The Sun is gay or stark

The Sun is gay or stark
According to our Deed.
If Merry, He is merrier—
If eager for the Dead

Or an expended Day
He helped to make too bright
His mighty pleasure suits Us not
It magnifies our Freight


      -F922, J878, sheet 12, 1865


On the surface this poem seems to be saying that perception is everything. But under the surface the poem is saying something quite different, something about will in the face of devastation. Let's get into it:

The Sun is gay or stark
According to our Deed.

The sun seems cheerful or severe depending on what we ourselves are doing. This is thought-provoking because “Deed” is an action. The poem hinges on this word. What we do makes the difference, but this is so much easier said than done.

If Merry, He is merrier—

Before the poem goes dark, it is worth resting on this line for a second. The line is basically saying the sun seems merrier when we are merrier. But the way Dickinson has phrased it, it reads as if the Sun (with a possible pun on Son) is merrier when we are merry because He is happy for us. Those that love us are even happier than we are when we are happy.

It’s a subtle point, but if taken it adds much to the heartbreak of this poem. It implies that, conversely, the Sun is even sadder than we are when we are sad. This dovetails with a poem written down prior to this one on the same sheet of paper, F920, where the poet hides her tears from “Him” because if she showed him her true pain He would be even more sad than she is.

If eager for the Dead

Dickinson has a chillingly concise way of putting things. Eager for the dead. Another poem written on this same sheet of paper, F921, is all about being eager (or anxious) for the dead, hoping that the newly departed won’t suffer after death. 

Or an expended Day

An expended Day is one that has come to an end. Day, in poetic parlance, can also mean "Life." The implied logic here is that we are so eager (anxious) for the dead that we ourselves are eager to die. It's an expression of extreme grief.

When we are grieving, the Sun isn’t welcome. We don’t want its brightness. The brightness throws the pain into relief and makes it worse. It "magnifies our Freight." (It's worth remembering that when we are happy it is not always welcome by those who are grieving and may even worsen the other's pain.)

Or an expended Day
He helped to make too bright
His mighty pleasure suits Us not
It magnifies our Freight

This idea is further explored in another recent poem from Sheet 11, F915, which begins with the line, “What Shall I do when Summer troubles?” 

There’s that word “do,” which echoes the word “deed” in this poem. When one is grieving what is to be “done?” The question is at the heart of both poems, but remains unanswered.

But perhaps it is answered in the existence of the poem itself. A poem is a deed. It is an act. It is for someone, for some reason. In the poem we find solace born of sympathy. This may be its point. The poem commiserates with us and we are therefore less alone. This goes a little ways, at least, toward helping us heal.

But there is something else happening beyond empathy. This poem says that when we grieve, “His mighty pleasure suits Us not.” We know Emily Dickinson is one the deepest grievers ever since she expresses it acutely in poem after poem, yet, despite the extremity of the pain, there is pleasure in the poetry, in the beauty of the language. Beauty, in the face of pain, is an act of bravery.

      -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

Tales of the Sad Sun by João Bragato