Thursday, August 19, 2010

Dear Emily,

Emily Dickinson's manuscript of "A route of evanescence"

Why is it that I can pick up a volume of your poetry on any day, at any moment and read the perfect words? Late last night, I opened my Shambhala The Pocket EMILY DICKINSON  to this:

That first Day's Night had come -
And grateful that a thing
So terrible - had been endured -
I told my Soul to sing -

She said her Strings were snapt -
Her Bow - to Atoms blown -
And so to mend her - gave me work
Until another Morn -

And then - a Day as huge
As Yesterdays in pairs,
Unrolled its horror in my face -
Until it blocked my eyes -

My Brain - begun to laugh -
I mumbled - like a fool -
And tho' tis Years ago - that Day -
My Brain keeps giggling - still.

And Something's odd - within -
That person that I was -
And this One - do not feel the same -
Could it be Madness - this?


With most of your poetry, my initial reading is one of recognition. I suck in my breath. I understand. But then my eye, a lens, is humidified, clouds over and blurs. You recede, pulling, your words like a thread I can't keep hold of.



  1. Thank you for sharing this Elizabeth! \

    Truth has no expiration.

  2. You've perfectly expressed why I love poetry so much. It has powers: to heal, uplift, inform, educate, etc. I love Emily, too. She has no equal. Blessings!

  3. Thank you for the offering of this lovely poem for us to read slowly and savor... :)

  4. Wow. Respect her gifts. Thank you, again, for the poetry pointer.

  5. If so, we are all mad. And that's okay. And Emily makes it beautiful.

  6. a wonder.

    and while I didn't get the chance to tour her homestead , I can't wait to return .
    the grounds were sadly unkempt though. Which added more snark power to daughter and hubby. Figures. I tried to say it added to the whole tragic feel.

    I want to read her more , largely thanks to you.



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