When Night is almost done –

When Night is almost done – 

And Sunrise grows so near 

That We can touch the Spaces – 

It’s time to smooth the Hair – 

And get the Dimples ready – 

And wonder We could care 

For that Old – faded Midnight – 

That frightened – but an Hour – 

                                     FR 679 (1863) J347 

 

This is a delightful poem no matter how many times and in how many ways you read it. The meter and diction are simple and common. This is not a flashy, hair-on-the-neck-rising Dickinson poem, but one presenting a disarming metaphor of Night and Sunrise. It’s imagery is feminine and fresh. Probably all the great poets devote lines to the welcome transformation of Night into Day at Sunrise, but have any of them ever advised the reader to prepare for the event by primping? 

There are several ways one might read the poem and its symbolism. 

 In the first and simplest, the poem is a rather literal sketch of morning ritual. During the dark of night we sleep and dream and sometimes those dreams are frightening or disturbing. When the sun comes up, the dreams and fears fade and it’s time to do the hair, warm up the smile, and wind up that positive attitude. We gain daylight confidence as the world becomes tangible. We can now see what is around us, recognize things and the space between things. We can reach and grasp, unlike in the dark where we grope and fumble. 

A second reading speaks to the human condition and mythos. Two realms, light and dark, comprise our lives. Every day involves a journey towards night with its dark dreamings. Each night brings us back to where Sunrise illuminates the world. Light is consciousness – we recognize and can ‘touch the Spaces’, whereas night’s darkness is the realm of the subconscious. We cannot touch anything in its dark mysteries. This cycle between dark and light continues throughout our lives. Its rhythms and imagery pervade our myths and stories. The Underworld is sketched as dark while Heaven is filled with light. No wonder we fix our hair and make a smile: these small gestures are transitional acts of faith that light follows dark as surely as spring follows winter. 

A third reading is a teaching metaphor on how to face death. We fear the dimming of the light of life and we particularly fear our final Midnight. But Dickinson reminds us that Sunrise comes, that we had nothing to be afraid of, that night/death is but a doorway into Sunrise – life beyond death. We experience a different existence, one palpable and real; even Space is real. As this transitional moment approaches, it’s time to fix ourselves up and be ready. 

I like this third reading and note that Dickinson does not have us praying or repenting or calling out to God. Instead, she keeps the light touch. We ready ourselves to meet our Maker by patting the hair and going full-dimple smile. 

Dickinson could have written this in iambic pentameter rather than iambic trimeter for a more stately effect. But the hair and dimple instructions are just too playful and the short lines underscore that. They also create a clever irony in the gravity of the topic (if readings two or three are taken) and its poetic treatment.

Not probable — The barest Chance —

Not probable — The barest Chance —
A smile too few — a word too much
And far from Heaven as the Rest —
The Soul so close on Paradise —

What if the Bird from journey far —
Confused by Sweets — as Mortals — are —
Forget the secret of His wing
And perish — but a Bough between —
Oh, Groping feet —
Oh Phantom Queen!
                                                    Fr678 (1863) J346

The poem begins as if expostulated or even hissed through clenched teeth: ‘Not probable’. That opening trochee (poetic foot of two stressed syllables) signals the speaker’s emotion. She feels shut out by her loved one for the thinnest of reasons. It is a poem of frustration and provides no hope that love will triumph in the end. 

What is improbable to the speaker is being cast back with the rest of the infatuates simply because of a missed smile or an extra word. The speaker downplays these small missteps, fairly or not. She had been ahead of the ‘Rest’, closer to ‘Heaven’ and now she is not. I find ‘Heaven’ coupled with the phrase ‘The Soul so close on Paradise’ almost predatory as if the speaker were circling the object of her desire, closer and closer until, right on the heel, she is rebuffed. Her response is not contrition, self examination, or renewed fervor, but a blaming of the beloved. 

To be fair, I can also, even more easily, read the first stanza as reminiscent of Dickinson’s poems about bees and the nectar they seek. In “Come slowly – Eden!” Dickinson’s circling Bee is ‘Bashful’, ‘fainting’ – and finally rewarded by entrance into the flower’s ‘chamber’ to be ‘lost in balms’ (F205). In “The Flower must not blame the Bee –” the bee is annoying, rather than bashful, seeking ‘his felicity / Too often at her door” (F235). It is is politely sent away – no balms for it! But then again, no other bees are to be admitted either. In a third bee/flower poem (F133), the speaker wonders whether the ‘lover Bee’ would really care so much for the Harebell flower once she yielded ‘her moat of pearl’. 

The lover in this poem is most like the annoying bee, I think; the beloved is likely beset with suitors. 

The second stanza is an abrupt change. While in the first stanza the speaker is seething to herself, the second stanza is a gentle analogy given directly to the beloved. It reminds me of Puck’s lines and role in A Midsummer’s Night Dream right646176000with the AA/BB/CC rhymes, the misleading romantic confusions, and the beloved not loving the right person. 

In this stanza the lover likens her situation to that of a bird that having flown from great distance finally arrives at the tree that bears its sought-after fruit. But so much sweetness confuses and overwhelms the bird who perishes when only a branch away from fulfillment. Like the poor bird, the lover, when in near proximity to her beloved, speaks and acts in some confusion – hence the missing smile and extra word, and thus the Sweets become unobtainable. 

The poem, having erupted in frustration and softened into analogy, ends with a gentle sigh. “Oh, Groping feet” evokes the poor bird, feeling its way from branch to branch, having forgotten how to fly. “Oh Phantom Queen” is sad resignation – and recognition of the Beloved’s elusiveness. David Preest draws attention to a letter (L177) Dickinson wrote to Sue, her sister-in-law, and likely beloved: “If it is finished, tell me, and I will raise the lid to my box of Phantoms, and lay one more love in.”

 I wonder which other Phantoms are in that box.  

Scene from A Midsummer's Night Dream,
Encyl. Britannica

Funny – to be a Century –

 Funny — to be a Century —
And see the People — going by —
I — should die of the Oddity —
But then — I'm not so staid — as He —

He keeps His Secrets safely — very —
Were He to tell — extremely sorry
This Bashful Globe of Ours would be —
So dainty of Publicity —

      Fr677 (1863)  J345

Dickinson has a bit of fun imagining what it would be like to be time itself, a hundred years’ worth, to be precise. She imagines how you’d see everyone and know everything they did. I think that when she says she’d ‘die of the Oddity’ she means die of laughter. Fortunately, Father Time is more ‘staid’ – he’s probably seen it all before. Plus, he has great propriety. He never tells – our secrets are safe with him. And that is a good thing; otherwise, we’d be very sorry.

The poet casts Time as male and the world as female: she is ‘Bashful’ and ‘dainty’. She would be mortified by any publicity. I wonder if Dickinson considered the reverse proposition but concluded that a Mother Time would be quite chatty – a real gossip! – and the masculine Globe would be far less averse about being in the news After all, any news is good news – the thing is to be in the news. Or at least that strategy seems to be adopted by some big-name US politicians … .

It’s really rather delicious to think about Dickinson claiming that the Bashful Globe would be dainty of Publicity. Is she being ironic? Is it a comment on Victorian repression? Or on how much we each want to hide?

This little poem is in itself an oddity in Dickinson’s oevre in that each of the lines rhyme. I don’t recall any other of her poems (at least so far) doing this. I welcome better info in the comments.  Plus, in the first stanza she alternates trochees (Fun-ny; I – should) and iambs (And see; But then) to begin the lines. 

The first two lines of the second stanza both end with feminine, trailing rhymes: very and sorry. To me there’s something just droll looking and sounding about the first line: He keeps His Secrets safely – very –“.  It might be the repeated ‘s’ sounds plus the two last words ending in ‘y’ – plus the way ‘very’ is emphasized by that along with being set off by dashes. 

It’s a cute poem and I imagine Dickinson had some fun imagining having Time’s omnipresence. But then again, that’s a gift our great writers have.

You know that Portrait in the Moon —

You know that Portrait in the Moon —

So tell me who 'tis like —

The very Brow — the stooping eyes —

A fog for — Say — Whose Sake?

The very Pattern of the Cheek —

It varies — in the Chin —

But — Ishmael — since we met — 'tis long —

And fashions — intervene —

When Moon's at full — 'Tis Thou — I say —

My lips just hold the name —

When crescent — Thou art worn — I note —

But — there — the Golden Same —

And when — Some Night — Bold — slashing Clouds

Cut Thee away from Me —

That's easier — than the other film

That glazes Holiday —

                                                                               Fr676 (1863) J504

I like the casualness Dickinson affects in this poem. It begins as if in mid conversation between two friends and continues in a wistful, teasing tone until the twisty Dickinsonian ending that isn’t playful at all. The poem doesn’t provide much detail about the personal relationship involved, but from the moon gazer’s perspective, the absent person is dearly missed.

Judith Farr makes a good case (The Passion of Emily Dickinson) for Ishmael being Samuel Bowles who was, if not Dickinson’s Beloved, at least one her most treasured friends. The poem’s playful tone would be appropriate, and Bowles happened to be out and about in the world during the time this poem was probably written.

The poem begins with a teasing question about who the Man in the Moon looks like. The answer is meant to be ‘You’ – the person addressed in the poem. Both would have, then, a notable brow under which the eyes are stooping. Pictures of Bowles capture this very feature (images of the moon? Not so much). The eyes appear fogged -- misted over, perhaps for someone greatly missed – but who could she be? The question is asked quite coquettishly.

        In the second stanza the speaker continues musing on the likeness. As if tracing features with her finger she notes that while the Moon Man’s Cheek is just the same as that of the traveller, the Chin seems different. But that’s a factor of time: It’s been so long since she’s seen her ‘Ishmael’, that he’s no doubt changed the style of his beard.

       Addressing the traveller as ‘Ishmael’ evokes one – or both – of two different men. The first can be found in Genesis 16 where when Sarah, wife of the great patriarch Abraham, cannot have children, she arranges for her Egyptian slave Hagar to bear him a child in her stead. But when Hagar does get pregnant, Sarah cannot cope and drives her away. An angel, however, tells Hagar to return. You will have a son, she tells her, father of nations, and “You shall name him Ishmael.” Today he is honored as patriarch and prophet of the Meccan and Arabian people.

       The second Ishmael is found in the famous first echoing line of Herman Melville’s great classic Moby Dick (1851): “Call me Ishmael.” Both Ishmaels were travelers, the biblical Ishmael wandering the wilderness and deserts of the Sinai and surrounding areas. Melville’s Ishmael is likewise a wanderer but he takes to the sea: “Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul … then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.” He is not only an inveterate traveler but an observer and a writer – a fitting reference for Bowles who chronicled his extensive travels.

By calling her missing dear one ‘Ishmael’, the speaker is not only alluding to how long the traveller has been gone, but that something drives him beyond the attractions of tourism. It strikes me as fond rather than critical. She is sharing that she misses him but that at least to some degree she understands his wanderings.

The third stanza introduces a slightly different, more wistful tone. During a full moon the speaker sees the full image of the traveler’s face, while she interprets the crescent moon as representing a worn down Ishmael. Despite this fragment of the man she still finds him the ‘Golden Same.”

The last stanza turns serious. It is painful when clouds obscure her view of the moon – the Clouds are ‘slashing’ – they ‘Cut’ Ishmael away from her. Still, knowing he is behind the clouds is easier to bear than it would be if his eyes were filmed, not with misty sentiment, but with ‘the other film’ – that of death. Her use of ‘Holiday’ here reminds me of poem Fr341, which refers to the rampages of Fright and Terror as a ‘Gay, Ghastly, Holiday!’

I like this simple and affecting poem. It maintains a light touch until the last two lines and those remind us that travel is never quite safe. There is always that ‘undiscovered country from whose bourn / No traveler returns.” There are always those who wait and worry.

The poem trips along in common meter: quatrains of iambic tetrameter lines alternating with iambic trimeter and a rhyme scheme of ABAB (think of ‘Amazing Grace’ or ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas’ or ‘Auld Lang syne’). Trips along, that is until the first line of the last quatrain. While it can be read as iambic, to do so would be to do the line – and the poem – a disservice. I read, and the dashes support, three adjacent accented syllables: Night, Bold, slash. It is a startling violence, but then it is action performed merely by Clouds.

There you have it: artist-clarified man-in-the-moon and Samuel Bowles in 1862, about the time of this poem. What do you think?

What Soft – Cherubic Creatures –

What Soft – Cherubic Creatures –
These Gentlewomen are —
One would as soon assault a Plush –
Or violate a Star —

Such Dimity Convictions –
A Horror so refined
Of freckled Human Nature –
Of Deity – ashamed –

It's such a common – Glory –
A Fisherman's – Degree –
Redemption – Brittle Lady –
Be so – ashamed of Thee –

                                                            Fr675 (1863)  J401

Gentlewomen take a hit in this oft-quoted poem. But, um, Dickinson herself would be considered among the gentlewomen of Amherst. But I think the poet’s aim is directed at a certain kind of overly fastidious gentlewoman. She presents herself as ‘Soft’, Cherubic’, and pure as a star, someone to be protected and indulged. Yet beneath and perhaps explaining her carefully maintained façade of gentile respectability lies her ‘Horror’ of ‘freckled Human Nature’ and her repugnance toward any lower socioeconomic class.    

This explains her being ‘ashamed’ of Deity, of Jesus who was born in a manger and, along with his ragtag fishermen disciples, performed his ministry among the poor, the diseased, and the sinners. His gruesome execution was a blood sacrifice for human redemption. Yet, to snobbish ladies, Dickinson claims, this is but a ‘common’ Glory, something regrettably low-class. 

Dickinson takes another jab by calling the Christian beliefs of these gentlewomen ‘Dimity Convictions’.Dimity is a soft, light-weight cotton fabric popular for summer dresses. Floral and other designs are typically printed upon the surface of the cloth – not woven into it. Likewise, the religious convictions of the Gentlewomen are superficial. Beneath a veneer of Christian love and mercy, is the base weave of superiority. The ‘Glory’ of Redemption is ‘common’, is only Fisherman class.

In the last stanza we have the infantilized and selfish creatures addressed as a singular ‘Brittle Lady.’ Propped up by corsets and status during life, she cannot stand alone when her time comes for judgment. Dickinson takes a righteous tone, almost calling for her doom: Just as you were ashamed of the Fisherman, so may he be ashamed of you. 

Poetically, Dickinson underscores the ultimate weakness of these ladies by using quite a few of what are called feminine or falling endings – that is to say, a line of poetry, typically iambic, that ends in an unaccented syllable. In this poem, Dickinson ends five of the twelve lines in this way: Creatures, Convictions, Nature, Glory, Lady.

Dimity fabric with flowers printed

New Blogger format problem

Well, readers, Google has switched its Blogger over to a new format. I can't find anything about it that is improved, but that might be codgerism. Most all the changes are on the back end and not visible to readers. 

However, there is one thing and that is sad for me and the blog: I cannot place the pictures so that the text wraps around them. I love placing the pictures amid the text. Nonetheless, until something changes or I learn the trick (hoping there is a trick), I'll just put the pictures at the end. 

If any of you know a work-around (hack?) or a bonafide procedure, please let me know!

Thank you for your patience and any help -

Susan

 

I could not prove the Years had feet –

I could not prove the Years had feet – 

Yet confident they run
Am I, from symptoms that are past
And Series that are done –

I find my feet have further Goals –
I smile opon the Aims
That felt so ample – Yesterday –
Today's – have vaster claims –

I do not doubt the self I was
Was competent to me –
But something awkward in the fit –
Proves that – outgrown – I see –
                                   Fr674 (1863)  J563

This reflection on time and personal growth is written in hymn form. You could sing it to the tune of 'Amazing Grace' (or 'The Yellow Rose of Texas', for that matter). The end rhymes are regular and unremarkable. In fact the 'me' and 'I see' rhymes in the last stanza feel a bit forced. The sentiment is unremarkable. Nevertheless, I like this poem. It is comfortable 

and warm, delivering a truth in an easy, contemplative tone. It lacks the twists and startlements that Dickinson is known and loved for, and the conceit of the years running by on feet is somewhat problematic, but I still like the poem.

The problem with the feet is that in the first stanza it is the Years that have the feet, and in the second stanza the feet belong to the speaker. But I shan't quibble. I like that it is the feet that have ambitious goals. And perhaps she is comparing the Years' feet to her own: the former marches on leaving symptoms and Series (events and chains of events) in its wake, knowable things that can be identified and discussed in past, present, and future vantages. Her own feet, however, look strictly to the future, heading out with Goals more vast than those that came before.

The poem ends with an inward turn: Yesterday's self was worthy and sufficient in its time, but it no longer fits. There's something 'awkward' about it, and although the speaker could not prove that the Years had feet, she finds that awkwardness proof that she has outgrown the former self with the simpler Goals.

A Tongue – to tell Him I am true!

 A Tongue – to tell Him I am true!
Its fee – to be of Gold –
Had Nature – in Her monstrous House
A single Ragged Child –

To earn a Mine – would run
That Interdicted Way,
And tell Him – Charge thee speak it plain –
That so far – Truth is True?

And answer What I do –
Beginning with the Day
That Night – begun –
Nay – Midnight – 'twas –
Since Midnight – happened – say –

If once more – Pardon – Boy –
The Magnitude thou may
Enlarge my Message – If too vast
Another Lad – help thee –

Thy Pay – in Diamonds – be –
And His – in solid Gold –
Say Rubies – if He hesitate –
My Message – must be told –

Say – last I said – was This –
That when the Hills – come down –
And hold no higher than the Plain –
My Bond – have just begun –

And when the Heavens – disband –
And Deity conclude –
Then – look for me. Be sure you say –
Least Figure – on the Road –

                         Fr 673 (1863)  J400

This love poem tumbles out in a rush, mirroring the speaker's urgency in sending a message to her beloved. The first line reminds me of a town crier in the market square calling for a trusty boy for an important mission. It also reminds me of the hyperbole of Shakespeare's desperate King Richard III who famously shouted, "A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!" The kingdom-for-horse trade is something like the goldmine-for message. The breathless speaker is willing to  squander not only gold, but diamonds and rubies to let her lover know that she will be faithful forever.

She seemingly cannot tell him herself, for the road to him is an 'Interdicted Way': strictly forbidden. Perhaps this is a secret affair and the speaker and lover cannot be seen together. And then there is the timing. Something happened, or at least began, at Midnight. And now, seemingly quite soon after, perhaps even the same day, the speaker is swearing eternal love –not delivered personally nor by a letter, but told by a private messenger.  

Dickinson might have had
Oliver Twist in mind

        The midnight mystery reminds me of  "A Wife – at daybreak – I shall be –"  where the speaker says, "At Midnight – I am but a Maid – / How short it takes to make a Bride" (Fr185). The rest of that poem hints at Death as the bridegroom, or perhaps Jesus come to escort the Soul, but although the sense of wonder and anticipation is similar, I read nothing in the current poem of seductive Death, or some joyful union with a Deity. In fact, part of the speaker's pledge to the beloved is that she will still be waiting for him after heaven disbands and the Deity is ended. Wow.

        The poem begins in excitement and then builds steam. She pauses for a moment in the fourth stanza in an aside to the anticipated Boy. She thinks of and asks Pardon for the Magnitude of what she is trying to say. She thinks it might be too much for one person, so lets him know he can get another Lad to help out. Now the first Boy gets diamonds and his helper 'solid gold' (but 'Rubies – if He hesitate').

And what is the message? In the second stanza she charges the messenger to 'speak it plain', but it seems anything but plain: 'so far – Truth is True?' The question mark probably results from the sentence construction beginning with 'Had Nature'. At any rate, the speaker is true and, at least so far, Truth is True. It's rather gnomic. 

        Next, in answer to a supposed question about what the speaker has been doing since that fateful midnight, the Ragged Child messenger is to begin with what she has done since 'That Night – begun', specifically at Midnight. 

But after all that about being true and Truth, and the supporting detail, the speaker instructs the messenger(s) to give her pledge of faithfulness. It is quite beautiful: when over geologic time the hills have eroded to plains, her commitment will just be beginning. When cosmic time itself runs out, if he looks for her he will see her, the 'Least Figure – on the Road.'  This last bit is in keeping with Dickinson's fondness for portraying herself as little, in poems and in letters (e.g., her self description to her Preceptor Thomas Higginson, "I am small, like the wren").

The poem is written in common hymn meter, using the short meter variant: instead of alternating iambic trimeter and iambic tetrameter, only the third line of each stanza is in tetrameter. Think of the hymn, 'Blessed be the tie that binds'. The third stanza breaks up the tetrameter line into two lines I think for dramatic purposes: 'Nay – Midnight – 'twas –' gets its own line and, indeed, it is a  dramatic line. You can picture the speaker stopping, thinking, and then giving the declaration.
The first stanza is an exception in that it is not in the short meter variant. The first line,  "A Tongue – to tell Him I am true!", needs all those syllables to kick the poem off – and it gets some extra energy from the 't' alliterations: Tongue, to tell, true. All those 't's and one syllable words – plus the exclamation point – just shout, 'Big News'!

The tone and subject remind me very much of 'Going to Him! Happy Letter!' written in 1862. It's also a 'Tell Him' message, but without the Ragged Boy. 

Take your Heaven further on —

Take your Heaven further on —
This — to Heaven divine Has gone —
Had You earlier blundered in
Possibly, e'en You had seen
An Eternity — put on —
Now — to ring a Door beyond
Is the utmost of Your Hand —
To the Skies — apologize —
Nearer to Your Courtesies
Than this Sufferer polite —
Dressed to meet You —
See — in White!

Fr672 (1863)  J388

Judith Farr (The Passion of Emily Dickinson, p.34-35) glosses that "the speaker regards herself as a sufferer who has put on Eternity and whose 'white' signifies renunciation and retirement from society." Along comes a caller looking for love's heaven and the speaker, 'like some modern Beatrice', informs him that he is too late; she is already there and unavailable for his 'profane purpose'.
Dickinson scholar David Preest takes this interpretation a bit farther and more specifically, suggesting that the poem is directed to Samuel Bowles. When the speaker scornfully tells him to 'ring a door beyond', she means him to go next door to the Evergreens where Austin and Sue Dickinson lived. Samuel Bowles was the distinguished owner/editor of the Springfield Republican and a lifelong friend of Austin (Emily's brother) and his wife, Sue (who shared a lifelong up-and-down often passionate friendship with Emily). Bowles was one of Dickinson's most significant friends; he is thought by many to have been a love interest despite his marriage.
Preest links this poem, as does Farr, to an 1863 letter from Bowles to Austin where Bowles snarks, "To the Queen Recluse my especial sympathy – that she has 'overcome the world' (a reference to I John 5:4-5). With such a comment in mind, it is satisfying to imagine Emily thumping out this poem to him.

Yet, plausible as these readings are, I see a corpse rather than a renunciate in the poem. I picture some poor fool blundering in too late at a death watch for a woman who clearly expected him to be present when she put on Eternity.
Having missed the critical moment, however, there is nothing left for him but to beat at the doors of heaven, the 'utmost' his tardy, mortal hand can reach. While he's at it, he should apologize to the Skies since they are closer to him and his 'Courtesies' than the dear departed.

The first line sets the scornful tone. The speaker dismissively tells the subject to move along, take his heaven later: the one he hoped for has died. That 'Take' is significant. The subject is not one to search or spend countless hours in prayer and supplication. He's a taker. Having missed this chance for heaven, he will have to grasp at another. Dickinson pointedly distinguishes between his heaven, a sort of prize, and that of the 'Sufferer polite' who has gone to 'Heaven divine'.
Her scorn deepens. Even with a timely arrival, he would have 'blundered in' like some boorish and uncouth swain. The following 'Possibly, e'en You had seen' the Sufferer don the heavenly mantle of Eternity implies the subject lacks the spiritual discernment expected at such a moment. Her comments about ringing 'a Door beyond' and apologizing to the skies are mocking.

To Farr and Preest the last lines suggest the speaker to be Dickinson herself – the poet, the Sufferer polite, dressed to meet him. The 'White!' emphasizes she is meeting him in purity and renunciation. He is too late for the more of-this-world Emily or even the Emily in transition. And now he should gather up his uncouth yearnings and leave.

I read the ending as the conclusion of the speaker's chastisement of the tardy boor. The dead woman had been waiting for him, maybe for weeks or even months. But now he shows up and the speaker tells him, "See, she's dressed to meet you. In White." That's an accusation. At best he failed to honor the solemnity of the death bed by taking his place amid the witness and company of friends and family. At worst, he himself contributed to the Sufferer's pain, perhaps even her death.

Fading Away, Henry Peach Robinson, 1858

Although Dickinson was adopting white dress by the time of this poem, that in itself doesn't make a strong case that she is the Sufferer. White was a common if not traditional color for deathbed and burial gowns.


Dickinson uses trochaic tetrameter meter throughout the poem giving it an emphatic almost theatrical quality. The unstressed syllable at the end of the lines is dropped, emphasizing the end rhymes. This is particularly noticeable in the first two lines with 'on' and 'gone'. You can almost see the speaker standing over the dead woman's bed, gesturing. The last line has been divided for emphasis – and again I see the theatrics. It's a big reveal – and a major guilt trip.

The sweetest Heresy received

 The sweetest Heresy received

That Man and Woman know –
Each Other's Convert –
Though the Faith accommodate but Two –

The Churches are so frequent –
The Ritual – so small –
The Grace so unavoidable –
To fail – is Infidel –

                                                            Fr671 (1863)  J387

I've read a few takes on this poem and really there are but two. The first is that Dickinson is playfully portraying a good marriage. Two people convert to each other and are so in love that nothing seems left for Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Heresy, maybe, but sweet.

        Their services and rituals together are so simple and easy that Grace between them in unavoidable. It would be a real act of denial to fail in the simple gestures of marriage. With 'Infidel', Dickinson cleverly implies that failing in such accommodations is not only another bit of heresy but one akin to infidelity.

Probably an illustration form an Austen book

Ah, but reading number two is much more fun. We're talking about marital bliss. The poem becomes clever rather than anodyne. The frequent 'Churches' suggest an alternative form of worship; the 'Ritual' is 'small' – nothing difficult or disagreeable here. Best of all, the resulting 'Grace' is 'unavoidable'. Marital bliss indeed. Only an 'infidel', a denier, would fail to achieve this Grace when the churches are so frequent and the ritual so small.

The poem is generally unremarkable. There is an odd line break in the first stanza: the third line is truncated, meter-wise, in favor of giving the last line a couple of extra feet. It makes poetic sense, however, delivering a sort of punch line.

I have to admit to enjoying "The Churches are so frequent" – as a bit of delicious naughtiness. And I like the way "To fail– is Infidel –" sounds.

One Crucifixion is recorded – only –

One Crucifixion is recorded – only –
How many be
Is not affirmed of Mathematics –
Or History –

One Calvary – exhibited to Stranger –
As many be
As persons – or Peninsulas –
Gethsemane –

Is but a Province – in the Being's Centre – 
Judea –
For Journey – or Crusade's Achieving –
Too near –

Our Lord – indeed – made Compound Witness –      
And yet —
There's newer — nearer Crucifixion
Than That —

                                                            Fr 670 (1863)  J553

The emotionally gripping New Testament accounts of Jesus' hours of anguished prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane, his interrogation and torture, and finally his crucifixion on Mount Calvary are foundational to Christianity which holds that it was his sacrifice that enables Christian salvation. In this poem Dickinson universalizes that suffering as central to the human condition.  

It's a bold claim – she isn't limning the banality of 'everyone suffers' but that of feeling forsaken by God, being betrayed by a friend, and experiencing excruciating pain. While her legalistic language distances and creates irony, Dickinson plants "Gethsemane" firmly and visibly in the center and heart of the poem, plunging the reader into that garden where Jesus is described as agonizing in prayer and where his disciple Judas betrayed him for a small purse of silver coins. The New Testament story is worth including here: (Matthew 26: 36-50; NRSV; biblegateway.com):

Jesus Prays in Gethsemane

³⁶ Then Jesus went with [three of his disciples] to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” ³⁷ He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be grieved and agitated. ³⁸ Then he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” ³⁹ And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.” ⁴⁰ Then he came to the disciples and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, “So, could you not stay awake with me one hour? ⁴¹ Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial;^[e] the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” ⁴² Again he went away for the second time and prayed, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.” ⁴³ Again he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were heavy. ⁴⁴ So leaving them again, he went away and prayed for the third time, saying the same words. ⁴⁵ Then he came to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? See, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. ⁴⁶ Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”

The Betrayal and Arrest of Jesus

⁴⁷ While he was still speaking, Judas, one of the twelve [disciples], arrived; with him was a large crowd with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and the elders of the people. ⁴⁸ Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, “The one I will kiss is the man; arrest him.” ⁴⁹ At once he came up to Jesus and said, “Greetings, Rabbi!” and kissed him. ⁵⁰ Jesus said to him, “Friend, do what you are here to do.” Then they came and laid hands on Jesus and arrested him.

Let's go back to Dickinson's poem where she begins by setting a legalistic tone. Only 'One Crucifixion is recorded', she claims, then notes that there might be more that are 'not affirmed' by historians' reckonings. Likewise, there is only 'One Calvary' (the site outside the walls of Jerusalem where the crucifixion took place) that is 'exhibited' to Strangers such as tourists or pilgrims although there may be as many such sites as there are 'persons' or, oddly, 'Peninsulas'.

I find the line 'As persons – or Peninsulas –" pleasing with its alliteration, iambic tetrameter, and oddness. It certainly stands out from the dryer legal-ish language. But what does it mean? Perhaps Dickinson is establishing a range. Every person might have their Calvary – or maybe only as many as there are peninsulas (which could be hundreds of thousands if the smallest are counted, or only dozens if only the largest).

            Following 'Peninsulas', the second stanza ends a one-word line: 'Gethsemane' (like 'Peninsulas', a word with two iambic feet). 'Gethsemane' continues the aurally pleasing rhythm and graceful sound, but its dark evocations take us viscerally back to that one garden and that one night. The deep irony in the poem springs from Dickinson's use of legal diction in reference to what has become known as the Passion of Christ ('passion' here refers back to its Latin origen of 'suffering').

            Readers then cross one of the most significant white-space gulfs in Dickinson's oevre. 'Gethsemane' isn't merely finishing off stanza two as a restatement of 'Calvary', but is also, indeed primarily, the subject of the sentence that begins the third stanza. It is that white space between stanzas, 'Gethsemane' perched on its edge, that induces a hesitation. The lovely syllables roll out, enhanced by the preceding 'Peninsulas', conjuring the Passion as it hangs for a moment in our thoughts and imaginings and memories. But as we continue on into the third stanza, we find that Gethsamane is 'but a Province – in the Being's Centre –'.

Here is a rather breathtaking thought: supplication to a Deity is central to our being, as the realization that we may be betrayed by those closest to us. In our personal Gethsemanes we are naked of power except for the power of acceptance, to be able to say, "Your will be done." But that isn't the whole of our Being's Centre. Dickinson specifies that Gethsemane is 'but a Province'. It is not the entirety of the Centre. Further, Judea (the province in the Holy Land where events transpired) is not even worth a pilgrimage let alone a Crusade. It lies within. It is 'Too near'. A 'newer – nearer Crucifixion / Than That –  ' can be found.

While the sacrifice and suffering of the human Jesus is central to Christianity, Dickinson argues that crucifixions abound, that existential anguish is central to the human experience. We do not need to project everything onto Jesus or to visit the sites of his sufferings. While Jesus, 'Our Lord', gave abundant 'Witness' to the truths contained in suffering and transcending suffering, we may discover them for ourselves by looking within.

I'm very moved by this poem. It lingers in me. I am not confident that I have given the 'right' interpretation of this poem. In fact, I surely have not. But what I have written is how the poem opens for me at this time. I welcome reader comments (as always) and discussion.

An ignorance a Sunset

An ignorance a Sunset
Confer upon the Eye –
Of Territory – Color –
Circumference – Decay

Its Amber Revelation
Exhilarate – Debase –
Omnipotence’ inspection
Of Our inferior face –

And when the solemn features
Confirm – in Victory –
We start – as if detected
In Immortality –
Fr669 (1863)  J552


In many poems Dickinson describes sunset colors and clouds in dazzling precision; in others she creates evocative and sometimes playful metaphors out of sunset scenes. They inspire her almost rapturous delight as well as her musings. This poem's sunset is different, however, for in addition to the dimming of the landscape, its shapes and colors, it also reveals, inspects, and confirms. It's clearly not an ordinary setting of the sun.

The first stanza starts out with everyday sense: our eyes have more trouble making things out at sundown. But then Dickinson ends the stanza with '—Decay'. It's an unexpected and jarring word – and also ambiguous. Why and how Decay? What decays? 
        One way of reading this first stanza is that while Territory and Color become difficult to make out, Circumference decays. 'Circumference' is a key word in many Dickinson poems and Dickinson uses it to mean various things, from the globe of the planet to "the all-encompassing circle of existence" (ED Lexicon). In this poem, I think it takes the latter meaning but in a personal sense and with it Dickinson pivots from sunset to thoughts of death.

photo by AnnaWaraksa (pixabay.com)

        In the second stanza we find the sun standing for God's ("Omnipotence') face inspecting us as we submit, as we must, to our approaching death. What the inspection yields is an 'Amber Revelation'. Both words of the term resonate: 'Amber' as both the twilight color of the sun as well as the fossilized tree resin in which small insects might be trapped and preserved. 'Revelation' serves both as an unveiling, a discovery – and also as a reminder of the Christian Biblical book of Revelations that depicts Judgment Day.
        And it is in fact the day of our judgment. The Amber Revelation is not so much that we find we are dying, our circumference beginning its decay, but what is revealed when Omnipotence – God – inspects us. What the sun's mighty and divine face finds will either Exhilarate or Debase us. 
        Dickinson ends the poem on the Exhilaration side. When the divine Sun, far from conferring ignorance, confirms salvation, we are not only exhilarated but startled to discover our immortality.

That 'as if detected' adds a bit of ambiguity to the poem. It casts us back to the beginning again. Has the poet been caught in a reverie? As she watches the sun set does she imagine it is watching her, too? With divine intent? I imagine her shiver with a start – that she has had a brush, an encounter, with the Divine.

There is a Shame of Nobleness –

There is a Shame of Nobleness –
Confronting Sudden Pelf –
A finer Shame of Exstasy –
Convicted of Itself –

A best Disgrace – a Brave Man feels –
Acknowledged – of the Brave —
One More – "Ye Blessed" – to be told –
But that's – Behind the Grave –

                                                            Fr668 (1863)  J551

In this nice and clever poem, Dickinson ironically depicts a progression of Shames – and 'shame' here is a feeling of embarrassment, shyness, or modesty (per ED Lexicon)

First up is the "Shame of Nobleness – / Confronting Sudden Pelf." An old-fashioned word, 'pelf' represents wealth and riches, or even praise and recognition (ED Lexicon again), with the understanding that they are ill-gotten or undeserved. The shame a noble nature would feel upon reception of riches and praise would be a modest conviction that such blessings are undeserved.

            Next is the "Shame of Exstasy – / Convicted of itself." This would be the 'finer' perhaps more intense embarrassment or shyness experienced after transcendent or transporting experiences. I picture a poet, mystic, or music lover lost in some higher realm and then shaking their heads when returning to the quotidian self as if wondering how such ecstasy could be afforded such a one as themselves.

Civil War Medal of Honor recipient
William Harvey Carney

            In a nod, perhaps, to the soldiers battling the Confederacy during the Civil War, Dickinson labels as 'best' the 'Disgrace' (Shame) that a Brave Man might feel being acknowledged as such by others he considers brave. While some might feel pride and a swelling ego at receiving something like the Medal of Honor, Dickinson implies that modesty is far more to be admired. The contrast between courage and bravery on the battlefield or elsewhere and shy modesty is profound and that might be why it is the best of the shames.

There is one final opportunity for admirable Shame or Disgrace but that comes only after death. The "Ye Blessed" is Dickinson's shorthand for a passage from the New Testament's Matthew 25: 34-36, where in end times, those who tended the poor and lowly are separated from those who did not and invited to the kingdom of heaven:

"³⁴ Then shall the King [Jesus] say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: ³⁵ For I was hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: ³⁶ Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me."

Dickinson's reference to this passage culminates the poem's celebration of modesty. It is not, typically, those puffed up by wealth and fame, those who flaunt their spiritual or artistic transports, or those who swagger and boast of their exploits who take in strangers and visit prisoners. Neither do they find themselves, ultimately, on the right hand side of the Judgment throne.

Dickinson writes here in straightforward hymn or ballad form with the second and fourth lines ending in perfect rhymes. This is rather exceptional for Dickinson, but this is a short poem and expresses rather straightforward and accepted opinions.

Answer July —

Answer July —
Where is the Bee —
Where is the Blush —
Where is the Hay?

Ah, said July —
Where is the Seed —
Where is the Bud —
Where is the May —
Answer Thee — Me —

Nay — said the May —
Show me the Snow —
Show me the Bells —
Show me the Jay!

Quibbled the Jay —
Where be the Maize —
Where be the Haze —
Where be the Bur?
Here — said the Year —
                                                              Fr667 (1863)  J386


In this playful wisdom poem Dickinson puts on her Gardener's gloves and her Philosopher's hat. Blending a Buddhist-like Cause and Conditions theme with her preferred vantage of Circumference, Dickinson depicts a year from the vantage of field and garden. Each season depends on conditions in the previous and all are encompassed in the circuit of a Year.

What gives this poem a fresh and sprightly virility are its meter and repetitions. The dimeter lines comprise a trochee and an iamb but the effect is dactylic with a stressed word at the end. Add strings of imperatives to this strongly rhythmic structure and the poem practically hurtles to its end when the gentle and parental Year shushes the quibblers with reassurance.

The poem unfolds as a small, interrogative drama. Autumn begins by demanding that July (standing for Summer) account for her Bees, the Blushes on ripened fruit, and the harvest-ready grass. For what would Autumn be without the harvest and the honey?  July punts the question back to Spring by demanding May account for her seeds and buds. After all, they produce the grass and flowers that attract the bees.

May doesn't answer except to now demand answers about winter from the Jay, a common overwintering bird in Massachusetts. Her bulbs and fruit trees, along with many early flowers and crops, require an extended period of cold to bloom and set fruit. 

The blue jay turns querulously to autumn about her corn maize, misty haze, and "Bur" --  the stubble and remains of harvest (ED Lexicon). Blue jays depend on bur and corn for food, and winter can hardly be expected to deliver Spring's material without the gifts of Autumn. At this point the "Year," steps in. It is all here, she soothes the quibblers. I encompass it all. 

This ripening of parts into a cyclical whole is an agrarian model and one into which Dickinson would have been deeply steeped. The Dickinsons had a small working farm with animals, fruit trees, grains, and vegetable gardens. Emily was well known as a skilled gardener. She was a knowledgeable gardener by the age of eleven, she studied botany at college, had her own glass conservatory, and tended the flower gardens and shrubs. 

Restored garden at Dickinson homestead

Many of Dickinson's poems are about plants and seasons; their mood and tone range from solemn to ecstatic to riddling. This poem stands alone in its bold and cheeky tone. Dickinson ends each short line with a stressed one-syllable word and this emphasizes the interrogative voice. "Where is the Bee" is much more emphatic a question than, say, "Where is the Iris". It's not just the line-ending words: the entire poem is almost entirely written with one-syllable words. I count only five that have more, and they only have two. 

The short, driving meter; the rhymes and repetitions all reinforce the rhythms of the year. Long-'a' rhymes are sprinkled throughout the poem: Hay, May, Nay, May, Jay, Jay; along with Maize and Haze. Long-'e' rhymes include Bee, Seed, Thee, Me, me (3), and be (3). There's also Snow and Show (3) and the beautiful end rhyme of Here and Year. As for repetitions, 'Where' is repeated nine times and 'Show me' three. 

The poem is direct and fun. I picture Dickinson reading it – acting it out – to young children. The seasons themselves are presented as children, each pointing the finger at another. The parental Year is given only one word to say, but ends the poem with gentle authority.

  

I cross till I am weary

I cross till I am weary
A Mountain — in my mind —
More Mountains — then a Sea —
More Seas — And then
A Desert — find —

And My Horizon blocks
With steady — drifting — Grains
Of unconjectured quantity —
As Asiatic Rains —

Nor this — defeat my Pace —
It hinder from the West
But as an Enemy's Salute
One hurrying to Rest —

What merit had the Goal —
Except there intervene
Faint Doubt — and far Competitor —
To jeopardize the Gain?

At last — the Grace in sight —
I shout unto my feet —
I offer them the Whole of Heaven
The instant that we meet —

They strive — and yet delay —
They perish — Do we die —                                     [They] stagger
Or is this Death's Experiment —
Reversed — in Victory?

                                                          Fr666 (1863)  J 550

In this existential quest poem, the speaker explores the daunting landscape of her mind as if it presented innumerable obstacles to Heaven. At the end, she wonders if her death is final or if she will be saved by "the Grace" she never quite embraced.

I find it helpful to consider the poem in a Calvinist context. Of another Dickinson poem that depicts a similar struggle (Fr634), I write, " The concept of Grace in Dickinson's time and place was rooted in Calvinist covenant theology, and the Covenant of Grace stipulates that Christians are saved by faith and that grace is necessary for faith." This belief was fundamental to a religious revival sweeping New England about the time Dickinson was twenty. The movement inspired participants, including Emily Dickinson's family and friends, to join the church—and to do that required a public declaration of belief in Christ. Emily never did so although faith, God, and salvation were themes she explored – from various angles – throughout her life.

        Considered this way, I see the poem as a pilgrim's progress through doubts, confusions and other obstacles to find saving Grace. But with a typical Dickinsonian twist, her own feet betray her, fatally delaying her encounter with Grace. The poem ends with the trenchant question: will this failure result in a final Death; or, rather cynically (as the Lexicon suggests), has it all been some sort of test? Rather than failure, will the pilgrim will attain Heaven / Victory, after all? That eloquent, universal question mark is a fitting ending.

Dickinson biographer Richard Sewell suggests this poem was inspired by a sermon given by Charles Wadsworth – a Philadelphia clergyman highly respected and renowned for his oratory. Dickinson would have heard Wadsworth when she visited Philadelphia in 1855. They met and established a bond that endured for years, even after he relocated to San Francisco.

        The following passage from a sermon Wadsworth gave in 1869, employs the same imagery and theme of Dickinson's 1863 poem. He may well have used this material in earlier sermons that Dickinson heard about or read, for Wadsworth was well attended and his sermons widely reported. It is also likely that both he and Dickinson were influenced in imagery from reports of intrepid Victorian explorers such as David Livingstone and Sir Richard Francis Burton.

Do you think that God, who brought prophets and apostles to heaven through struggles and conflicts, and a great fight of afflictions, will lower down the standard in our behalf, and award us a crown of glory if we strain not toward the goal? Why look ye! Far away over the desert, up where the mountains are piercing the skies, shine the palaces of immortality7! And if we attain to them in triumph at all, these deserts must be traversed, these stormy waters crossed, these mountains ascended!" (Sewell p.458.  and Sermons, Charles Wadsworth, "The One Idea," 1869, p.32).

All that being said, let's just take a journey through the poem.

The first stanza has a rocking quality with its iambic meters, the repetitions of m's in Mountain, mind, Mountains, and More; the repetition of 'Sea – / More Seas – whose long e sounds rock back rhymingly to the 'weary' of the first line. We see the voyager traversing repeating land- and seascapes; it is wearying but lulling. The rocking quality ends, however, at the end of the stanza when a 'Desert' with its barren geology and harsher 'd' sound is encountered. Emphasizing this break, Dickinson breaks what should be a tetrameter line into two dimeters. After this jolt, the rest of the stanzas will regularize into iambic trimeter, trimeter, tetrameter, trimeter.

        With the Desert comes a sandstorm whose unimaginable quantities of blowing sand obscures the speaker's vision. Gone are the vistas from mountain peaks or the endless realm of blue seas with their domes of sky. While seas and mountains are obstacles of endurance, the blowing desert sands create confusion.

        She is not defeated in her progress, however. The hindering sandstorm is more Salute – recognition from an enemy for a worthy opponent – than severe impediment. She is headed West, the sunset direction of rest, death, and Heaven.

        Reflecting on her journey, the speaker wonders about the merit of achieving a Goal without any doubt or a 'far Competitor' to put it in jeopardy. Although the passage is not clear and has been interpreted in various ways, I read the far Competitor to be a force competing against Grace rather than the speaker. Perhaps it is attachment to Life rather than to some Afterlife. Dickinson wrote, in those revival days, “I feel that the world holds a predominant place in my affections. I do not feel that I could give up all for Christ, were I called to die” (L13). The Competitor might, more obviously but to my thinking less likely, be temptations (including that of poetry) that displace more sanctified pursuits. It might simply be that old adversary Satan. It is a difficult passage and I am open to suggestions from readers!

        Finally Grace is in sight, but the speaker seems exhausted. She urges her tired feet onward, claiming salvation for them, eternal life, the "Whole of Heaven,"  as soon as Grace is met. The feet strive to respond, "and yet delay." While the speaker seems more than willing to encounter Grace and enter Heaven, at the end she holds back, unable to will herself to this Christian/Calvinist promise. There will be no deathbed conversion. And so the body, signified by the feet, perishes. But does the 'we' of self and soul die?  Or has this been just an experiment of Death, a test, that will be reversed by Grace into Victory?

        Victory in death in Christian theology is related to the paradox of the fortunate fall by which humanity has to fall before it can rise. Our ultimate inability to know whether death is "Reversed – in Victory" is what makes the quest matter. To simply adopt unquestioning faith is to trivialize it. And so the poem ends as it must with a question mark.