchwork of precious metals and gems; a golden chin, beryl cheeks and amber lips. The idea that there is a radiant smile behind the never-parting amber lips of the moon is wonderful. The moon would only have to exercise her "Silver Will" to unleash Her smile. “Silver Will” is a memorable phrase. The moon may not be smiling, but she is willing Her silver light to the world.  

The idea of willing a smile recalls the poem just before this one in fascicle 35. “Trivial — a Smile —/ But won’t you wish you’d spared one/ When I’m Earl?” But I don’t get the sense here that the Moon is withholding a smile out of any kind of neglect. She's just not explicitly revealing it. The smile is there, beneath the surface, always, an inner joy that reveals itself in the imagination of the poet. It is worth comparing this poem to another great Dickinson description of the moon in F593, in which the moon is self-sufficient and independent; “Independent, Amber—/ Sustain her in the sky—/ engrossed to Absolute—/ With Shining—and the Sky—/ / The privilege to scrutinize/ Was scarce upon my Eyes/ When, with a Silver practise—/ She vaulted out of Gaze—”

The fourth stanza shows even the remotest star is enamored with the moon:

And what a privilege to be
But the remotest Star —
For Certainty She take Her Way
Beside Your Palace Door —

The idea in this stanza can be compared to another poem, F717, which can be found near the beginning of fascicle 35:

How imminent the Venture –
As One should sue a Star –
For His mean sake to leave the Row
And entertain Despair –

A Clemency so common –
We almost cease to fear –
Enabling the minutest –
And furthest – to adore –

The "remotest" privileged star, here, is like the “minutest and furthest” adoring star in the earlier poem. 

In the fifth and final stanza we move from the face to the rest of the Moon, Her “body,” which extends to the whole universe,

“Her Bonnet is the Firmament —
The Universe — Her Shoe —
The Stars — the Trinkets at Her Belt —
Her Dimities — of Blue —”

The moon’s bonnet is the sky (the Firmament) and the Universe is her shoe. That’s quite a shoe! An alternate word Dickinson has for “Universe” is “Valleys.” To say the sky is the hat and the valleys are the shoe makes an easier sense. But I like that Dickinson expanded the shoe to be the entire universe. The hyperbole is fitting for the subject matter.

In the last two lines a subtly amorous suggestion enters the poem. There is the Moon's belt of stars, and there are Her dimities of blue. Dimities are sheer cotton fabrics, often used in undergarments. If you couple the dimities with the belt, there is, perhaps, the idea of more to be disclosed.

The overall effect of this poem is in the cumulative way it brings the moon to life in all of its opulent majesty. This effect is reflected in the poetry. The way the moon is slowly revealed, bit by precious bit, and then expands to encompass the whole universe, is what reading an Emily Dickinson poem is like. First you see the lyrical glimmer of the poetry, its "golden chin," and then, after spending some time with it, its perfect form reveals itself to you, as if from above. 

    -/)dam Wade I)eGraff

No matter — now — Sweet —

No matter — now — Sweet —
But when I’m Earl —
Won’t you wish you’d spoken
To that dull Girl?

Trivial a Word — just —
Trivial — a Smile —
But won’t you wish you’d spared one
When I’m Earl?

I shan’t need it — then —
Crests — will do —
Eagles on my Buckles —
On my Belt — too —

Ermine — my familiar Gown —
Say — Sweet — then
Won’t you wish you’d smiled — just —
Me opon?


    -F734, J704, Fascicle 35, 1863

Though this poem is, as far as Emily Dickinson poems go, fairly easy to follow, there is, nonetheless, a complex and subtle mix of tones. This poem both pushes and pulls, is both yearning and dismissive, insecure (“this dull girl”) and confident (“When I’m Earl”), censorious and coy, light and heavy, sweet and bitter.

Almost all of us have been in the position of being snubbed, and, if we are honest, most of us have also been in the position of being the snubber, even if it was unthinkingly. This poem has something to say to both sides of this equation. 

If you are the snubber, this poem reminds you that it is such a “trivial” thing to smile, to just say a kind word. The word “trivial” isn’t trivial here. You can tell because Dickinson uses the word twice. Dickinson poems are extremely concise and every word counts, so if a word is used twice, take note. Another word that is used twice in this poem is “Sweet.” This also tells you something important. If this poem seems bitter, the extra “Sweet” reminds us that any anger is tempered within the confines of a familiar relationship.

If, on the other hand, you are the one who has been snubbed, this poem reminds you to remember your royal nature. You have an “Earl” emerging inside of you. Don’t forget it.

There is a self-assured knowingness that this narrator has that is inspiring. She isn’t whining about the lack of attention. Rather she is, sweetly, instructing the person who is inattentive. She knows that she possesses a royal nature. Dickinson often writes of herself in such royal terms. She knew her true worth. Do we know ours?

This poem is perhaps most notable for its gender fluidity. We have a 19th century girl from Amherst dressing up like an 18th century English earl. One suspects this poem was written for Emily's sister-in-law Sue. Maria Popova, in an essay on Dickinson's letters to Sue, writes,

“Dickinson would frequently and deliberately reassign gender pronouns for herself and her beloveds, recasting her love in the acceptable male-female battery of desire. Throughout her life, she would often use the masculine in referring to herself — writing of her “boyhood,” signing letters to her cousins as “Brother Emily,” calling herself a “boy,” “prince,” “earl,” or “duke” in various poems. Again and again, she would tell all the truth but tell it slant, unmooring the gender of her love objects from the pronouns that befit their biology. Later in life, in flirting with the idea of publication, she would masculinize the pronouns in a number of her love poems — “bearded” pronouns, she called these — to fit the heteronormative mold, so that two versions of these poems exist: the earlier addressed to a female beloved, the later to a male.”

In this poem the narrator starts off as a dull girl, and then blossoms to become a fancy Earl. The transformation from a feminine signifier to a traditionally masculine one happens within the poem itself. There are other examples of this, like in F225, for example, where Dickinson goes from wife to Czar. The narrator doesn’t become male so much as transform into a powerful figure who is traditionally male. This move has a twofold effect; not only does it subverts patriarchal roles, but it also broadens the definitions for women.

Just look at the language that accompanies this transformation! There is the “crest,” with its double meaning; both royal crest and tip top. Then there are those eagles. Not only are they on the earl's buckle, but we find out they are on the belt too. They appear to be proliferating even as this "dull girl" is transformed into an Earl. In the "crest" of sky, this poem implies, eagles will fly. This poem may, itself, be seen as the crest of the poet's eagle-like flight. Watch out little ermine. 

       -/)dam Wade I)eGraff

 

P.S. Christine Miller, in "Poems as She Preserved Them,” changes the “opon” in the final line to “upon.” But I’m more inclined to leave it the way it is. Dickinson has this same spelling in other poems, so I believe it is her preference. I don’t know why Dickinson would prefer it this way, but I bet she had a good reason. Any guesses as to why?

Out of sight? What of that?

Out of sight? What of that?
See the Bird—reach it!
Curve by Curve—Sweep by Sweep—
Round the Steep Air—
Danger! What is that to Her?
Better 'tis to fail—there—
Than debate—here—

Blue is Blue—the World through—
Amber—Amber—Dew—Dew—
Seek—Friend—and see—
Heaven is shy of Earth—that's all—
Bashful Heaven—thy Lovers small—
Hide—too—from thee—

  -F733, J703, Fascicle 35, 1863


Here is a poem to inspire, a masterpiece of rhythmic force and feel. You can feel it soar in its very sound.

Dickinson most often wrote in common meter, also called Hymn meter. But within the constraint of this structure, she invents constantly, molding the rhythms of the language to underscore the meaning of the poems. It is a joy to watch her do this, poem after poem. This one is a good example. It is, essentially, in common hymn meter, but look what she does with it.

First there is that rat-a-tat of the first line, “Out of sight? What of that?” A fancy word for this kind of three syllable loud/soft/loud metric unit is a cretic foot. This rhythmic move continues in the second line with “See the Bird.” These three cretic feet in a row sets up an emphatic spondee (two accented syllables) with the phrase “Reach It!” The effect is that you really feel the oomph behind the directive to reach. Rat-a-tat Rat-a-tat Rat-a-tat BUM BUM. 

The dash in the second line is odd because it breaks up the sentence. The sentence goes, “See the bird reach it!” But that dash not only adds to the rhythmic emphasis, it also subtly adds the idea that what you are reaching is not just sky, it’s the bird: “See the bird - Reach it!”

The cretic feet continue in the following line, “Curve by Curve - Sweep by Sweep.” From there on this poem plays with this rhythm and repetition to underscore emphasis and meaning. The Greek terminology of poetic meter is just a way to describe what it is that Dickinson is doing musically in the poem, how it is she is achieving her effects. It’s fun. You could say we are tracing the poem itself, curve by curve and sweep by sweep.

The cretic rhythm set up in the first three lines is abruptly interrupted in the fourth line. It starts with a cretic foot, “Round the steep,” but then leaves the line hanging after “air," which is appropriate because the line is left hanging in mid air. Rhythmically, following Common Meter, “Danger!” should be at the end of the fourth line: “Round the steep air - Danger!” But Dickinson achieves a subtle effect by leaving that fourth line suspended and then surprising us with "Danger!" at the start of the fifth line. It's a tiny little jump-scare.

Dickinson poems are marvels of composition. I also like the way Dickinson echoes “air” in the rhyme of the next three lines too.

Danger! What is that to Her?
Better 'tis to fail—there—
Than debate—here—

The idea that it’s better to fail in the attempt, than sit around and debate it, makes danger a mute point. It is perhaps MORE dangerous not to try, because you will regret it. If you go for it, at least you can say you tried.

This poem begins to philosophically deepen in the second stanza.

Blue is Blue—the World through—
Amber—Amber—Dew—Dew—

This is so much fun to say, you almost miss what is being said. Wait, what is being said? On one hand it seems as if the same blue, amber and dew that is in Heaven is also here on earth. It is the same blue in the sky as in the water. So that begs the question, why reach at all, if it’s all right here? I suppose the reason to reach is for the joy of flying.

If there is a common theme in Fascicle 35 so far, it might be that of “Reaching." These poems seem to both encourage it, and also keep you grounded in reality, at once. 

Seek—Friend—and see—
Heaven is shy of Earth—that's all—
Bashful Heaven—thy Lovers small—
Hide—too—from thee—

Why would Heaven be shy of earth? And, an equally difficult question, if we love Heaven, why would we hide from it?

Perhaps there is a clue in the previous poem in fascicle 35, in which Lot exhibits faith by sheltering strangers. God doesn't trust men (is shy of them) and so he sends his angels looking for good ones. And men don’t trust strangers either. It is only faith that leads Lot to shelter these strangers, who, being angels, save him from destruction in return. 

This is a poem to revel in. It is so confident and knowing in its tone, that it feels as if it were a divine leak. But what to make of it? "Blue is Blue—the World through—/ Amber—Amber—Dew—Dew—" It's a good mantra to remember. It's unforgettable after you say it out loud a few times. It's all here, the poem says, but since it is the same there, why not fly?

    -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

The bar-tailed godwit flies 8,500 miles, from Alaska to Tasmania, non-stop.

A first Mute Coming—

A first Mute Coming—
In the Stranger's House—
A first fair Going—
When the Bells rejoice—

A first Exchange—of
What hath mingled—been—
For Lot—exhibited to
Faith—alone—

    -F732, J702, Fascicle 35, 1863


If we took just the first stanza of this poem, we would have the outline of a romantic comedy. Shy (mute) strangers meet, but presto, before you know it there are wedding bells.

Or you could take this first stanza as a synopsis of a life: a child is a born, a “first Mute coming,” and then dies, “a fair going,” funeral bells celebrating her life and signaling the transition to heaven.

But the second stanza brings Lot into the poem and complicates it. Let’s look at the story of Lot. Here’s a synopsis of Genesis 19: 1-29. God promises Abraham that he will spare Sodom if just 10 righteous men can be found. He sends two angels to Sodom to see if they can find a few good men. They find one. The angels come across Lot, Abraham's brother, who bows down to them. Because he is a good man, he offers these strangers his home and makes a meal for them. The angels say thanks, but they will stay in the square. Lot insists, so they come with him. Meanwhile, Genesis 19:4 says, “All the men from every part of the city of Sodom—both young and old—surrounded the house. They called to Lot, ‘Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us so that we can have sex with them.’” Lot offers his virgin daughters to the men of the city instead, in order to protect the strangers. The men don’t want the daughters though, they want the attractive angels, and they tell Lot to get out of their way. The angels blind the men surrounding the house and tell Lot to leave the city with his daughters and wife. Since ALL the men in the city are trying to have sex with these angels, that means there are less than 10 good men, and therefore the city must be destroyed. Lot and his family are told not to look back. Lot’s wife looks back anyway and is turned into a pillar of salt. 

There’s much more to this wild story, but the part Dickinson is focusing on here is merely the idea of treating strangers hospitably and the happy result of doing so. “A first Mute Coming—/ In the Stranger's House—” most likely refers to the angels staying with Lot. The angels are “mute” about their identity. I think Dickinson is getting at the idea here that all strangers are angels, if we could but truly “hear” and understand this.

“A first fair Going—/ When the Bells rejoice—” would then, following the story of Lot, be leaving Sodom before it is destroyed. I’m not sure why the bells would be rejoicing here if the city is being destroyed, but, for Lot, not to mention his many descendents, survival is cause for celebration.

A first Exchange—of
What hath mingled—been—
For Lot—exhibited to
Faith—alone—

So the first exchange, when Lot first met and mingled with the strangers, was the key moment. Lot, being a man of faith, takes in the strangers and that makes the difference.

If you read the syntax of this stanza at a certain angle, the exchange has been mingled for Lot. The word “mingled” seems to be doing triple duty here. Lot has A. mingled feelings about B. mingling with strangers because people can be C. a mingle of good and bad. But despite the mixed feelings, he has faith in their goodness anyway.

The moral of the poem appears to be that if you have faith in the goodness of strangers, then it will lead you to rejoicing bells. See the divine in people, and you will be led by people to the divine.

   -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

"Lot entertaining the two angels" by Manetti

P.S. The story of Lot was fascinating to dive into and left me with more questions than the poem. One of the many questions was why Lot's wife was turned into a pillar of salt for looking back? The consensus seems to be because salt preserves food. The idea of a pillar of salt here then is meant to symbolize preserving the lesson of not looking back. Now I know. 

P.P.S. One wonders what Dickinson made of the homophobia of this passage, not to mention Lot's willingness to sacrifice his virgin daughters for the sake of strangers. 

A Thought went up my mind today –

A Thought went up my mind today –
That I have had before –
But did not finish – some way back –
I could not fix the Year –

Nor where it went – nor why it came
The second time to me –
Nor definitely, what it was –
Have I the Art to say –

But somewhere – in my Soul – I know –
I’ve met the Thing before –
It just reminded me – ‘twas all –
And came my way no more –


   -Fr731, J701, Fascicle 35, 1863

When you come across a Dickinson poem that seems simple, you are naturally suspicious. It is almost always the case that there is more than meets the eye, often waaaay more. But does there have to be?

In an article for the LA Weekly, Alexandra Socrarides writes, “I eventually returned to the poem, because deep down I knew that Dickinson couldn’t just be saying that. It wasn’t her way to write anything so clear cut.” Socrarides was writing about the poem, “I’m nobody – Who are you?,” but she could just as easily have been talking about this poem.

This poem is, on the surface, funny. It reminds me of a Shel Silverstein poem. And why not? Dickinson was writing these poems nearly every day for years, so there is bound to be all sorts of poems in the mix. Not to mention, there is a lot more to Shel Silverstein poems than meets the eye sometimes too. (Afterall, where does the sidewalk end?)

I’ve read analyses of this poem that want to make something deeper out that “Thing” the poet “met before.” Indeed “Thing” does sound a little sinister. One commentary surmised it was suicide Dickinson was talking about, another, embarrassment, and yet another, addiction. It’s possible, but I think all of this is reaching after straws.

Maybe the Thought was of marriage? But the fact that she “could not fix the year,” probably rules that out. In fact it would rule out any major life event the Thought might be affixed to.

There are a lot of intriguing things to ponder here though. The idea of a thought going “up” the mind, as if the mind were a chimney, is provocative. Up from where?

The fact that the poet, who possesses the most subtle Art of all, says she doesn’t have the “Art” to say definitely what the Thought is certainly has me curious. What kind of Thought would be beyond THIS poet’s Art?

The idea that she says she knows in her SOUL that she has met the Thought before gives it extra weight. This must not be an ordinary Thought.

“It just reminded me – ‘twas all –” she says.  Reminded her of what? 

Then there is the ending in which we find out that the Thought “came my way no more.” Why didn’t it? What happened to it?

So many questions.

Was the thought the thought of a lost thought? David Preest writes, “The ‘Thought’ may have been the idea for a poem. If so the whole mental experience becomes another poem!”

Maybe it's not that complicated. Maybe this is simply a poem about how thoughts come and go? Who knows? The depth of this poem seems to lie, ultimately, in absence.

Whatever it is, the questions this poem raises leaves me in suspense. I'm very curious what you think. What's your best guess?

    -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

From The Carol and Emily Project

 

You've seen Balloons set — Haven't You?

You've seen Balloons set — Haven't You?
So stately they ascend —
It is as Swans — discarded You,
For Duties Diamond —

Their Liquid Feet go softly out
Upon a Sea of Blonde —
They spurn the Air, as t'were too mean
For Creatures so renowned —

Their Ribbons just beyond the eye —
They struggle — some — for Breath —
And yet the Crowd applaud, below —
They would not encore — Death —

The Gilded Creature strains — and spins —
Trips frantic in a Tree —
Tears open her imperial Veins —
And tumbles in the Sea —

The Crowd — retire with an Oath —
The Dust in Streets — go down —
And Clerks in Counting Rooms
Observe — "'Twas only a Balloon" —


  -F730, J700, Fascicle 35, 1863


Ah, what a ride this poem takes you on, albeit one with a crash landing. Dickinson’s metaphors can be wonderfully, and maddingly, complex. Here we have a balloon that turns into a swan, which are both a metaphor for…something. Somehow Dickinson manages to keep both of these metaphors afloat at once. As to what this metaphor signifies, it's left up to the reader, but we will get a new twist and possibility in nearly every line.

Let’s take it stanza by stanza.

You've seen Balloons set — Haven't You?
So stately they ascend —
It is as Swans — discarded You,
For Duties Diamond —

Usually “set” means to set down. It’s possible that’s what Dickinson means here, but since this ends with the balloon being torn by a tree and tumbling into the sea, I think “set” here means to set off. You’ve seen balloons set off haven’t you? If you have, you know how stately they ascend. Stately, like all of Dickinson’s adverbs, is rich. It can mean at once dignified, unhurried, majestic and elegant, but there is also something a little grandiose about it. 

The second level of metaphor comes into play in the third line. The balloon is like a swan, and it is as if this swan discarded you for duties diamond. Discarded is good verb choice too. It implies that you have been rejected and are no longer useful or desired. So while we admire this stately balloon there is also something snobbish about it. You’ve been snubbed. And for what? For “Duties Diamond.” Dickinson has such a way with a phrase. "Duties Diamond" has such a ring, especially as it half rhymes with ascend, blonde and renowned. 

In this fascicle thus far we’ve had a fair amount of meditation on what it means to try to achieve impossible goals. In F724 Dickinson speaks of the impossibility of touching the rainbow’s raiment. "Yet persevered toward — surer  — for the Distance —How high —Unto the Saints' slow diligence — The Sky —" And in the poem before this one she speaks of “the perfected life.” These poems seem to waver between admiration for such a pursuit and distrust.

Their Liquid Feet go softly out
Upon a Sea of Blonde —
They spurn the Air, as t'were too mean
For Creatures so renowned —

The feet of swans are “liquid.” “Liquid Feet” is another great phrase. You can imagine the water dripping off the feet of the swan as they lift off from the sea. 

"Feet" is almost always a code word for poetry in Dickinson, a shorthand for metrical feet. So this one word takes us into the realm of the metapoetic. Indeed, the feet of this poem are quite liquid in their lifting off from the ground of prose. "Their Liquid Feet go softly out/ Upon a Sea of Blonde" just rolls off the tongue. You can read this poem as being about the pursuit of poetry, something far afield from common air of the counting houses.

Liquid is also juxtaposed with “air” in this stanza. The element of the elements in this poem is intriguing. The balloon/swan is rising as if to “spurn the air.” Again, this creature appears to be too good for our atmosphere, which is too “mean,” meaning small, or lesser. 

The Sea of Blonde I take to be sunlight. "Sea of blonde" is yet another great phrase. In researching this poem I came across an interesting exploration of the word “blonde” in Dickinson’s oeuvre. While I can’t say I agree with the overall point of it, I did very much enjoy the essay’s in-depth explication of this poem.

Their Ribbons just beyond the eye —
They struggle — some — for Breath —
And yet the Crowd applaud, below —
They would not encore — Death —

That first line shows how adeptly Dickinson mixes her metaphors here. Swans appear to have ribbons just behind the eye, but so do hot air balloons!

And in the next line too, the struggling for breath, you can imagine both the blast valve of a hot air balloon breathing into its belly to help it ascend, and you can also imagine a swan breathing hard as it flies up. 

The struggle for breath recalls the spurning of the air in the previous stanza. This isn’t an easy atmosphere for such liquid creatures.

But breathe they must, because the crowd is not going to give an encore unless the Diamond Duty is fulfilled. Here we get the idea of a performance added into the metaphorical mix. The liquid creature appears to be self-conscious of the crowd. It is as if a ballerina had suddenly taken the stage. A blonde ballerina no doubt. There is also a kind of joke in the idea of there being no encore for death. Death is it. There is no coming back out on stage.

The Gilded Creature strains — and spins —
Trips frantic in a Tree —
Tears open her imperial Veins —
And tumbles in the Sea —

To gild something is to cover it with a thin layer of gold leaf. The gold color here reflects back on blonde, but also to the idea of something being stately. The creature is straining to breathe and fly. 

Why does it spin? Well, the poem takes a spin here, for one. And again I think of a performing ballerina spinning in the air. I think that in the logic of the poem though the spinning happens when the balloon gets entangled in the branches of a tree. 

It’s ironic that it is a tree, a thing rooted in the earth, a creator of the very oxygen this creature has been spurning, that has tripped it up.

“Tears open her imperial Veins” is a violent image. It’s painful what happens to this stately, gilded graceful creature. While its ascension was slow and beautiful, the denouement is quick and terrible.

The tumbling in the sea recalls the myth of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun. But here Dickinson gives us a more homely version of this myth, in which it is the entanglement with the earth that brings the creature down, not the sun.

The Crowd — retire with an Oath —
The Dust in Streets — go down —
And Clerks in Counting Rooms
Observe — "'Twas only a Balloon" —

The crowd is disappointed and leaves with an “oath.” Oath has a double meaning here. It can mean both a curse, and a prayer. “Jesus!” is an example of this. In Flannery O’Connor’s “A Good Man Is Hard To Find” as well as George Saunder’s “The End of Firpo In The World,” you have a similar idea, a character exclaiming “Jesus!” as both a swear word and a sincere plea at once. Of course "oath" can mean a promise too. It's as if the audience is promising never to try something like this crazy balloon-swan stunt at home. 

"The dust in streets go down" is a powerful image. The crowd has dispersed, the dust has settled. The earth has come back to itself, just like the imperial creature that has been grounded.

The final couplet brings a new level of meaning to the poem. On one hand this poem looks askance at the creatures who spurn and discard us. On the other hand what would life be without them? We’d be no better than the money-men who reduce the ethereal swan of the imagination back to a mere a balloon as they count the proceeds.

Dickinson is masterly at seeing both sides of the coin. On one side of the coin we badly want the creature to succeed in its diamond duties, but on the other side, we are suspicious of its ambitions. There is a part of us that wants to bring it back down to earth, back down to we who have been discarded. Still, we hate those coin-counters in the end, don’t we?


    -/)dam Wade l)deGraff

The Props assist the House –

The Props assist the House –
Until the House is Built –
And then the Props withdraw –
And adequate – Erect –

The House support itself –
And cease to recollect
The scaffold, and the Carpenter –
Just such a Retrospect
Hath the Perfected Life –
A Past of Plank – and Nail –
And slowness – then the Stagings drop –
Affirming it – A Soul –

    -F729, J1142, Fascicle 35, 1863


This is fairly straightforward for an Emily Dickinson poem. But even in a straightforward Dickinson poem there are oddities to ponder. The basic gist here is that a soul is like a house. It must be propped up by a scaffolding as it is being built, and then, when you pull the scaffolding away, it stands erect. Once the house is up it no longer remembers the scaffolding, nor the tools and the carpenter. 

The person no longer “recollects” the support system that helped perfect it. That could be a dig at the way people tend to forget all the help they had along the way. Perhaps this is a poem that wishes to recognize the process, yet it also points forward to when it is time to let the support system go. 

It is an encouraging reminder that we will eventually reach equilibrium in life if we have support, which also reminds us of the importance of being that support for others. Poetry itself is something we use to prop ourselves up. 

This poem may also be read as a declaration of independence, like the one made in the poem, “I'm ceded—I've stopped being Theirs—” Dickinson is moving toward a kind of absolute independence in her life. 

I’m drawn to the word “slowness." The process of a “perfected life” takes time. It takes patience. I also admire the idea of a “perfected life.” What does that mean for a poet like Dickinson? Is there such a thing as a perfected life? There is something powerful about the idea that the thing we are working toward is becoming a soul. Normally we think of a soul as something we inherently have, but in Dickinson’s view, in this poem, it appears to be something we are working toward. A soul is something to be achieved. 

  -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

A modern take on the idea in this poem

P.S. An alternative word for "scaffold" in the 8th line that Dickinson provides is "Augur." This is also the word Dickinson used in an alternate version of the poem she later gave to Susan Dickinson. The use of the word Augur here is intriguing. The Dickinson Lexicon tells us

augur, n. [Word play: pun on “auger” the tool and “augur” the omen.]

[ED's var. spelling of “auger”; OE nafu, nave of a wheel + gar, piercer, borer, spear.] Carpentry tool; drill bit; long metal shank; [fig.] beak; hard bird mouth.

[L. av-is, bird + -gar, talk; or L. augēre, increase, promote.] Prophet; diviner; soothsayer; Roman religious official who carried a staff; one who predicts future events in accordance with omens from the behavior of birds.

So, in this one line of this poem, as it appears in the alternate version, “The augur, and the Carpenter,” we have a pun that encompasses the old testament (the prophets) and the new (since Jesus was a carpenter). Part of the perfected life, it implies, is following the example of Christ. But I think Dickinson is also hinting here that eventually even that is a prop that falls away. 

P.P.S. A few days after writing this I came across an Elizabeth Bishop poem called "The Imaginary Iceberg" in which I read these lines, "Icebergs behoove the soul/ (both being self-made from elements least visible)/ to see them so: fleshed, fair, erected indivisible." Here is another great poet talking about the soul being created, rather than inherent.