Returns no syllable
But long records the Lady's name
In Silver Chronicle.
-Fr810, J864, early 1864
This is such a perfectly Emily Dickinson poem. It can be boiled down to a pretty simple idea, that a little goes a long way, but Dickinson relays this idea through a richly evocative aphorism. The robin doesn’t say a word in thanks for a crumb, just sings his Lady’s name in silver chronicle.
The form of the poem expresses its content. First of all, like the song of its subject, it sounds beautiful. This poem, itself, could be considered a silver chronicle.
Start with the structure. There is a deliberate 6 - 6 - 8 - 6 iambic structure, a pattern which Dickinson most often uses for aphorisms. The idea of the structure is to give extra weight to that third line, as if it were the punchline of a joke. In this case it is especially appropriate because the longest line in the stanza " long records the Lady’s name.”
Within that iambic metrical structure Dickinson syncopates the rhythm by adding two rhyming dactyls, “syllable” and “chronicle,” which gives the poem an extra song-song lilt.
This is such a perfectly Emily Dickinson poem. It can be boiled down to a pretty simple idea, that a little goes a long way, but Dickinson relays this idea through a richly evocative aphorism. The robin doesn’t say a word in thanks for a crumb, just sings his Lady’s name in silver chronicle.
The form of the poem expresses its content. First of all, like the song of its subject, it sounds beautiful. This poem, itself, could be considered a silver chronicle.
Start with the structure. There is a deliberate 6 - 6 - 8 - 6 iambic structure, a pattern which Dickinson most often uses for aphorisms. The idea of the structure is to give extra weight to that third line, as if it were the punchline of a joke. In this case it is especially appropriate because the longest line in the stanza " long records the Lady’s name.”
Within that iambic metrical structure Dickinson syncopates the rhythm by adding two rhyming dactyls, “syllable” and “chronicle,” which gives the poem an extra song-song lilt.
The bird may not need to use syllables, but they are all Emily’s got to work with here. The word "syllable" is a metonym for poetry itself. English verse, after all, is made up of the arrangement of syllables. (Another poem written by Dickinson in 1864, Fr798, makes a similar argument, we can only “conjugate…while nature…creates and federates…without syllable.”)
The consonant soundscape of the poem is masterful. She weaves together RN, CR and SL sound clusters which satisfyingly culminates in the sound of the last line, “iN SiLver CRoNiCle.”
In the very feel of the musical language Dickinson gets across the idea that even the littlest offering to the poor will result in music. It’s as if the whole of nature becomes filled with music, all coming from that one little crumb.
The synaesthetic use of the visual word "silver" to describe auditory birdsong is also part of the poem's beauty. (This comparison is not unique to this poem. Dickinson also uses it in Fr902, ”Split the Lark — and you'll find the Music —Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled —”)
I notice that the bird isn’t necessarily singing in gratitude. The robin is just singing, and because one has given it a crumb, and nourished it, it gets to keep singing. That continued song becomes the “chronicle” of generosity. it’s not a transactional tit for tat. This is a subtle point. You give because the bird is hungry. The bird sings because it is fed.
The lovely idea of a “Lady’s name” being told by “no syllable” is worth stopping to wonder about too. Nature’s music is able to tell the name of the benefactor without saying a word!
-/)dam Wade l)eGraff
Notes:
1. This poem was sent in a letter to Dickinson’s aunt Lucretia Bullard, probably as a thank you note. The aunt had given a gift to Emily, I would guess, and Emily, the Robin, sings this poem in response.
2. The “Robin and Crumb” theme is a common one for Dickinson. Here are a few more, Fr210, Fr195, Fr359 and Fr501. And here's one more Robin poem with a sentiment that fits well with the poem at hand.
If I can stop one Heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching,
Or cool one Pain,
Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
3. I mentioned above that Dickinson typically uses a 6-6-8-6 stanza form for aphorisms. I don’t know if this is an innovation of hers, or a common aphoristic form? Here another good one for the sake of comparison.
The Pedigree of Honey (6)
Does not concern the Bee — (6)
A Clover, any time, to him (8)
Is Aristocracy — (6)
4. There were several “interpretations” of this poem up on The Emily Dickinson Museum’s FaceBook page. Here are two I liked.
1. This poem was sent in a letter to Dickinson’s aunt Lucretia Bullard, probably as a thank you note. The aunt had given a gift to Emily, I would guess, and Emily, the Robin, sings this poem in response.
2. The “Robin and Crumb” theme is a common one for Dickinson. Here are a few more, Fr210, Fr195, Fr359 and Fr501. And here's one more Robin poem with a sentiment that fits well with the poem at hand.
If I can stop one Heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching,
Or cool one Pain,
Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
3. I mentioned above that Dickinson typically uses a 6-6-8-6 stanza form for aphorisms. I don’t know if this is an innovation of hers, or a common aphoristic form? Here another good one for the sake of comparison.
The Pedigree of Honey (6)
Does not concern the Bee — (6)
A Clover, any time, to him (8)
Is Aristocracy — (6)
4. There were several “interpretations” of this poem up on The Emily Dickinson Museum’s FaceBook page. Here are two I liked.
Gastropher1 wrote, “Please and thank you are but platitudes. Being is the greatest appreciation.” Perspicacious!
Starrynightrob wrote, “Who among us cannot spare at least a crumb for those less fortunate? Our good deed will echo through time like a musical report, when before the world was silent. The recipient may seem to take the bounty and run but their posterity assures their gratitude. Emily wrote another poem about a choir of birds and ends that one in song, too:
Twas the Winged Beggar —.
Afterward I learned
To her Benefactor
Making Gratitude
Twas the Winged Beggar —.
Afterward I learned
To her Benefactor
Making Gratitude
A “syllable” is what a human can do and the Robin cannot return. So they return something else, a “Silver Chronicle.”
ReplyDeleteHmmm. This poem makes me want to explore that distinction between syllables and song for a moment.
Ok, people and birds equally expel breath to make vibrations, moving air within the contour of their throats and beaks or mouths, shaping it to make a variety of sounds.
But then humans, we like to think, take an additional step of forming a syllable, that is, a unit of symbolic language. A syllable then represents an effort at attaching a lasting sense, or meaning, to that movement of air. Does that sound right so far?
But wait, don’t birds add meaning to their songs too? Birdsong certainly has units, not unlike our syllables, phrases, sentences. Aren’t those discrete units functioning in some sense as meaning? Or must a syllable, to be a proper “syllable,” involve memory and category-making and metaphor — in other words, human ways of processing experience?
This meditation, provoked by the poem, makes me think that maybe we are more similar to birds in our communication than we think. I appreciate how, in this poem, the poet does not seemed to feel regret for the syllable never returned. On the contrary, symbolic language seems to be equaled, perhaps even outdone, by the “Silver Chronicle” of birdsong. They might even be considered different means to the same end. After all, a chronicle is a story — with meaning.
Another poem comes to mind, “The Brain — is wider than the Sky —“ (F
598).
In the last stanza of that poem Dickinson writes:
“The Brain is just the weight of God —
For — Heft them — Pound for Pound —
And they will differ — if they do —
As Syllable from Sound —“
In other words, human consciousness and our particular way of communicating (and imagining) has equal value to the direct sense data of the world. Syllable and sound “weigh” the same. The relationship we have with the world is one of reciprocity, not submission (lesser, as in submission to God) or dominance (greater, as in dominance over a bird). Again we see Dickinson’s deep commitment to the principle of “nature — in equity.” (F10)
Ah, F598 is a great connection, with that thought-provoking distinction between syllable and sound. That's always stopped me in my tracks.
ReplyDelete