The Luxury to apprehend

The Luxury to apprehend
The Luxury 'twould be
To look at Thee a single time
An Epicure of Me

In whatsoever Presence makes
Till for a further Food
I scarcely recollect to starve
So first am I supplied —

The Luxury to meditate
The Luxury it was
To banquet on thy Countenance
A Sumptuousness bestows

On plainer Days, whose Table far
As Certainty can see
Is laden with a single Crumb
The Consciousness of Thee.

          -Fr819, J815, 1864

Ah, a poem to luxuriate in. So many Dickinson poems are about austerity. But maybe this one is too, when you look close.  

It's a luxury to apprehend 

The Luxury 'twould be
To look at Thee a single time

It's a luxury just to apprehend that it's a luxury to look at you only a single time. That's all that is needed by this poet. Dickinson is luxuriating in luxuriating, but the twist is that it is just a "single" look, that the luxury is based on something so seemingly scant. I think here of Dante seeing Beatrice only a few times and then dedicating all of those love poems to her. This poem, we know, was given to Susan, who Dickinson once referred to as her "Beatrice." No wonder.

All that lux luxury comes down to a single glance from the beloved. Not only is that glance a luxury, it's a luxury to know that this one glance is a luxury.

"An epicure of Me" is a compact line. It means, just this one look makes an epicure of me. An epicurean is someone who loves rich food and drink, so Emily is saying that one glance at the beloved is like feasting on rich food and drink. 

But "An epicure of Me" also reads something like...an epicure made up of "Me-ness." Somehow this line has the feel of completion. It is the beloved that makes the self into a true epicurean. The vision of you, it seems to say, was a pleasure made especially for Me.

In whatsoever Presence makes
Till for a further Food

What does in "whatsoever Presence" mean? It's a mysterious line. Perhaps it means a memory? A letter? And, who knows, maybe even a doppelganger might do. 

I scarcely recollect to starve
So first am I supplied —

Once given the vision of you, says the besotten poet, I'll forget that I'm starving. That single look was enough sustenance for life.

The Luxury to meditate
The Luxury it was
To banquet on thy Countenance
A Sumptuousness bestows

We are going to luxuriate even more in that word luxury in the third stanza. Because that's what this poem is about, luxuriating, even if given just a taste. The poem is a meditation on luxury, on making much of little, the luxury to meditate on what a luxury it was to "banquet on thy Countenance." Sue must've swooned when she read that line. "Countenance" has a biblical resonance, especially when paired with "thy," but we know that Dickinson often wrote to and of Sue using such religious terms, just like Dante places Beatrice at the gate to Paradiso in the Divine Comedy. 

A Sumptuousness bestows

If you are going to top the lush language of using "luxury" four times in a row, you might go with a word like "Sumptuousness." 

 

To banquet on thy Countenance

A Sumptuousness bestows

On plainer Days, whose Table far

As Certainty can see
Is laden with a single Crumb

The Consciousness of Thee.

That single look bestows a sumptuousness on "plainer Days." Look how plain that phrase sounds after all that sumptuous bestowing of luxury.

In the end we have a poet who, instead of complaining about how little she is given, is satiated by it. "As Certainty can see." This speaks to both the object of affection, who must've really been something, and to the disposition of the poet, who was thrifty in the extreme.

Consciousness of Thee is all that is needed for the poet to persist, just a single crumb. In fact, that plain table is "laden" with that crumb. The crumb we "apprehend" is truly a sumptuous banquet. 

Has a little ever gone further than it did with Emily? And has there ever been a more romantic poem?

Bless Emily Dickinson for being so satisfied with that one look of love. May we all be so lucky. 

     -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

Study for 'La Charite'by William Adolphe Bouguereau  

P.S. This poem sheds light on all the "crumb" poems Emily wrote. See, especially, the recent one, Fr807, which describes this very poem, a robin's silver chronicle in song given in return for a single crumb.

P.P.S. I very much enjoyed Dandi Meng's take on this poem. I heard the echo of Fr269 "Wild Nights Wild Nights" in this poem too, but Dandi really makes something of this connection.