What shall I do -- it whimpers so --
This little Hound within the Heart
All day and night with bark and start --
And yet, it will not go --
Would you untie it, were you me --
Would it stop whining -- if to Thee --
I sent it -- even now?
It should not tease you --
By your chair -- or, on the mat --
Or if it dare -- to climb your dizzy knee --
Or -- sometimes at your side to run --
When you were willing --
Shall it come?
Tell Carlo --
He'll tell me!
If I remember correctly, Richard Sewell in his wonderful ED biography says that this poem was a message to Emily's sister-in law Susan. Emily adored Susan from the time that they were friends in school and some think that she was 'in love'with her.
'Carlo' is Emily's dog.
Thank you for the information jjorge I think I used to have Sewell's book, I lost most of my library in 1996, but have slowly rebuilding this would be really good for me to have.
I was wrong.
I was just looking in Sewall and read that it is believed the poem was addressed to Samuel Bowles. Bowles was a Dickinson family friend and Editor of the Springfield 'Republican'.
The poem was sent to him by ED and was found in his papers after his death by his son.
It is widely accepted that ED had an important romantic attachement to Bowles over a period of several years.
Sunset at Night - is natural --
But Sunset on the Dawn
Reverses Nature -- Master--
So Midnight's -- due -- at Noon.
Eclipes be -- predictated --
And Science bows them in --
But do one face us suddenly --
Jehovah's Watch -- is wrong.
Which is the best -- the Moon or the Crescent?
Neither -- said the Moon --
That is best which is not -- Achieve it --
You efface the Sheen.
Not of detention is Fruition--
Shudder To attain.
Transport's decomposition follows --
He is Prism born.
The Snow that never drifts--
That transient, fragrant snow
That comes a single time a Year
Is softly driving now--
So thorought in the Tree
At night beneath the star
That it was February's Foot
Experience would swear--
Like Winter as a Face
We stern and former knew
Repaired of all but Loneliness
By Nature's Alibi--
Were every storm so spice
The Value could not be--
We buy with contrast -- Pang is good
As near as memory--
Oh jjorge familiar yes but never out of time.
Did Our Best Moment last--
'Twould supersede the Heaven--
A few--and--they by Risk--procure--
So this Sort--are not given--
Except as stimulants--in
Cases of Despair--
Or Stupor--The Reserve--
These Heavenly Moment are--
A Grant of the Divine--
That Certain as it Comes--
Withdraws--and leaves the dazzled Soul
In her unfurnished Rooms
I never read #393 closely before now.
I like it a lot..
because you like and
for what happened to the space shuttle today.
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading--treading--till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through--
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum--
Kept beating--beating--till I thought
My Mind was going numb--
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space--began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here--
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down--
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing--then--
Wow. That poem really hits home at this sad time. Thanks for posting it!
When we stand upon the tops of Things--
And like the Trees, look down--
The smoke all cleared away from it--
And Mirrors on the scene--
Just laying light -- no soul will wink
Except it have the flaw--
The Sound ones, like the Hills-- shall stand--
No Lightning, scares away--
The Perfect, nowhere be afraid--
They bear their dauntless Heads,
Where others, dare not go at Noon,
Protected by their deeds--
The Stars dare shine occasionally
Upon a spotted World--
And Sun, go surer, for their Proof,
As if an Axle, held--
How about this one Joanne:
It's all I have to bring today --
This, and my heart beside --
This, and my heart, and all the fields --
And all the meadows wide --
Be sure you count -- should I forget
Some one the sum could tell --
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.
Sweet jjorge thank you.
There is a huge conversation in the Philosophy Forum about the brain and the presence of the sub-conscious and conspicuous going on. It takes everything in me not to post read Emily Dickinson all the answers are there. All of poetry has all of the answers I think.
I was a philosophy major.
At one point I thought I was going to go on and get a PhD.
Then I decided that (for me at least) philosophy was just so much abstract intellectualism and sophistry. It gave me a headache. If one were clever enough they could argue that nothing is real and nothing is knowable etc etc.
Now I mostly avoid such discussions. I have no interest in getting a headache trying to refute arguments that I don't exist.
Finite--to fail, but infinite to Venture--
For the one ship that sturts the shore
Many's the gallant--overwhelmed Creature
Nodding in Navies nevermore--