tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post4436498303650106629..comments2024-03-29T00:07:13.458-07:00Comments on the prowling Bee: Morns like these—we parted—Susan Kornfeldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05384011972647144453noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-63982000568208244322022-08-11T16:27:25.310-07:002022-08-11T16:27:25.310-07:00OOPS! ‘Morns like these’ is (F18)OOPS! ‘Morns like these’ is (F18)Larry Bnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-20597286288755184522022-08-11T16:15:54.296-07:002022-08-11T16:15:54.296-07:00Rereading the last stanza of ‘Morns like these’ (F...Rereading the last stanza of ‘Morns like these’ (F17), the ambiguity of Line 10, “One the curtains drew”, suddenly struck me. ‘The feet of people walking home’ (F16) depicts death as “that Dark … my faith adores”, which sounded like a dark curtain closing on our known life, so my logical inference of Line 10, “One the curtains drew”, was a dark curtain closing. But then how could the linnet escape the cage? ED, Queen of Ambiguity, switched death from a closing curtain in F16 to an opening one in F17. Did she simply exercise her prerogative of changing her mind or is she playing games with readers seeking logic in her view of heaven, or both? Stay tuned for the next exciting episode.Larry Bnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-86605770460916476132022-06-18T19:15:16.931-07:002022-06-18T19:15:16.931-07:00Thank you Susan. And also thank you LarryThank you Susan. And also thank you LarryAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-52336010965379650462022-04-01T22:56:23.386-07:002022-04-01T22:56:23.386-07:00Thank you for posting this. I have it years back, ...Thank you for posting this. I have it years back, so is good to read again and have it here.Susan Kornfeldhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05384011972647144453noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-36365435402001661242022-04-01T06:32:44.722-07:002022-04-01T06:32:44.722-07:00Her talk and her writings were like no one's
e...Her talk and her writings were like no one's<br />else, and although she never published a line,<br />now and then some enthusiastic literary friend<br />would turn love to larceny, and cause a few<br />verses surreptitiously obtained to be printed.<br />Thus, and through other natural ways, many<br />saw and admired her verses, and in consequence<br />frequently notable persons paid her visits, hop-<br />ing to overcome the protest of her own nature<br />and gain a promise of occasional con-<br />tributions, at least, to various magazines.<br />She withstood even the fascinations of<br />Mrs. Helen Jackson, who earnestly sought<br />her co-operation in a novel of the No-Name<br />series, although one little poem somehow<br />strayed into the volume of verse which appeared<br />in that series. Her pages would ill have fitted<br />even so attractive a story as "Mercy Philbrick's<br />Choice," unwilling though a large part of the<br />literary public were to believe that she had no<br />part in it. "Her wagon was hitched to a star,"<br />- and who could ride or write with such a voy-<br />ager? A Damascus blade gleaming and glanc-<br />ing in the sun was her wit. Her swift poetic rapt-<br />ure was like the long glistening note of a bird<br />one hears in the June woods at high noon, but<br />can never see. Like a magician she caught the<br />shadowy apparitions of her brain and tossed<br />them in startling picturesqueness to her friends,<br />who, charmed with their simplicity and home-<br />liness as well as profundity, fretted that she<br />had so easily made palpable the tantalizing<br />fancies forever eluding their bungling, fettered<br />grasp. So intimate and passionate a part of the<br />high March sky, the summer day and bird-call.<br />keen and eclectic in her literary tastes, she<br />sifted libraries to Shakespeare and Brown-<br />ing; quick as the electric spark in her'<br />intuitions and analyses, she seized the kernel<br />instantly, almost impatient of the fewest words<br />by which she must make her revelation. To<br />her life was rich, and all aglow with God and<br />immortality. With no creed, no formulated<br />faith, hardly knowing the names of dogmas,<br />she walked this life with the gentleness and<br />reverence of old saints, with the firm step of<br />martyrs who sing while they suffer. How<br />better note the flight of this "soul of fire in a<br />shell of pearl" than by her own words? -<br /><br />Morns like these, we parted;<br />Noons like these, she rose;<br />Fluttering first, then firmer,<br />To her fair repose.<br /><br />[Susan Gilbert Dickinson <br />Published May 18, 1886<br />The Springfield Republican]Larry Bhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02810899482852120751noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-12699966337653855692022-04-01T06:32:28.219-07:002022-04-01T06:32:28.219-07:00Susan Gilbert Dickinson used the first four lines ...Susan Gilbert Dickinson used the first four lines of Morns Like These as the closing lines of ED's obituary. Note that ED's mother, Emily Norcross Dickinson, who died in 1882, is never mentioned in the obituary. Susan D must have been honoring ED's feelings: "I never had a mother".<br /><br />MISS EMILY DICKINSON OF AMHERST<br /><br />[Died May15, 1886]<br /><br />The death of Miss Emily Dickinson, daughter<br />of the late Edward Dickinson, at Amherst<br />on Saturday, makes another sad inroad on the<br />small circle so long occupying the old family<br />mansion. It was for a long generation over-<br />looked by death, and one passing in and out<br />there thought of old-fashioned times, when<br />parents and children grew up and passed ma-<br />turity together, in lives of singular uneventful-<br />ness unmarked by sad or joyous crises. Very few<br />in the village, excepting among the older inhabit-<br />itants, knew Miss Emily personally, although<br />the facts of her seclusion and her intellectual<br />brilliancy were familiar Amherst traditions.<br />There are many houses among all classes into<br />which her treasures of fruit and flowers and<br />ambrosial dishes for the sick and well were<br />constantly sent, that will forever miss those<br />evidences of her unselfish consideration, and<br />mourn afresh that she screened herself from<br />close acquaintance. As she passed on in<br />life, her sensitive nature shrank from<br />much personal contact with the world,<br />and more and more turned to her<br />own large wealth of individual resources<br />for companionship, sitting thenceforth, as<br />some one said of her, "In the light of<br />'her own fire." Not disappointed with the<br />world, not an invalid until within the past two<br />years, not from any lack of sympathy, not be-<br />cause she was insufficient of any mental work<br />or social career - her endowments being so ex-<br />ceptional - but the "mesh of her soul," as<br />Browning calls the body, was too rare, and the<br />sacred quiet of her own home proved the fit<br />atmosphere for her worth and work.<br />All that must be inviolate. One can<br />only speak of "duties beautifully done";<br />of her gentle tillage of the rare flowers<br />filling her conservatory, into which, as into the<br />heavenly Paradise, entered nothing that could<br />defile, and which was ever abloom in frost or<br />sunshine, so well she knew her subtle chemis-<br />tries; of her tenderness to all in the home<br />circle; her gentlewoman's grace and courtesy<br />to all who served in house and grounds; her<br />quick and rich response to all who rejoiced or<br />suffered at home, or among her wide circle of<br />friends the world over. This side of her nature<br />was to her the real entity in which she rested,<br />so simple and strong was her instinct that a<br />woman's hearthstone is her shrine.<br />[continued in next reply]<br /><br /><br />Larry Bhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02810899482852120751noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-23475839385168222452021-02-26T12:36:49.584-08:002021-02-26T12:36:49.584-08:00Lines 1-10 talk of the movements of a bird flying ...Lines 1-10 talk of the movements of a bird flying away - in morning, at noon - probably because of the speaker coming near and watching, with the song it sings not for the speaker, and the agony is for the speaker, and us, being more bound by the gravity than the bird. The speaker is in awe of what the bird can do, as compared to us who are more tied to where we are. <br /><br />But I must say the final line of "and this linnet flew." threw me. Coupled with "Till - the evening nearing," brought up thoughts of death, and your interpretation turned me around. The last line, I feel now. Is the key.<br /><br />ThanksAnonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00725261030659667439noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-54077078127823872212021-02-25T07:36:12.052-08:002021-02-25T07:36:12.052-08:00I think so. The initial 'we' repitition co...I think so. The initial 'we' repitition complicates the poem for me. But rising to a 'fair repose' immediately suggested heavenly rest to me. Next, the 'transport' of the poem's subject coupled with the 'agony' of the speaker speaks to the moment of death. <br /><br />I'd be interested in hearing your explication of a bird being the subject, however. I am no stranger to having to completely revise my thoughts about a Dickinson poem!Susan Kornfeldhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05384011972647144453noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-71060124166391890362021-02-25T07:13:12.879-08:002021-02-25T07:13:12.879-08:00I've seen other interpretations of this poem w...I've seen other interpretations of this poem which view it as the first comment, as a literal wonder of birds,but you see it more as an analogy of human death. If the poem did not have the "linnet flew!" reference would you still see it that way? <br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00725261030659667439noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-10245516114173003822020-10-26T19:46:51.033-07:002020-10-26T19:46:51.033-07:00If I recall correctly, there is an early letter wh...If I recall correctly, there is an early letter where a close friend of the young Dickinson was dying. Dickinson desperately wanted to be with her -- and eventually she was allowed. Without doing some other reading, I can't tell you if there are other letters that describe deathside sitting (although I think she mentions her mother).<br /><br />The general idea of death watches comes from general reading. Susan Kornfeldhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05384011972647144453noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-87793729341072491312020-10-26T19:21:44.556-07:002020-10-26T19:21:44.556-07:00Did you get the backstory of sitting at the bedsid...Did you get the backstory of sitting at the bedside of the dying from her letters? To what degree are her letters helpful in fully embracing her poetry in your understanding?Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10463792156616581037noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4029797379711350813.post-78912739242061684112017-12-24T04:07:08.163-08:002017-12-24T04:07:08.163-08:00I so enjoy and appreciate your commentary. I was r...I so enjoy and appreciate your commentary. I was reading this too literally. Thanks!Unknownhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14339957833418131602noreply@blogger.com