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05 April 2012

We don't cry – Tim and I

We don't cry – Tim and I,

We are far too grand – 

But we bolt the door tight

To prevent a friend – 

Then we hide our brave face

Deep in our hand – 

Not to cry – Tim and I – 

We are far too grand – 

Nor to dream – he and me – 

Do we condescend – 

We just shut our brown eye

To see to the end – 

Tim – see Cottages – 

But, Oh, so high!

Then – we shake – Tim and I – 

And lest I – cry – 

Tim – reads a little Hymn – 

And we both pray – 

Please, Sir, I and Tim – 

Always lost the way!

We must die – by and by – 

Clergymen say – 

Tim – shall – if I – do –

I – too – if he – 

How shall we arrange it – 

Tim – was – so – shy?

Take us simultaneous – Lord – 

I – "Tim" – and Me!
                                                            F231 (1861)  196

As children we might shut the door and take comfort in a favorite doll or teddy bear when faced with something frightening. In this poem Dickinson assumes this childlike persona to talk about the fear of death.
Who wouldn't find comfort with
this sympathetic little friend?
            The poet has her dignity and so this fear is played out behind closed doors. In fact the door is bolted tight even against a friend who might want to see what is wrong. The “brave face” shown to the world can be dropped safely then, with only the comforting little teddy bear to see. Dickinson personifies the toy just as a child would do. “Tim” doesn’t like to cry, either. Like the poet, he is “too grand” – a very droll comment on stoicism. Tim is “so – shy” that the poet knows he couldn’t face death by himself. But then, neither can she! Although they know they must die, because that is what “Clergymen say,” they will either die together – which is her prayer: “Take us simultaneous” – or else one will die of grief if the other one goes first.
            The fear in the poem is palpable. Not only are the two hiding their faces in their hands, but they are shutting their eyes and shaking. They don’t take refuge in dreams, either. They try to find comfort in religion: “Tim – reads a little Hymn – / And we both pray.” Yet it brings little solace. Even the mansions in heaven that Jesus promised, here child-portioned down to “Cottages,” are “so high” as to be sadly out of reach.
            These childish fears are really not to be laughed at. Who hasn’t wondered if they would ever attain those heavenly cottages, or feared they would die alone. Who hasn’t pondered the inexorable fact of coming death?
            To put the poem in biographical context, here is what Elizabeth Phillips wrote in a footnote in her book, Emily Dickinson: personae and performance:
No wonder Tim is scared
Edward Dickinson [the poet’s brother], attending a commencement celebration at Yale in 1850, brought home as a souvenir a reprint of The New England Primer. The poet clipped the illustration for the letter “T” and pasted it above a note and a poem she sent to Susan Dickinson [the above poem]. The primer reads: “Young Timothy learnt sin to fly.” The illustration is of “a youth pursued by an upright wolf-like creature with forked tale.” The note reads “My ‘position’!” and is signed “Cole” [a masculine identity Dickinson sometimes assumed]. There is also a P.S.: “Lest you misapprehend, the unfortunate insect upon the left is Myself, while the Reptile upon the right is my more immediate friends and connections.”

It's hard to decide, in light of the illustration, whether Dickinson was being tongue in cheek (as she was in the poem “A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart” that she sent to Sue along with a picture of  poor Little Nell) or whether she truly felt besieged by her "immediate friends and connections." Perhaps they were always after her to sign the Salvation pledge or otherwise mend her maverick spirituality. That would be why she had to bolt the door against friends. 

Some readers might prefer a Jungian reading of the poem where Dickinson is talking about two aspects of herself: one her normal persona and the other a "Tim" or masculine self (who is "so – shy" he doesn't come out in public).


  1. I think this is one of her best poems. It is childlike and innocent, but it grabs reality by the lapels and shakes it. I am an old guy who has cancer, and even though death is still a ways away, I can glimpse it for the first time. She does not really glimpse it yet, she is still too young, but she fears it enough to aptly describe the great truth of death, that it is the great unknown and we are alone facing it. But believe me, that is OK. This is great art, and it is simple. I don't agree with the Jungian angle. Sometimes a rose is just a rose, and death is real straight forward; like Joyce's ineluctable modality of the visable: if you are walking down the beach with your eyes closed and your toe strikes a rock, it is a rock. Nothing Jungian about it!

  2. I see dreams influencing more than just this poem by Emily Dickinson. I see the Jungian view, and I initially read Tim as her Animus figure recurrent in her dreams. I hadn't thought of a teddy bear.

  3. In 1924 Martha Dickinson Bianci (MDB), ED’s niece and Sue’s daughter, published ‘The Life and Letters of Emily Dickinson’. Between pages 156 and 157 is a plate showing the above engraving, a note to Sue, this poem, and Bianci’s explanation that Cole was the name of the engraver.

    Neither Johnson nor Franklin listed Sue as the recipient, but MDB apparently had ED’s manuscript in hand when she wrote ‘Life and Letters’.

    In her PS to Sue, ED said in unmistakable terms that she is Timothy, “the unfortunate insect on the left”. She further identified herself as Tim in the poem by using singular nouns, “our brave face”, “in our hand”, “our brown eye”. Finally, in the closing line ED used her hinting quotation marks around “Tim”, and the line makes sense only if we read it as “I, ‘Tim’ and me”, that is, the “I” = “‘Tim’ and me”.
    Given this evidence, Jung (1875 – 1961) could have used ED’s ‘Tim and I’ as a perfect example of his ‘Anima/Animus’ concept when he coined it in the early 1920s , 60 years after ED.

    Franklin dates ‘Tim and I’ (F231) as “late spring 1861” and ‘Rearrange a wife’s affection’ (F267) as “late 1861”. The latter poem spells out ED’s androgyny even more bluntly than ‘Tim and I’:

    “Rearrange a "Wife's" Affection!
    When they dislocate my Brain!
    Amputate my freckled Bosom!
    Make me bearded like a man!

    Love that never leaped its socket –
    Trust entrenched in narrow pain –
    Constancy thro' fire – awarded –
    Anguish – bare of anodyne!

    Burden – borne so far triumphant –
    None suspect me of the crown,
    For I wear the "Thorns" till Sunset –
    Then – my Diadem put on.

    Big my Secret but it's bandaged –
    It will never get away
    Till the Day its Weary Keeper
    Leads it through the Grave to thee.”

  4. Ooops, split personalities must be contagious. The preceding "anonymous" c'est moi.

  5. Tim is Emily's teddy bear, on whom she projects an aspect of her self.  He is both a toy and a part of the speaker. There is no contradiction between the two views. However, since I am more familiar with psychoanalysis than with Jung, I tend to think of him as a transitional object rather than Animus.
    I think the poem is not about the fear of death. Quite the contrary, death is seen as a kind of escape from life's pain.   Emily and Tim shake because the cottages are so high, i.e. the end is out of reach. They don't know how to get there, they "Always lost the way," it seems necessary to somehow "arrange" their own death.

    Escape is such a thankful Word
    I often in the Night
    Consider it unto myself
    No spectacle in sight

    Escape – it is the Basket
    In which the Heart is caught
    When down some awful Battlement
    The rest of Life is dropt –

    ‘Tis not to sight the savior –
    It is to be the saved –
    And that is why I lay my Head
    Upon this trusty word –