Absence disembodies — so does Death

Absence disembodies — so does Death
Hiding individuals from the Earth
Superstition helps, as well as love —
Tenderness decreases as we prove —

       F904, J860, 1865, sheet 8

(Note: I wrote the following essay based on the word "Superposition" in this poem where "Superstition" should have been. It has been brought to my attention by a sharp-eyed reader that this is incorrect. I made the mistake of cutting and pasting the poem from an online source without checking with the most recent source, Christanne Miller's "Poems As She Preserved Them." There are several versions online that say "superposition," but I'm going to assume they all came from one erroneous source. I like the poem better with "superposition," but oh well. It did seem like an odd left-field word. I've changed the poem back to say "Superstition," but I haven't changed the essay because I like the discussion of Superposition in the comment section. So be it. Sometimes a mistake can lead to a revelation.)

This poem is chewy like a jawbreaker. (Do you remember those? The good ones had a tart but sweet center that made all of the hard work worth it, not unlike this poem.)

Death, like any absence, takes the body away from us. This leaves us in anguish. But "superposition" and love both help us deal with this pain. 

Love is something we each have our own deep feeling for. I guess if I had to define it I would say it is the summation of feeling we have built up for a particular person. But the problem is that it's often iffy whether or not that feeling comes from attachment or concern. It's slippery.

Superposition though? What is that?

Superposition, I take it, is a position above the position, like an overlay. It is a position removed from the position of presence, left behind in the imagination. (Now days the term "superposition" is used in Quantum Mechanics, but not back in Dickinson’s time.*)

One possibility for superposition here is that you hold both the present and the past (your memory with the other person) at once. Hope might be in there too, the possibility of seeing them again someday. There may also be the idea that you are connected together in some kind of immortal sphere, beyond time. The emphasis in the second line of "Earth" helps us see "superposition" as something beyond the earth, a view from above.

The wonder is that Dickinson goes into such far out territory with this one word, as if summing up an entire theoretical understanding. It's tantalizing.

I think the clue to what superposition means can be found in the final line. 

Tenderness decreases as we prove —

When we are with someone, when we "prove" our connection through presence, then our tenderness for the other person lessens. That line alone gives us a lot to chew on. It's like the final layer of the jawbreaker, the hardest one yet. It's a line full of irony, like "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." But "tender" is a better word here than "fonder," and one that clues us into the "superposition." 

Tenderness is one of those words that shifts as you look at it. Tenderness means sensitivity. But what causes sensitivity? Pain. When we feel pain we therefore become sensitive to the pain of others. 

This is, I think, the superposition. We are in pain due to loss and therefore become more tender toward others. Conversely then, when the beloved is near we are, unfortunately, less tender. We may be in a state of bliss, but because we are, we are less aware. 

When you see that the corresponding gain of tenderness is in proportion to loss, it helps. There is a painful, but beautiful exchange.There’s a sour dramatic irony there, no doubt, but it's one that still leaves us, in the end, with something sweet too.

      -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

Schrodinger's cat, like Emily, in a superposition

* Quantum superposition is, according to Google, a fundamental principle in quantum mechanics where a photon exists in multiple states or configurations simultaneously. Instead of being in one definite state, a quantum object exists in a linear combination of all possible states, described by a wave function, until a measurement causes it to "collapse" into a single, observed result.

The poem uses "Superposition" then almost prophetically in the way that it resembles the language of quantum physics. Uncertainty sustains Love. Proof collapses possibility.