In Corners - till a Day
The Owner passed - identified -
And carried Me away -
And now We roam in Sovreign Woods -
And now We hunt the Doe -
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply -
And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow -
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it’s pleasure through -
And when at Night - Our good Day done -
I guard My Master’s Head -
’Tis better than the Eider Duck’s
Deep Pillow - to have shared -
To foe of His - I’m deadly foe -
None stir the second time -
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye -
Or an emphatic Thumb -
Though I than He - may longer live
He longer must - than I -
For I have but the power to kill,
Without - the power to die -
-Fr764, J754, Fascicle 34, 1863
This is one of the most tantalizingly difficult, and yet powerful, poems of Dickinson’s oeuvre. Many terrific essays have been written about it. One of my favorite books, “My Emily Dickinson,” by Susan Howe, is centered around it. The poet Adrienne Rich has written beautifully about it. In this discussion, moderated by Al Filreis, the panel gets into some of its many difficulties. Filreis calls it the most difficult of all Dickinson’s poems. That's saying something with Dickinson, who is one of our most difficult poets.
Why does it intrigue us so much? The edgy danger of a loaded gun I reckon. Add the sexual metaphor of the gun going off and now you have sex added to the mix. Sex and violence. Who can resist?
There are as many interpretations of this poem as there are readers of it, and I recommend looking at several to get a feel for the possibilities.
Because I’m most interested in the what a poem has to say to, and for, a reader, my own take on the poem focuses there.
My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun -
In Corners - till a Day
The Owner passed - identified -
And carried Me away -
A life being compared to a gun in a corner is a metaphor for unreleased potential. We each have very powerful energy "locked" in us. For Emily, this potential is realized in her poetry. (Her canon, you might say, is her cannon.) This potential is often unlocked through relationship. Therefore, the gun stays locked and loaded in a corner until it becomes useful to someone, to whomever "owns" it.
Who is this “Owner” of the gun, this “Master?” I’ve seen interpretations in which “Owner” is read as lover, or as God, or as Self. I would add to that list: Reader. The Reader identifies the meaning of the poem, and thus unlocks its fire power. The poem just sits in a corner until that day.
There is a double meaning to “carried away” in the fourth line, a romantic notion of being chosen, and then getting carried away in a relationship.
I love the way the repetition of the D sound in this first stanza mimics the plodding sound of gun fire. Read it out loud and imagine a gun shot every time you pronounce the D.
There is a double meaning to “carried away” in the fourth line, a romantic notion of being chosen, and then getting carried away in a relationship.
I love the way the repetition of the D sound in this first stanza mimics the plodding sound of gun fire. Read it out loud and imagine a gun shot every time you pronounce the D.
The next stanza has a wonderful sound too, with the repetitions of "And." "And now We roam", "And now we hunt," "And every time..."
And now We roam in Sovreign Woods -
And now We hunt the Doe -
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply -
Continuing with the idea of the D sounds, notice the way the sharp sound of “Doe” echoes the "Day" of the first stanza, both of them coming emphatically at the end of the second line. There will be one more echo of this sound in the final word of the poem, "Die."
The potential of the poet is realized in, among other things, speaking a truth that obliterates illusion. Illusions, you might say, are what get in the way of Love. That’s how I read this poem, anyway. It is about killing illusions for the sake of love. The poet “speaks for Him.” How do you know it is the Truth the poet is speaking? "The Mountains straight reply."
And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow -
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it’s pleasure through -
If you take the killing in this poem literally, then the first line of this stanza reads as sinister. You smiled at the death of the doe? How could this possibly be “cordial?” But cordial makes a lot of sense if what is being killed is the “distance” between us. "Cordial light" has a double meaning then with the "light of reason." Our illusions are maddening. They can destroy the ties that bind us together. When you destroy the thing that destroys, the things that separate us, it is a great pleasure. "Vesuvian face" is a reference to Mount Vesuvius, the famous volcano that destroyed Pompeii. Dickinson uses this metaphor of a volcano often, and I think it generally represents the explosive heat of passion, of the love that roils beneath the veneer of our defensive shells.
And when at Night - Our good Day done -
I guard My Master’s Head -
’Tis better than the Eider Duck’s
Deep Pillow - to have shared -
Oompa loompa doopity dee
Your poetry will protect me.
Oompa loompa doopity do
My poetry will protect you.)
Sharing an Eider Duck pillow points toward intimacy, but the poet makes the difficult distinction that guarding the beloved, the gun-like hardness of that, is even more important than the softness of a shared pillow. Dickinson is fiercely protective of her beloved.
To foe of His - I’m deadly foe -
None stir the second time -
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye -
Or an emphatic Thumb -
To foe of His (Yours) Dickinson is deadly foe. She is a hell of a shot. Her poetry aims to kill. Are you full of shit? Then get ready to face down Dickinson’s fire. Prepare to reckon with her emphatic thumb.
Though I than He - may longer live
He longer must - than I -
For I have but the power to kill,
Without - the power to die -
This is the most difficult stanza to unravel. Here’s how I make sense of it. If the poem is the gun, it can’t die. (It is, after all, merely words on a page.) It can only kill. But it desperately wants to keep its Master (read: reader) alive. Since you, as a living breathing human with a heart-beat, are fragile, and have the "power to die," then the poem wants you to outlive it. You must try to outlive the necessity of this poem so you may use your locked potential to protect others in turn.
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff
And now We roam in Sovreign Woods -
And now We hunt the Doe -
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply -
Continuing with the idea of the D sounds, notice the way the sharp sound of “Doe” echoes the "Day" of the first stanza, both of them coming emphatically at the end of the second line. There will be one more echo of this sound in the final word of the poem, "Die."
The potential of the poet is realized in, among other things, speaking a truth that obliterates illusion. Illusions, you might say, are what get in the way of Love. That’s how I read this poem, anyway. It is about killing illusions for the sake of love. The poet “speaks for Him.” How do you know it is the Truth the poet is speaking? "The Mountains straight reply."
And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow -
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it’s pleasure through -
If you take the killing in this poem literally, then the first line of this stanza reads as sinister. You smiled at the death of the doe? How could this possibly be “cordial?” But cordial makes a lot of sense if what is being killed is the “distance” between us. "Cordial light" has a double meaning then with the "light of reason." Our illusions are maddening. They can destroy the ties that bind us together. When you destroy the thing that destroys, the things that separate us, it is a great pleasure. "Vesuvian face" is a reference to Mount Vesuvius, the famous volcano that destroyed Pompeii. Dickinson uses this metaphor of a volcano often, and I think it generally represents the explosive heat of passion, of the love that roils beneath the veneer of our defensive shells.
In the next stanza here come those "D" sounds again in full force:
And when at Night - Our good Day done -
I guard My Master’s Head -
’Tis better than the Eider Duck’s
Deep Pillow - to have shared -
To guard, or protect, is one of poetry’s greatest powers. (Last night at the Poetry Project’s 2025 New Year’s Day Marathon reading, Jim Behrle, in the wee hours late night, read a very short poem that made this point. Today it is on my mind, and its sentiment is similar to Dickinson's:
Protection Spell for the USA
Protection Spell for the USA
Oompa loompa doopity dee
Your poetry will protect me.
Oompa loompa doopity do
My poetry will protect you.)
Sharing an Eider Duck pillow points toward intimacy, but the poet makes the difficult distinction that guarding the beloved, the gun-like hardness of that, is even more important than the softness of a shared pillow. Dickinson is fiercely protective of her beloved.
To foe of His - I’m deadly foe -
None stir the second time -
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye -
Or an emphatic Thumb -
To foe of His (Yours) Dickinson is deadly foe. She is a hell of a shot. Her poetry aims to kill. Are you full of shit? Then get ready to face down Dickinson’s fire. Prepare to reckon with her emphatic thumb.
Though I than He - may longer live
He longer must - than I -
For I have but the power to kill,
Without - the power to die -
This is the most difficult stanza to unravel. Here’s how I make sense of it. If the poem is the gun, it can’t die. (It is, after all, merely words on a page.) It can only kill. But it desperately wants to keep its Master (read: reader) alive. Since you, as a living breathing human with a heart-beat, are fragile, and have the "power to die," then the poem wants you to outlive it. You must try to outlive the necessity of this poem so you may use your locked potential to protect others in turn.
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff
Notes:
It's interesting that the poem just before this one in fascicle 34, Fr763, overtly chooses hate over love. This poem skates awfully close to hate. But, in my reading at least, what is hated is the very thing which obstructs love. It champions the murder of ignorance for the sake of love.
It's interesting that the poem just before this one in fascicle 34, Fr763, overtly chooses hate over love. This poem skates awfully close to hate. But, in my reading at least, what is hated is the very thing which obstructs love. It champions the murder of ignorance for the sake of love.
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