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“Faith is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
But microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.”
Hushed murmurs break the silence like peaceful water tickled by the flip
of a fish’s fin. The contrast of the blue spotlight and bright
candlelight from sconces creates abstract shadows that dance on the wall
and ceilings: jumping to the earthy rhythms resonating from a djembe
that is sending a pulse-like fever throughout the room. A baritone
announces that the spoken word session will begin shortly. Then he
disappears behind an invisible door, spilling red light through the
cracks like a healing serum that was supposed to be kept a secret.
Conversations draw to a close and the audience, containing numerous
performers, prepares itself for an evening of rhythmic and cultural
experience. An eclectic gathering of head wraps, cowry shells, and
Egyptian musk color the setting with shades of brown. As the blue light
darkens, the djembe stops and a solitary voice speaks,
“ Tell all the Truth but tell it slant-- /Success in Circuit lies/Too
bright for our infirm Delight/The Truth’s superb surprise/As Lightening
to the Children eased/With explanation kind/The Truth must dazzle
gradually/Or every man be blind--”
The soft words seep slowly from the ears to the hearts and minds of
onlookers, who then inhale to take in the petite, white woman with
brunette hair pulled back into a loose chignon. The blue light and a few
brown tendrils decorate her neck, while two brown eyes look comfortably
at audience members.
Who is this odd woman, fully clad in white? How is it that someone so
seemingly misplaced feels comfortable enough to dazzle such an audience?
Eyes blink and she vanishes, leaving only the smell of fresh jasmine and
the kindred bond she extended to listeners. If there is a need to be met
at a certain point in life or a desire to engage in a true, literary
aesthetic experience, Emily Dickinson fulfills that need and desire.
Called the “New England Mystic” because of her mysterious, secluded
lifestyle and her noticeable wardrobe of all white, Dickinson defied the
Anglophilia that was so prominent in many of her poetic American
predecessors and peers.
Born on December 10, 1830, in Amherst, Massachusetts, into a prominent,
Protestant family, she was the second child of three. Many think that
her nonexistent relationship with her mother is the cause for her
eccentricity; however, in a personal experience with her poetry one may
conjecture that her dedication to self and personal beliefs was the
ingredient that contributed to her eclectic-ness and literary genius.
Much of Dickinson’s poetry often creates questions about spirituality
and the psyche. While others sing praises to nature in poetry that opens
up to reveal as much as the reader is willing to see.
With a seductive style that invites, but never intrudes upon one’s
comfort zone immediately but rather “dazzles gradually” as to enhance
without obstructing the comprehensive vision of her readers. Dickinson’s
poetry provides a window into her soul: an unabashed and growing soul.
This naked revelation is probably due to the fact that she published
only ten of her poems during her lifetime, while the other seventeen
hundred plus were discovered, bound in little booklets, after her death.
The publication of this stash is what lies before us today: a living
sacrament.
Emily Dickinson lived her entire life in her father’s house, yet her
soul surpassed the boundaries that her societal status and background
attempted to impose upon her. Her neighbors wondered at her withdrawal
and distance, while she was often seen tending her garden.
She was formally educated at Amherst College, which her grandfather
founded, and then Mt. Holyoke Seminary College. After a year, she left
Seminary College and began to question organized religion. Her poetry
often appears anti-Christian, with lines such as:
“Some keep the Sabbath going to Church—/ I keep it, staying at Home and
continues, God preaches, a noted Clergyman—/And the sermon is never
long,/So instead of getting to Heaven at last—/I’m getting, all along.”
She began to isolate herself increasingly, eventually having no visitors
excepting a few friends and love interests. Her writing reflects her
growth to opening up to the world spiritually and mentally even though
she physically shut it out. She expounds on her solitude in the first
stanza of Number 303 of her untitled poems:
“The Soul selects her own Society/Then—shuts the Door-- /To her divine
Majority—/Present no more--”
Dickinson struggled with her viewpoints on various aspects of high
status life during her time and harbored feelings of alienation and
depression. In her early poetry, there is much evidence of her struggle
with emotions, beliefs, and societal values of religion, marriage, and
prestige. She went from displaying self-absorption, whimsicality, and
hysteria to producing more mature poetry consisting of developed ideas
and elegantly formed opinions.
Although she did not marry, she did have romantic interest in a young
man that visited her occasionally. Even though she was single, her
withdrawal enabled her to escape the usual labors of single women, who
attended the young, sick, and dying. Therefore, she posited her energies
wholeheartedly into her work. Her single state justified her defiance of
literary norms for women during the early 19th century: she replaced
typical domestic and sentimental poetry with poetry that reflected
disciplined intellectual analysis, self-consciousness, and meditation.
This is evident in the commanding language of one love poem “754” when
she says:
“My Life had stood--a Loaded Gun/ In Corners-- till a Day/ The Owner
passed--identified--/ And carried me away--”
Then she boldly expresses intimate wonders they share when she creates
this ecstatic imagery:
“And do I smile, such cordial light/ Upon the Valley glow--/ It is as a
Vesuvian face/ Had let its pleasure through--”
She assumes an untypical role for a woman at this time, comparing
herself to a loaded gun that enjoys the intimate relationship with her
“owner” just as he does. She ends the poem by saying:
“Though I than He--may longer live/ He longer must--than I--/ For I have
but the power to kill,/ Without--the power to die--”
For the early nineteenth century, this type of poetry from a single
woman was revolutionary, which may contribute to Dickinson’s decision to
keep the majority of her poetry hidden from the public eye. As noticed
in the previous excerpts from poem “754,” Dickinson has a visual
characteristic evident in most of her poetry. This includes the internal
capitalization of words that don’t begin a line and the infamous dash
which speckles and dominates over all other forms of punctuation in her
poetry. She also makes frequent references to death and fear of
loneliness, which may have plagued her reclusive life. These references,
however, contrast with other constant allusions to immortality and
spiritual superiority to the ways of her world.
Many rank Emily Dickinson with Walt Whitman because she invented the
free form of England’s “hymn” which traditionally varied between fifteen
and thirty lines per stanza and contained an ABABCD rhyme pattern.
Usually she uses slant rhyme (such as between the words heaven and
given) or no rhyme pattern. None of her poems is titled, but they are
often referred to by the first line. Perhaps the most interesting fact
is how Emily kept her poetry unpublished and unshared, even with close
family and friends. The privacy that she possessed enabled her to free
herself of the burdensome and restraining nineteenth century standards.
Even yet, the irony occurs around the mystery remains surrounding a life
that seemed to step entirely to its own beat until May 15, 1886, for she
seemed aware of the eyes watching her and the wondering minds when she
wrote this semi-prophetic piece:
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.”
Peace. |
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