I’ve selected four Dickinson poems for this post – not because any are among my favourite poems, but because I feel the first two are good examples from Emily’s self-reflection, and the next two give an insight into illness and seizures that may have ruled her life.
(Emily
Dickinson 1830 – 1886)
I
never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet
know I how the heather looks,
And
what a wave must be.
I
never spoke with God,
Nor
visited in heaven;
Yet
certain am I of the spot
As if
the chart were given.
(Emily
Dickinson 1830 – 1886)
I’m
nobody! Who are you?
Are
you nobody too?
Then
there’s a pair of us – don’t tell!
They’d
banish us, you know.
How
dreary to be somebody!
How
public, like a frog
To
tell your name the livelong day
To an
admiring bog!
A lot of Dickinson’s poems were published
untitled.
In a lot of them the ‘Dickinson’ voice can be recognised through her
favoured use of a 4 foot / 3 foot rhythm.
Both the poems above share with us something of Emily Dickinson – her
Christian faith and certitude; her humility, lack of pretension, quaint humour. The poems read with simple emotion and
joy. Given the volume of such short
poems Emily wrote, you could follow her work by reading one poem each day –
sort of like those inspirational collections, called perhaps – ‘Day by Day with Dickinson’. I bet it’s out there already.
The
next two Dickinson poems are a little different:
The
Lost Thought
- if ever the lid gets off my head
(Emily
Dickinson 1830 - 1886)
I felt
a cleaving in my
mind
As if my brain had split;
I
tried to match it, seam by seam,
But could not make them fit.
The
thought behind I strove to join
Unto the thought before,
But
sequence ravelled out of reach
Like balls upon a floor.
Ghosts
(Emily
Dickinson 1830 – 1886)
One
need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One
need not be a house;
The
brain has corridors surpassing
Material
place.
Far
safer, of a midnight meeting
External
ghost,
Than
an interior confronting
That
whiter host.
Far
safer through an Abbey gallop,
The
stones achase,
Than,
moonless, one’s own self encounter
In
lonesome place.
Oneself,
behind ourself concealed,
Should
startle most;
Assassin,
hid in our apartment,
By
horror’s least.
The
prudent carries a revolver,
He
bolts the door,
O’erlooking
a superior spectre
More
near.
I include Ghosts, because it is one of the tracks on Paul Kelly’s album, Conversations With Ghosts – brilliant.
My connection to Emily Dickinson in this post
is by way of a couple of poems of mine where I have looked within and attempted
to express myself / my soul. This is a
great subject matter for a poet – how I see the world; how I really feel; who I
feel I am. Writing in such a way
requires honesty, self-awareness, acceptance and authenticity – conditions that
you grow into. And there can be danger
in honestly revealing the inner self; exposing the soft under-belly; putting
yourself out there to be judged.
1998. Maybe it is how it is - and our circumstance
won’t change until we accept it.
Answers
Of all my pleas for intercession,
I’ve heard God answer twice,
Once upon our paper round, wet
night,
Flogged tired up Regal Way,
Oh Lord let me do thy will, I
pray,
Please grant me something more
than this,
………… and God answered,
…… you are doing My
will.
And once more when I walked
the dog
Past mansions on Mainsail,
Wondering, when will I
prevail,
Where lies my success, oh why,
Have not I, until I give it
up,
Resigned to you Lord Jesus
Christ,
………… and God answered,
…… thank you.
J. O. White
2000. People say you need to be more
‘assertive’. They say you get
over-looked because you’re not assertive.
Well, shit, I’m not the one doing the over-looking, I’m here. And if people can’t see me because they’re too
busy being assertive so they themselves can be seen, then maybe I don’t want to
play the game.
Shadows
I’ve got to say,
Somewhere deep in my soul,
Life is a dead ache of desire,
For what, I do not know,
And I have to get up each day,
To be superficial at things,
That drift away from binding prayer.
When it does lead,
It brings me argument
Defeat at the hands of others
Also aching but stronger
In their determination for me
To be subjugated so they
May live to their potential
and I to mine
I guess,
Until I see it’s all in your
mind,
All in your mind, they say.
J. O. White
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