Emily Dickinson was an American poet who, despite the fact that less than a dozen of her nearly eighteen hundred poems were published during her lifetime, is widely considered one of the most original and influential poets of the 19th century.
Dickinson was born to a successful family with strong community ties, she lived a mostly introverted and reclusive life. After she studied at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she spent a short time at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family's house in Amherst. Thought of as an eccentric by the locals, she became known for her penchant for white clothing and her reluctance to greet guests or, later in life, even leave her room. Most of her friendships were therefore carried out by correspondence.
Although Dickinson was a prolific private poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly eighteen hundred poems were published during her lifetime.The work that was published during her lifetime was usually altered significantly by the publishers to fit the conventional poetic rules of the time. Dickinson's poems are unique for the era in which she wrote; they contain short lines, typically lack titles, and often use slant rhyme as well as unconventional capitalization and punctuation.Many of her poems deal with themes of death and immortality, two recurring topics in letters to her friends.
Although most of her acquaintances were probably aware of Dickinson's writing, it was not until after her death in 1886—when Lavinia, Emily's younger sister, discovered her cache of poems—that the breadth of Dickinson's work became apparent. Her first collection of poetry was published in 1890 by personal acquaintances Thomas Wentworth Higginson and Mabel Loomis Todd, both of whom heavily edited the content.
A complete and mostly unaltered collection of her poetry became available for the first time in 1955 when The Poems of Emily Dickinson was published by scholar Thomas H. Johnson. Despite unfavorable reviews and skepticism of her literary prowess during the late 19th and early 20th century, critics now consider Dickinson to be a major American poet.
One of my new year's reading resolutions was to make more time for poetry.
I decided to start by revisiting Dickinson. This was a wonderful and terrible idea.
Her work is beautiful, and true, and so many other things.
It is also sometimes too much, when one is in the midst of the lonely darkness of mid-January.
I wonder if I should have waited to read these poems until a time when I was more resilient. Or if reading now, when my defenses are at their least, was the best way to properly experience these pieces of writing.
Whether this was the right choice or the wrong, her words remain exquisite, poignant, and evasive. It is hard to see the point of writing new poetry, when these works already exist, but they also stir within one the essential vital need to speak, to express, to write.
Emily Dickinson never fail to impress me with such beautiful imagery. These selected poems touch on various topics surrounding the concept of life. Some of her works, "It was not death, for I stood up" or "The stimulus, beyond the grave" stood out to me because they show how Emily recognizes the idea of death and how it's portrayed in her mind. She uses many figurative elements though I find personifications to be the most common in this particular collection of poems. I'm amazed from the extent of description and detail as she goes into depth and the connections with nature.
"As Imperceptibly as grief The summer lasted away,- Too imperceptible, at last, To seem like perfidy.
A quietness distilled, As twilight long begun, Or Nature, spending with herself Sequestered afternoon.
The dusk drew earlier in, The morning foreign shone,- A courteous, yet harrowing grace, As guest who would be gone.
And thus, without a wing, Or service of a keel, Our summer made her light escape Into the beautiful."
-(Emily Dickinson, From As Imperceptibly As Grief)
A treasure that only cost me 2 reais at a used bookstore ❤️🩹
Emily's sensibility in her analysis of grief and nature is something else. I wish I had read this in my hometown, listening to birdsong, but I was way too involved to stop before I could catch the bus.
Favs: "The Heart asks for Pleasure – first – And then – Excuse from Pain – And then – those little Anodynes That deaden suffering –
And then – to go to sleep – And then – if it should be The will of its Inquisitor The privilege to die –"
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“I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one’s name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!”
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"I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, eyes – I wonder if It weighs like Mine – Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long – Or did it just begin – I could not tell the Date of Mine – It feels so old a pain –
I wonder if it hurts to live – And if They have to try – And whether – could They choose between – It would not be – to die –
I note that Some – gone patient long – At length, renew their smile – An imitation of a Light That has so little Oil –
I wonder if when Years have piled – Some Thousands – on the Harm – That hurt them early – such a lapse Could give them any Balm –
Or would they go on aching still Through Centuries of Nerve – Enlightened to a larger Pain – In Contrast with the Love –
The Grieved – are many – I am told – There is the various Cause – Death – is but one – and comes but once – And only nails the eyes –
There’s Grief of Want – and grief of Cold – A sort they call “Despair” – There’s Banishment from native Eyes – In sight of Native Air –
And though I may not guess the kind – Correctly – yet to me A piercing Comfort it affords In passing Calvary –
To note the fashions – of the Cross – And how they’re mostly worn – Still fascinated to presume That Some – are like my own –"
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“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.”
Although I believe we read Emily Dickinson's poetry when I was in high school (so many years ago...) it made no impression on me at that time. Rediscovering it as an adult its a completely different experience, and the originality and vibrancy of her verse is astonishing, especially considering how out-of-step her work was when compared to general practice in American poetry during her lifetime. I can't claim to fully understand all of these poems, but the ones that do speak to me do so in a powerful voice that is not in least bit dated.
Emily Dickinson's poetry is as enigmatic as she was! And how to put into words the experience of reading her poems? I think Dickinson's are the best descriptors: 'If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only way I know it. Is there any other way.'
An absolutely stunning book. This addition from the Folio Society is beyond beautiful. I felt like I needed to wear gloves to turn the pages - I owed it my respect! The most precious of gifts.
While there is some poetry I really like, I struggle with poetry on the whole. Emily Dickinson's poetry is just the same. Some of the poems I really liked and even identified with. But on the whole I found most confusing and glossed over them. I did enjoy getting insights to what this woman believed and how she felt.
If you are a poetry lover and enjoy figuring out the depths of a person's poetry then you will really enjoy this collection! If poetry is not your thing then I would steer clear. if you want the challenge of learning poetry, I do think it is a good book for that. It would also be beneficial for studying poetry for learning to write in a particular style.
Because of my personal enjoyment or lack thereof I would give this book about three stars. For its learning potential I could give it five stars.