Emily Dickinson

very nice. I'm a big ED fan

Hey, jjorge - good mornin.

605

The Spider holds a Silver Ball
In uperceived Hands-
And dancing softly to Himself
His Yarn of Pearl-unwinds-

He plies from Nought to Nought-
In substantial Trade-
Supplants our Tapestries with His-
In half the period-

An Hour to rear supreme
His Continents of Light-
Then dangles from the House wife's Broom-
His Boundaries-fogot-

c. 1862

My life closed twice,
Before it's close.
It yet remains to see,
If immortality unveil to me
A third event, so huge,
So hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know
Of Heaven,
And all we need of Hell.

(On the subject of the deaths of her parents.)

Joanne

Very pleased to see a thread on this great genius. You ought to make it a rule though that everyone finds versions which duplicate her original capitalizations and punctuation, edited out for many years (by bleedin idiots)

Would like to make it a rule but do not think that is possible. I use the Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson edited by Thomas H. Johnson who admits to correcting some grammatical (spelling) errors but has left the capitalization and the dashes in tact. Of course no one dare correct the Bard's English now do they.

Many, if not most, of the volumes one finds in libraries or homes were edited in that manner. But I suspect you're right in guessing that modern editors would hold true to Dickenson's originals.

#1331

Wonder - is not precisely Knowing
And not precisely Knowing not -
A beautiful but bleak condition
He has not lived who has not felt -

Suspense - is his maturer Sister -
Whether Adult Delight is Pain
Or is itself a new misgiving -
This is the Gnat that mangles men -

1140

The Day grew small, surrounded tight
Be early, stooping Night-
The Afternoon in Evening deep
Its Yellow shortness dropt-
The Winds went out their martial ways
The Leaves obtained excuse-
November hung his Granite Hat
Upon a nail of Plush-

c. 1869

Lovely jjorge.

Why are you still using your Abuzz user number?

JD

Call me sentimental.

This poem is believed to have been written in 1862 on the occasion of the death, on a civil war battlefield, of an acquaintance of ED's:


#622

'To know just how He suffered-would be dear-
To know if any Human eyes were near
To whom He could intrust His wavering gaze-
Until it settled broad-on Paradise-

To know if He was patient-part content-
Was Dying as He thought-or different-
Was it a pleasant Day to die-
And did the Sunshine face His way-

What was his furthest mind-Of home-or God-
Or what the Distant say-
At news that He ceased Human Nature
Such a Day-

And Wishes-Had He Any-
Just His Sigh-Accented-
Had been legible-to Me-
And was He Confident until
Ill fluttered out-in Everlasting Well-

And if He spoke-What name was Best-
What last
What One broke off with
At the Drowsiest-

Was He afraid-or tranquil-
Might He know
How Conscious Consciousness-could grow-
Till Love that was-and Love too blest to be-
Meet-and the Junction be Eternity'
(Emily Dickinson c.1862)

Joanne...where are you?

Here's another ED poem:

#35

Nobody knows this little Rose --
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it --
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey --
On its breast to lie --
Only a Bird will wonder --
Only a Breeze will sigh --
Ah Little Rose -- how easy
For such as thee to die!
(Emily Dickinson c.1858)

For poetry buffs....though this predates our heroine by a couple of years... http://www.nytimes.com/2002/11/26/science/social/26MUMM.html?8hpib

Blatham

Wonderful link. Thanks!

441

This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me-
The simple News that Nature told-
With tender Majesty

Her message is committed
To Hands I cannot see-
For love of Her-Sweet-Countrymen-
Judge tenderly-of Me

c. 1862

JD you're back!

Thanks for 441. I love that one.