Emily Dickinson

Hello Emily and welcome to a2k. Thank you for your apology... it is gratefully accepted. Many people post here, but few admit to being on drugs to do so. It is very interesting to me that your "high" on mushrooms would end so abruptly. I hope you didn't crash & burn. It is possible and preferable, btw, to edit your message if you feel you were too harsh, especially when you flame another poster.

You ask about poem #303. I'm posting it here so that everyone can take a look.

The Soul selects her own Society (303)

The Soul selects her own Society --
Then -- shuts the Door --
To her divine Majority --
Present no more --

Unmoved -- she notes the Chariots -- pausing --
At her low Gate --
Unmoved -- an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat --

I've known her -- from an ample nation --
Choose One --
Then -- close the Valves of her attention --
Like Stone --

We don't usually analyze poetry here so much... instead we post what we enjoy in the hope that others might connect with us through a mutual appreciation of the form. Having prefaced my comments with that, I'll say that I think readers are more generally apt to wonder who or what is meant by "The Soul" in this poem. As you've asked who the speaker is, my simple and straightforward assumption is Emily Dickinson herself. At least I see nothing to indicate otherwise. I am however an EStVM fan and admit to no great understanding of ED. I think the poet is noting here that passion cannot be explained; that there is no discernable reason for a person to select one thing over another... but it happens. I saw a quote once that said this succinctly: "It is my opinion and it is very true."

here's some food for thought:

http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/a_f/dickinson/303.htm

jjorge, love you poem and it's simplicty of words with so much thoughtfulness. Your the best.

In Memorium

Jo-Ann Ravenscroft b. 12-10-1946 d. 11-16-1994

Emily Dickinson b. 12-10-1830 d. 5-15-1886



113

Our share of night to bear -
Our share of morning
Our blank in bliss to fill -
Our blank in scorning -

Here a star, and there a star,
Some lose their way!
Here a mist, and there a mist,
Afterwards - Day!
(Emily Dickinson)

I love Dickinson... words cannot fully express my appreciation.

Wild Nights - Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile - the Winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor - Tonight -
In Thee!

#258

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 -
(Emily Dickinson)

562

It knew no lapse, no Diminution--
But large--serene--
Burned on--until the Dissolution--
It failed from Men--

I could not deem these Planetary forces
Annulled--
But suffered and Exchange of Territory--
Or World--

c. 1862

I didn't find this poem here, so I thought that I'd add it:

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise

As lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind
the Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind-

444

It feels a shame to be Alive--
When Men so brave--are dead--
One envies the Distinguished Dust--
Permitted--such a Head--

The Stone--that tells defending Whom
This Spartan put away
What little of Him we--possessed
In Pawn for Liberty--

The price is great--Sublimely paid--
Do we deserve--a Thing--
That lives--like Dollars--must be piled
Before we may obtain?

Are we that wait--sufficient worth--
That such Enormous Pearl
As life--dissolved be for Us--
In Battle's--horrid Bowl?

It may be-a Renown to live--
I think the Man who die--
Those unsustained--Savoirs--
Present Divinity--

c. 1862

Of Brussels -- it was not --
Of Kidderminster? Nay --
The Winds did buy it of the Woods --
They -- sold it unto me

It was a gentle price --
The poorest -- could afford --
It was within the frugal purse
Of Beggar -- or of Bird --

Of small and spicy Yards --
In hue -- a mellow Dun --
Of Sunshine -- and of Sere -- Composed --
But, principally -- of Sun --

The Wind -- unrolled it fast --
And spread it on the Ground --
Upholsterer of the Pines -- is He --
Upholsterer -- of the Pond --

drom,

Your post reminded me of the annual poetry walk
at Amherst Mass. that commemorates Emily's death...
I thought, 'Oh no! It wasn't today was it? Alas it WAS today and I will have to wait until next year to attend. (sigh)
I have been to her home and visited her gravesite previously. They are less than a two hour drive from where I live.

Here's what was planned for today:

Poetry Walk
An annual event commemorating Emily Dickinson's death on May 15, 1886, the Poetry Walk begins at the Dickinson Homestead garden and proceeds to various Amherst sites significant in the poet's life. A selection of Dickinson's poems are read at each location. The 2004 walk will celebrate Dickinson's fondness for the writings of William Shakespeare: "he has had his Future who has found Shakespeare." Members of the Amherst community, including representatives from the Amherst Historical Commission and Select Board as well as the theater community, will read a selection of Dickinson's poems at each location. The Walk will also include quotations from Dickinson's letters that have references to Shakespeare and his plays. The procession ends at the Dickinson grave in West Cemetery, where all are welcome to read their favorite poems and to join in a lighthearted toast to the poet's memory.

http://www.dickinsonhomestead.org/events.html

What fun jjorge thank you for the informative link. It must be so special to be there, in Amherst and to celebrate ED. Can you feel her presence?

Hi Joanne,

I visited ED's home three years ago.
It is very special for an ED fan like myself to walk through her house, to see her garden , her room, her writing desk, and -truth be told-- I was fascinated to visit her gravesite which is only a short walk from her home.

If I'm not mistaken the inscription on her gravestone was: 'Called Back'

January 2002 I went to the Edgar Allen Poe birthday celebration in Baltimore. It was great. Baltimore is not his birth place of course but he is buried there. It was special and we, about 100 of us went to his grave site for a midnight toast. And it was fun.

I think she did dre, she was a woman who could see soul - that is what I want to believe.

Not long after my trip to Baltimore to commune with EAP I finally took the time to visit the grave site of F. Scott Fitzgerald in Rockville, Maryland (a D.C. suburb). I had passed it many times in when I lived there.

While my visit to the grave of Fitzgerald was not a big deal - no event surrounded it except my own. Sitting there I did feel closer to two of my favorite novels: Tender Is The Night and of course The Grate Gatsby - both so topical in this time.

919

If I can stop one Heart from Breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain

Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain

c. 1864

Yes, dre I have been to many birth places and they can be pleasant and sad as well. One of my favorite birth places is the one in Stafford County, Virginia, where George Washington was born. Another favorite in Virginia was the birth home of Woodrow Wilson, in Harrisonburg, Virginia. And Lyndon B. Johnson's birth home in Johnson City, Texas is so beautiful.

On my trip to Amherst I will be at ED's birth place and death place. FSF's grave site in Rockville, MD, is close to his birth house as well. The Great Gatsby I really wanted him to have Daisy for his own. I have always thought she was F. Scotts Zelda he had her and he did not have her.

As I set off on my journey north in June this seems appropriate.

290

Of Bronze--and Blaze--
The North--Tonight--
So adequate--it forms--
So preconcerted with itself--
So distant--to alarms--
An Unconcern so sovereign
To Universe, or me--
Infects my simple spirit
With taints of Majesty--
Till I take vaster attitudes--
And strut upon my stem--
Disdaining Men, and Oxygen,
For Arrogance of them--

My Splendor, are Menagerie--
But their Compete less Show
Will Entertain the Centuries
When I, am long ago,
An Island in dishonored Grass--
Whom none but Beetles--know.

c. 1861

I assume you'll be visiting the E.D. museum in Amherst, MA - yes?