You taught me Waiting with Myself—

You taught me Waiting with Myself—
Appointment strictly kept—
You taught me fortitude of Fate—
This—also—I have learnt—

An Altitude of Death, that could
No bitterer debar
Than Life—had done—before it—
Yet—there is a Science more—

The Heaven you know—to understand
That you be not ashamed
Of Me—in Christ’s bright Audience
Upon the further Hand—

     -FR774, J740, Fascicle 37, 1863 

This is one of those Dickinson poems which, at first, underwhelmed me. Then I scratched a little deeper. And then a little deeper. And pretty soon I had a gusher on my hands.

What seems like a pretty straight forward poem about the virtues of patience and fortitude, turns out to be full of slant upon slant of meaning, wink upon wink of subtext. Let’s look at the first couplet.

You taught me Waiting with Myself—
Appointment strictly kept—

God, or some friend or lover, or perhaps life itself, teaches the poet to “Wait” with Herself. “Waiting with Myself—” I find these words inspiring. How hard is it to just wait with yourself? Are you like me, in that every moment of every day seems to be taken up with some way of avoiding the simple act of “Waiting with Myself”? This difficulty seems to me to be at the very core of our modern malaise.

Dickinson somehow manages it though. She says she keeps that appointment. 

Here you also have the first of several humorous turns in this poem. Usually you “wait” for an “appointment.” But one way to read those first two lines is that the appointment that is kept is the waiting, itself. That’s absurd, but also profound. An appointment implies a certain anxiety of accomplishment, but learning to wait is quite the opposite. It’s a bit like saying the journey is the destination.

There is also a wink in the diction here. It's a parody of formal bureaucratic business-speak, “appointment strictly kept.” Another way to read “Appointment” is as an appointment with death, or fate. If that’s the case, then the idea of strictly keeping that appointment is funny because, after all, it wouldn't be possible to not strictly keep that appointment.

You taught me fortitude of Fate—

“Fortitude of Fate” is, like “Waiting with Myself,” an inspiring phrase. That mouthful of fricatives is strong. ForTiTuDe of FaTe. What does it mean to learn fortitude of fate? You need fortitude to deal with your fate.

This—also—I have learnt—

There’s something slightly cheeky about this line too. She’s learned so much. She’s figured out the "fortitude of Fate" and gained some wisdom, yet she says it with a kind of calm finality. It’s almost like she’s speaking with the self-assurance of someone who’s just learned a secret and is saying, "Oh, I’ve got it all sorted now." It's a bit of a tongue-in-cheek way of presenting profound realization. There’s an understated humor in how it contrasts with the weight of what she's saying.

An Altitude of Death, that could
No bitterer debar
Than Life—had done—before it—

Wow. “An Altitude of Death.” What a way to think of death, as something we climb up towards, as a kind of achievement, albeit a vertiginous one. Death would appears to bar us from life, but NOT more bitterly than life has already barred us from life. Which is more bitter? Death, which bars us from life, or life itself keeping us from what we desire? This line has the dark sense of humor of Hamlet. Death seems to be higher than life only in the sense that it is not so bad. Yeesh.

Yet—there is a Science more—

I'd really like to know exactly what Dickinson means by science here. Is there a “method” to going beyond the bitterness of life, in transcending death? If so, what is it? Well, I suppose the first stanza has already laid out part of the science. You start with practicing waiting with your yourself. Then you learn fortitude by embracing life’s trials.

Then, moving onto the second stanza we get another part of the scientific equation. Accept death as natural, and even as the high point of life. Don’t be afraid of it, because the struggles of life can be more difficult than death itself.

There is more to this “science” in the third stanza, but let’s pause here for another joke I think Dickinson is making. To posit “science” against the mysteries of “fate” is ironic. There is a sense that Dickinson is, in a way, poking fun at how humans try to intellectualize or grasp these mysteries.

The Heaven you know—to understand
That you be not ashamed
Of Me—in Christ’s bright Audience
Upon the further Hand—

There are many ways you could parse the grammar of this last stanza. I take it like this. 

The Heaven you know—to understand 

Note that Dickinson does not use a capital “y” for “you” in this stanza. I take this to mean Dickinson’s not speaking to God, now, but to a human. Herself, or maybe Sue. (I personally think this poem is part of a larger conversation with Sue.) I think this line has a bit of a wink in it. How can anyone, with any absolute understanding, “know” Heaven? The line, “The heaven you know to understand” (read: “the Heaven you think you understand”) is undercut further with with the follow-up line, “that you be not ashamed/ of Me.” What does shame have to do with Heaven? Do you really know and understand heaven as you think you do? 

“Me” (unlike “you") is capitalized. if you look at just those last two lines, you get “Of Me—in Christ’s bright Audience/ Upon the further hand.” While you, who think you know heaven, are ashamed of me, I will be standing in the brightness of an audience with Christ. I picture Dickinson actually standing upon the hand of Christ. There is no shame. The audience is "bright." Dickinson makes a pun of “upon the other hand” and turns it into, “Upon the further hand.” It’s an amazing word substitution. Christ’s hand reaches out further. It doesn't shame. It welcomes. It reaches out.

“The Heaven you know—to understand / That you be not ashamed / Of Me—in Christ’s bright Audience” has a cheeky confidence. Dickinson might be suggesting that, ultimately, understanding the divine is not about an overwhelming fear of judgment, but rather about coming to a place where we are at peace with ourselves in the face of something transcendent. There’s a subtle humor in the way she frames this—a comfort in the idea that we needn’t be ashamed, as if the idea of standing before Christ might actually be more about reconciliation and understanding than fear.

     -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

Leon Bonnat:  Roman Girl at Fountain