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 |
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).
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).
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!
ReplyDeleteI 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.
ReplyDelete