On a Columnar Self—

On a Columnar Self—
How ample to rely
In Tumult—or Extremity—
How good the Certainty

That Lever cannot pry—
And Wedge cannot divide
Conviction—That Granitic Base—
Though None be on our Side—

Suffice Us—for a Crowd—
Ourself—and Rectitude—
And that Assembly—not far off
From furthest Spirit—God—


   -F740, J789, Fascicle 36, 1863


This poem is, on the surface, a pretty simple metaphor  telling us that we can be sturdy like a column if we rely on the granite base of conviction, safe in a “tumult” or storm. No lever or wedge can shake our faith.

And the poem is, taken in this way, inspiring. In fact, as I was reading through it the first time my daughter came to me crying because her sister told her that nobody liked her. I read this poem to her and explained it, and I could see that it did help her. She seemed to become columnized.

But Dickinson weirds this poem in a few ways. First is the latinate bent of the language; columnar, tumult, extremity, granitic, suffice, rectitude, etc. I’m not sure what to make of this. Perhaps there is meant to be a link here between Roman columns, and the structural rigidity of the latin language.

In Christanne Miller’s notes on this poem she points out that it may be possibly related to Emerson’s essay, “Self-reliance.” And there does seem to be an echo here. First of all, “On a Columnar Self,” could almost function as the title of an essay. Then there is the echo of “Self” and “rely” in the first two lines. Finally, the last line of Emerson’s essay is “Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles,” which does have a similar meaning to the “Rectitude” that suffices in this poem.

There is though, perhaps, a counter-reading here, when one looks closely. “How good the Certainty” may be read with a sarcastic tone. This uncertainty in the poem is especially possible of a poet that tends to undermine “Certainty” at every step.

For a deep dive into the dissonance I'm talking about, I will quote extensively from a terrific essay on this poem I found online by Emily Cogan.

“The second and fourth line of the first stanza appear to undermine the idea of the columnar self and the action of relying on it. The use of “ample” suggests an easy utility; the easy option, when faced with tumult or extremity, is to rely on the ample columnar self. Similarly, “how good the Certainty” suggests that the feeling of self-reliance or getting through something on your own is a good one, perhaps even a selfish one once the whole stanza is taken together. The second stanza has a slight shift: the columnar self seems to be praised by what it can withstand; the lever and the wedge are mechanical images which the columnar self, by comparison something natural, stands against; the capitalisation of “That Granitic Base” adds a certain grandeur to this self; and, standing alone with conviction “though none be on our side” is an almost universally respected act.

These apparent oppositions are questioned by Dickinson even as she is creating them. As is often the case in her poetry, this effect is achieved through her punctuation. In the first stanza “- or Extremity -“ is isolated from the rest of the stanza by dashes making the desire to read it simply as an alternative term for tumult impossible. It could refer back to ample not only as an alternative term but as an alternative implication. If extremity and ample can be interchanged, the sense that relying on one’s columnar self is the easy option no longer stands. It is, rather, a last resort. The capitalisation of “Certainty”, notably the last word in the stanza, allows it, as both term and concept, to act as a bridge between the two stanzas. … It is not only her punctuation but, as the example of certainty suggests, the ways Dickinson structures and connects the poem that convolutes the notion of the columnar self. Like the stanza before it, the final line of the second stanza straddles both second and third stanza. The columnar self is suddenly plural “though none be on our side.”...The final stanza is littered with group terms— us, crowd, ourself, assembly — which reverts back to the earlier two stanzas, the two possible attitudes towards this notion of columnar self in order to further investigate them.”

Finally, we should look at the alternative Dickinson provides in the fascicle for the last two lines:

And that Companion—not far off
From furthest Good Man—God—

These are easier lines to understand than the ones Dickinson opts for; God as Companion, rather than Assembly, and the idea of the God being not far off from the furthest Good Man rather than the furthest spirit. “Faithful” is also added as an alternative for “furthest,” which is also easier to comprehend. After all, what does “furthest” mean? It seems to mean here, the one who has gone furthest toward God, the most “faithful,” but you may also read it as the one who is furthest away from God. It complicates the poem. You might say it takes the simple Emersonian idea of self-reliance, and archly, subtly, opposes it. Is the self-reliant the furthest toward God, or the furthest away?

I also like “Assembly” better than the alternative “Companion.” To think of God as a Companion isn’t as provocative as thinking of Him as an Assembly. For one thing, an Assembly must be assembled BY something. Is this word suggestion that we assemble God? For another thing, if God is an Assembly, then it is not singular like a column. The word Assembly for God points toward our reliance on each other. 

    -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

Joy to have merited the Pain—

Joy to have merited the Pain—
To merit the Release—
Joy to have perished every step—
To Compass Paradise—

Pardon—to look upon thy face—
With these old fashioned Eyes—
Better than new—could be—for that—
Though bought in Paradise—

Because they looked on thee before—
And thou hast looked on them—
Prove Me—My Hazel Witnesses
The features are the same—

So fleet thou wert, when present—
So infinite—when gone—
An Orient’s Apparition—
Remanded of the Morn—

The Height I recollect—
‘Twas even with the Hills—
The Depth upon my Soul was notched—
As Floods—on Whites of Wheels—

To Haunt—till Time have dropped
His last Decade away,
And Haunting actualize—to last
At least—Eternity—


    -F739, J788, fascicle 36, 1863


Remember that old Tootsie Pop ad, “How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?" You might also ask, "How many times do you have to read it before you get to the center of Emily's poem?" More than a few times are usually necessary for this reader. I might understand a line here or there, in the first few readings, but it takes awhile to put the whole puzzle together.

For instance, what does the idea of meriting pain, which begins this poem, have to do with the transience of the beloved in the latter half of it? That seems to be the question of this poem. But then, once you think you are starting to get it, you see another piece of the puzzle, one that changes it slightly, and you sit with that piece for a while. Like, what does Dickinson mean by buying eyes in Paradise? Ah, "bought" must have to do with “meriting” pain, from the first line. But “bought” has a strange connotation to it that makes you question the idea of "merit." And thus, piece by piece, nuance by nuance, the unique shape of the poem slowly comes together.

You eventually come to a conclusion, of sorts, one that is, naturally, unique to your perspective. Here's my first attempt: there is pain in losing someone you love, but this pain will take you, if you move forward consciously and with great effort, toward a new joy. How? The poem doesn’t quite say. It just encourages the journey.

Let's look at the poem stanza by stanza:

Joy to have merited the Pain—
To merit the Release—
Joy to have perished every step—
To Compass Paradise—

There is a joy in having deserved our suffering, and then, eventually, in the relief that comes afterward. This begs the question of what exactly Dickinson means by suffering. It’s a big question, and nothing less than Joy hangs in the balance. But, whatever the suffering entails, there is a sense here of having achieved paradise after having endured the difficult challenges on the path.

Pardon—to look upon thy face—
With these old fashioned Eyes—
Better than new—could be—for that—
Though bought in Paradise—

Because they looked on thee before—
And thou hast looked on them—
Prove Me—My Hazel Witnesses
The features are the same—

The poet seeks forgiveness for asking to see the beloved’s face with her old tired eyes. She deems these old eyes as better than the new well-earned eyes she has achieved because they were the ones that first saw the beloved, and which the beloved looked back at. So you might say that not all is well in paradise. The new eyes aren’t quite the same as the old eyes, not quite as good. They lack the moment of mutuality between lovers.

Dickinson’s old eyes (we know that Dickinson’s eyes were hazel, so this poem is from HER hazel-eyed perspective) are what prove to her that her recollection of her beloved is true. He/she was real. In other words, her eyes before Paradise is what she actually prefers. It is those eyes which may recognize the features of the lover.

This part of the poem is hard to reckon. Is the poet merely looking at her beloved in her memory? Or is she imagining looking at him/her after she gets to heaven? Or does the poet feel she is already in Paradise in the present, a paradise which has been achieved through the suffering she feels upon the reflection of her loss? It’s especially confusing because these are her old eyes she is seeing her beloved with, not the new eyes which have been bought in paradise, but its the very pain of the loss of her old eyes that is essentially giving her new eyes in paradise.

So fleet thou wert, when present—
So infinite—when gone—
An Orient’s Apparition—
Remanded of the Morn— (remanded = sent back)

The time with the beloved was fleeting when he/she was present, but seems infinite once he/she is gone. This contrast is striking. Time goes very fast in the beloved’s presence, but very slooooow when they are gone.

“Orient’s apparition” I take to be a sunrise, which comes from the east, from the Orient. The sunrise is an apparition, unreal because the lover is missing, has been "remanded," or sent back. The lover the night before was “real," but this new "Paradise" is an illusion of sorts, an apparition. 

The Height I recollect—
‘Twas even with the Hills—
The Depth upon my Soul was notched—
As Floods—on Whites of Wheels—

The sunrise reminds the poet of her beloved, but so do the hills seen in the sunrise, as they are symbolic of the heights of the relationship. As to the depths of the relationship, you can see it marked upon the poet’s soul like the flood’s water line on the white wheels of a carriage. (I’m imagining mud on the white wheels too, but that might just be me muddying the poem.)

To Haunt—till Time have dropped
His last Decade away,
And Haunting actualize—to last
At least—Eternity—

This memory of the beloved will haunt the speaker until time itself has dropped its last decade. The haunting, like the pain, becomes actualized, and therefore lasts for eternity. This seems to be a terrible fate, a kind of eternal hell, and perhaps for the speaker it does seem that way, but when we return to the beginning of the poem we see that paradoxically there is Joy (repeated twice for emphasis) in this “actualized” haunting.

You might say that this Joy is extended into the poem itself, through its music, and its human sympathy. But really, it is only the first stanza that feels joyful. The next five seem to be more about that "Pardon." 

The poem does reflect a deep sense of enduring love, the transcendent nature of the beloved as eternal presence, but in the end it points toward the irony of the great pain of loss as a worthwhile cause for celebration of having had that love in the first place. Not only was it all worth it, but the pain itself takes you to a new paradise (and pair of eyes.)


    - /)dam Wade l)eGraff

Notes


1. The word "recollected" in the first poem of this fascicle (the poem prior to this one, F738) is carried over into the second. In F738 this recollection seems to be more about the possible continuance of joy, the hope of love still being recollected in heaven, whereas in this poem it more about being on the other side, in Paradise, but recollecting the loss of the loved one with pain. It is as if Dickinson is imagining both sides of the equation.

2. The word "Eternity" is in both poems as well. This word pops up often in her poetry. See my reflection of the handwritten quality of this word here. 

Here is the a screenshot of the word as it appears in this poem, still with that t crossing that swoops down the ages of the word, still with that strange break in eternity between the r and the n:

 

3. I like the way David Preest sums up the last few lines of this poem. "Our love haunted my memory until my last Decade ended. And now that it has become actualised after all the haunting, it should last at least for Eternity."

4. I recently came across these lines from Keats, which echoes the final lines of this poem. 

"The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light30
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
They alway must be with us, or we die."

Haunting us until they become a cheering light.