I'm Nobody! Who are you?
I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you—Nobody—Too?
The there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise—you know!
How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
There's a certain Slant of light
There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons --
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes --
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us --
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are --
None may teach it -- Any --
'Tis the Seal Despair --
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air --
When it comes, the Landscape listens --
Shadows -- hold their breath --
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death --
It will be Summer -- eventually
It will be Summer -- eventually.
Ladies -- with parasols --
Sauntering Gentlemen -- with Canes --
And little Girls-with Dolls --
Will tint the pallid landscape --
As 'twere a bright Bouquet --
Tho' drifted deep, in Parian --
The Village lies -- today --
The Lilacs -- bending many a year --
Will sway with purple load --
The Bees -- will not despise the tune --
Their Forefathers -- have hummed --
The Wild Rose -- redden in the Bog --
The Aster -- on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion -- set --
And Covenant Gentians -- frill --
Till Summer folds her miracle --
As Woman -- do -- their Gown --
Or Priests -- adjust the Symbols --
When Sacrament -- is done --It's the birthday of the poet Emily Dickinson, born in Amherst, Massachusetts (1830). Emily was a bright and curious girl. She loved plants and would pass the time with her best friend Abby Wood in small playhouse in the garden. Her extended family was plagued with illness-many of her relatives had already died of consumption at young ages. Emily played the piano, preferring the sounds of upbeat music to those of church hymns. Her father, who had been the valedictorian at Yale, discouraged her from reading the "light" books she enjoyed so much. When her father was elected to the State Senate, Emily's family moved back into their family's large mansion (from a smaller home that they'd moved to during a financial struggle a few years earlier). Her mother fell into a deep depression shortly after the move, and Emily was forced to care for her mother full time. She began to exclude herself from Amherst social life, and eventually became a total recluse in her home over the next three decades until her death. From 1858 to 1866, she wrote about 1,000 poems, and over 1,700 in her lifetime. Emily's first published poem was at age 22 when she sent a mock valentine to someone, and it eventually landed in the hands of Dr. Josiah Holland, who printed it. Only about 10 of her poems were published during her lifetime, none with her consent. Shortly after her death in 1886, her sister, Lavinia, discovered two large bundles in Emily's closet, each tied up with string. One was full of letters, and the other of poems. They were marked by Emily with a note to be burned and unread. Lavinia burned the bundle of letters but could not bring herself to burn the poems. In all, about 1,775 poems or fragments were recovered from Emily's room and later published.
It's the birthday of poet Emily Dickinson, born in Amherst, Massachusetts (1830). She grew
up in a wealthy, religious family, and rarely left Amherst. She went to college at Mount
Holyoke and then went back to her parents' house, where she spent the rest of her life. In a
letter to a friend, she wrote, "You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog
large as myself, that my father bought me. They are better than beings because they know, but
do not tell; and the noise in the pool and noon excels my piano. . . . I have a brother and sister;
my mother does not care for thought, and my father, too busy with his briefs to notice what we
do." Dickinson dressed completely in white, refused most visitors, and rarely left the house.
During the last years of her life, she mourned the deaths of her father, her mother, her nephew,
and some of her closest acquaintances. She became known as the "Belle of Amherst," the
"New England Mystic," and the "Woman in White."
But even though she didn't go out much, she wrote hundreds of letters. She once wrote, "A
letter always feels to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend."
She wrote to a man at the Atlantic Monthly named Thomas Wentworth Higginson, about
publishing her poetry anonymously. Higginson advised her not to publish, but the two kept in
contact for years. When he asked her what she looked like, she wrote back, "I . . . am small,
like the wren; and my hair is bold, like the chestnut burr; and my eyes, like the sherry in the
glass that the guest leaves." Dickinson and Higginson finally met one night at her father's home.
Higginson later said, "I never was with any one who drained my nerve power so much. Without
touching her, she drew from me. I am glad not to live near her."
Dickinson also wrote dozens of passionate letters to a woman named Susan Gilbert. Dickinson
and Gilbert became close friends around 1950. A few years later, Gilbert married Dickinson's
brother, and the couple moved into a house next door to Emily. Her letters to Gilbert are full of
declarations of love, and lamentations that they're not together. Dickinson wrote, "If you were
here—and Oh that you were, my Susie, we need not talk at all, our eyes would whisper for us,
and your hand fast in mine, we would not ask for language." And she wrote, "If this life holds
not another meeting for us, remember also, Susie, that it had no parting more, wherever that
hour finds us, for which we have hoped so long, we shall not be separated, neither death, nor
the grave can part us, so that we can only love."
Most early biographers ignored these letters or said they weren't unusual for the Victorian
period. But more recent biographers have suggested that Dickinson and Gilbert were more than
just close friends.
Dickinson wrote over 1,700 poems, but only seven of them were published in her lifetime. In
1862, Dickinson wrote 366 poems, or about one per day. She wrote on scraps of paper and old
grocery lists, but she compiled her poetry and tucked it away neatly in her desk drawer. Her
sister found the poems after Emily's death, but they were heavily edited and weren't published
until 1890. For a while, Dickinson was considered an interesting minor poet. In 1955, a more
complete edition of her poetry was published, with the original punctuation intact. She's now
considered one of the greatest American poets ever.from the Writers Almanac Wednesday December 10th, 2003