| Title | : | The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 1593080506 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9781593080501 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 400 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1924 |
The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson Reviews
-
Can you write a book review
Entirely in verse?
Omitting standard sentences
For stanzas taut and terse?
It seems a fitting treatment
For such a book as this;
So humor me, I beg you—
And my limited wit.
Emily Dickinson was a poet,
One of the very best;
A natural gift with language—
At once daft and deft.
Something of a recluse,
Something of a crank;
Living closed up in her room—
Like a fish in a tank.
Undoubtedly a genius,
Ahead of her time;
Unappreciated in her life,
For her erratic rhymes.
But when she finally passed away,
Her cache of poems was found;
Edited to the day’s tastes—
The dashes taken out.
The dash—the perfect punctuation
For her unique style;
Jagged—ragged—sudden—striking
And also—versatile.
Obsessed with life—and death—and bees,
Most of her poems are short;
Some of them only one quatrain,
They end before they start.
And what entrancing rhythm!
Like the beating of a drum—
Her words hammer forward—
Marching—stomping—thumping—done!
The classic case of genius,
At first misunderstood;
Now her poems are classic,
Widely read and widely loved.
So thank you, Ms. Dickinson,
For dedicating yourself—
To art, to words, to poetry—
To posterity’s bookshelf. -
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
Here is the real Emily Dickinson -- the only comprehensive and reliably authoritative trade editions of the poet's work.
I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too
And angels know the rest.
I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.
تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز هجدهم ماه فوریه سال2012میلادی
عنوان: به خاموشی نقطه ها ...؛ بر صفحه ی برف ...: گزیده نامه ها، و اشعار؛ شاعر امیلی دیکنسون؛ مترجم سعید سعیدپور؛ مشخصات نشر تهران، مروارید، سال1379، در355ص، شابک ایکس-964602677؛ چاپ دوم سال1382؛ گزینش شعرها از کتاب نوشته تامس جانسون، و نامه از کتاب گزینه سرودها و نامه ها، ویراسته رابرت لینسکات؛ چاپ ششم نشر مروارید، سال1399؛ در364ص؛ شابک9789646026773؛ چاپ هفتم سال1400؛ موضوع شعر شاعران ایالات متحده آمریکا - سده19م
خود را درون گلم نهان میکنم؛ تا آن را بر سینه ات زنی، و مرا نیز بی اختیار، در بر کشی؛ و دیگر هرچه پیش آید خوش است؛ خود را درون گلم نهان میکنم؛ تا چون در گلدانت بپژمردم؛ تو بی اختیار هوای مرا کنی؛ انگار در نبودنم تنهایی؛ امیلی دیکنسون؛
تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 22/12/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 30/09/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی -
[Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886, picture: wikipedia.org.]
🌼🌱🕊️🌺
•|•
Simple. So profound. And, so very much peaceful. Immortal.
Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
•|•
A personal favourite -
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.
•|•
A person writes down some random words on a few pieces of paper, keeps them in a box thinking to destroy them later, but the words end up being 'published', and more than a century later are still considered to be a beautiful collection of words.
This holy book is to be kept nearby, and every day a few words are to be read, not just because they are beautiful, but also because they shall keep the reader sane, peaceful, and hopeful. -
Abstract and intellectual, Emily Dickinson's work echoes the concerns of seventeenth-century metaphysical poetry: her short poems address religion and morality, love and death, hope and despair, through inventive metaphors and perplexing paradoxes. In contrast to her literary antecedents, though, Dickinson's language reads as a great deal more precise and less self-indulgent. So, too, do her poems tend to resist visualization altogether, whereas the metaphysical poets' work simply features strange, quasi-mystical images. Dickinson's brevity makes her work accessible even to readers who typically dislike poetry. Still, the complexity of her thought, as well as her engagement with the major issues of her time, invites careful readings of her poems, be they focused on form or history or both.
-
Aside from the few poems here and there, this is the first time I've read a proper collection of Dickinson poems, and it's easy to see why she is just so popular. Her poetry really does take you away from the hustle and bustle of life, and I was left in a complete state of tranquil bliss as I worked my through the wonderful poems on offer. It was like sitting in a meadow not an apartment. This volume is spilt into four parts - Life, Love, Nature, and Time & Eternity, and it's so difficult to pick the stand out poems because there were just so many of them! While some of the poems felt like spontaneous flashes of insight unrelated to her outward circumstances, others clearly came on a more personal level. Had it not been for Dickinson's sister Lavinia we may well have never got to read the hundreds of poems Emily wrote in her lifetime. It's sad to think she was initially rejected, but the fact she had no publication pressures or restrictions, left her free to continue to write in an unhampered and original style.
-
The major characteristics of the poems:
• Theme and Tone
• Form and Style
• Meter and Rhyme
• Punctuation and Syntax
• Diction
It has literally taken days for me to go through deepening verses thoroughly to acquire the slightest portion of them straight to the heart.
A moment of contact when the thriving elixir hits your system lofting you into an era where you are beyond the field of right or wrong, consciousness or sub-consciousness, light or shadow!
You feel the phrases shaping somewhere inside your head bottling up to be released at the moment of salvation.
Emily’s poems are literally the soul food. They reflect beyond the death grips, the facts of life which human beings find hard to deal with always – Life – Love – Death. (**Though the Eternity section was the most alluring one!)
Emily Dickinson scrutinized everything with clear-eyed frankness.
Indeed it is the ultimate truth. Few of verses are really absurd in a way that they linger in your mind on the loop.
The editors (Emily's friends) have composed her poems into four categories:
- Life
- Love
- Nature
- Time and Eternity
Her seasonal transition is totally phenomenal reminds me of:
Bequest
You left me, sweet, two legacies, —
A legacy of love
A Heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;
You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me.
- The controversial truth stated simply flat. Love and pain bound together!
Love
Love is anterior to life,
Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
The exponent of breath.
P.S.: It will take time to dive in her phrases, to understand the shallowness as well as there depth! The journey will lead to the destination where everything is meaningfully fine and justified! -
This collection consists of a considerable amount of poems written by Emily Dickinson. She is a posthumously celebrated poet, whose poems were unknown to the world. Even her family knew nothing about them till her death.
According to the biographical information, Emily Dickinson had lived a solitary life. Her poetry is a reflection of a secluded thinker. Many of the poems in the collection are prone to different interpretation, according to the intellect of the reader. That shows how clever her poems are. And it also shows an inner depth that was held so secretively by the poet, for it is difficult to fully discern many of the poems.
Most of the poems are short, and consisted of an erratic rhyme which was not appreciated during the 19th century. Many of them show an outward simplicity; but they have an insight beyond the superficial exterior. Some are so deep that it is very difficult to fathom the poet's perception.
In my reading life, this is the first time I read such unusual classical poetry; unusual in the sense of form, colour, character and tone. There is no doubt that Emily Dickinson is an intellect and a gifted poet. But she was far ahead of her time. Perhaps she knew it. She tried the water with few of her poems, and when they were not accepted for publication, she didn't attempt at publication and wrote for herself.
This collection categorizes the poems under different headings including, life, nature and love. Thematically, they touch on love, life, death, soul, religion and morals among others. I enjoyed many of them, including some of those I couldn't fully understand. What was really amazing is Emily Dickinson's ability to take you on to a different plane. It is not always picturesque, but is almost always serene. Her poems sooth you and calm you.
As I already said, there were many poems that I enjoyed; but I won't crowd my review by sharing them all here. There is however one simple poem under the category of love that touched me deep; so as a tribute to the poet as well as a token of my appreciation of her, I would share just that one.
"Heart, we will forget him!
You and I, tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.
When you have done, pray tell me,
That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you're lagging,
I may remember him! -
Emily Dickinson's poetry is as subtle and delicate as how she lived her life.
Imagine a life spent in total seclusion from society and the outside world, as how she lived: and yet her ideas are richer and profound compared to those exposed to society. Perhaps, in isolation within her own world and nature (and judging from her poems, she must have been an avid history and literary enthusiast), the themes found on her poems attained a unique kind of message: subtle and gentle, lofty, and even satirical at times.
I like the way she deals with the topic of death, loss, love, justice, and eternity. Her style is not confined to the constraints of formal poetic construction, and yet she achieves the richness of imagery and metaphorical representation.because I could not stop for death
he kindly stopped for me
the carriage held but just ourselves
and immortality
One thing which might have greatly influenced her writing and the themes found on her poetry is her ambiguous relationship with the editor of this current collection, TW Higginson, who must have served as her only contact within the literary world.
I recommend reading the biography and beautiful poetry of Emily Dickinson, a maiden, dubbed as 'an eccentric recluse', who closed her life from the outside world.
-
Preamble (to be skipped)
I've been reading some poetry reviews by readers who are evidently lovers of prose, not poetry. Here are some ramblings motivated by those reviews.
Poetic prose is very admirable; prosodic poetry is not. It is very, very, very difficult to write a good love poem, because there are so many ways to fall into cliché and so few ways to startle, to reveal something unexpected - so difficult that most love poems are failures as poems, as it appears to me. (They may be successes in some other sense.) In my view, politics and poetry almost never mix well; political poems strike me almost always as rhetoric, not as poetry.
I highly esteem brevity and distillation; I enjoy hints and gestures at complexes of meaning beyond the words actually employed; I appreciate dense, shifting clouds of meaning trying to adumbrate the non-simplicity inherent in so many aspects of life; but I also enjoy sharp, clear takes on that which is (relatively) simple; I don't care much for pretty filigree, because I prefer to see the language shuddering under the strain of the load it is bearing; I love the unexpected phrase/view/standpoint about the most quotidian and the most abstruse, but nouvelle for the sake of new gets old fast; I do not reflexively shout "obscurity, pretension, obfuscation" because I didn't understand the first time through. But that's just me... On with the review.
Review
I have not yet read one of the biographies of Emily Dickinson (1830-1886), but I know how, disappointed by a few interactions with publishers, she made no further attempts; how she wrote nearly two thousand poems, discovered upon her death; how she rarely left the family house after she returned from college and, not long thereafter, rarely left her room. But I don't know the why of it.
Whatever the reasons may be, what is clear is that the primary topics of these many poems are pain, fear, love, death and immortality. The pain that so occupied her is not physical pain, but the mental and emotional pain caused to a possibly over-sensitive, timid person both by other people and by herself.
Her poems are typically short - few lines, short lines - and, to my mind, her best poems are intense, rugged, jagged in rhythm, with rhymes which appear to be accidental or so approximate that "near rhyme" just doesn't capture it. Granted, there are poems which strike me as exemplars of 19th century American "right thinking." I am allergic to "right thinking" of any stripe, but particularly the 19th century American variety gives me a rash.(*) So it's likely that those poems don't get a fair shake from me. You might like them better than I.
Here are some of the poems I thought were remarkable, for one reason or another.
I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.
Nor had I time to love; but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.
Here is another mark of that toil of love. Note the sprung rhythm and missed rhymes in the first and last stanzas, while the middle three are almost regular in both rhyme and rhythm. In the mid-nineteenth century the poem would be judged a clumsy failure. But, to me, it is a fascinating little machine; and the content - she is speaking from experience here...
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.
Ourself, behind ourself concealed,
Should startle most;
Assassin, hid in our apartment,
Be horror's least.
The prudent carries a revolver,
He bolts the door,
O'erlooking a superior spectre
More near.
So many little surprises; so much to occupy the active mind! It also hints at the "why" alluded to above. Her struggles also led her to poems like this one:
The heart asks 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 liberty to die.
Two of my favorite poets, Paul Celan (1920-1970) and Georg Trakl (1887-1914), wrote darker poems, but Celan witnessed the Second World War and the German extermination camps (Celan survived, but his parents did not) and ultimately drowned himself in the Seine; and Trakl was a drug addict at 15, probably schizophrenic, and finally a medic in the front lines, broken in the first year of the First World War, dead of a cocaine overdose at 27. What agonies drew this poem out of Dickinson?
I've had this book in my shelves for 17 years; I wish I had read it earlier.
(*) So what of the 21st century Americans trying to resurrect 19th century American "right thinking"? Better not go there... -
Emily Dickinson was a recluse, and described as “well-behaved,” so it isn’t surprising that she hides things, that we find unsaid paragraphs behind her dashes, philosophies beneath her capital letters. It’s as if she wrote poetry as a kind of shorthand to herself.
The range is baffling—from silly to surreal to stunning. I read along, sometimes five or ten poems that did nothing for me (particularly the nature poems), and then bam! I was hit with something so unusual it stopped my breath. For example, in “It ceased to hurt me, though so slow,” she describes being stuck in grief:
… that nestled close
As needles—ladies softly press
To Cushions Cheeks—
To keep their place—
Grief nestled close, stuck to her like a needle in a pin cushion! … !! … !!! (That’s me, speechless.)
I came away with many favorites. Prior to reading this, the one I liked best was “Tell all the Truth but tell it slant--,” which I still love but it has moved down the list a bit now, after “I started Early—Took my Dog,” with its beautiful description of being enveloped by the surf.
And in the fanciful “Make me a picture of the sun,” she evokes the power of make-believe and dreaming:
Say if it’s really—warm at noon—
Whether it’s Buttercups—that “skim”—
Or Butterflies—that “bloom”?
We can choose to see things differently if we wish. Emily certainly did. -
This was my first time reading Emily Dickinson. I've heard a lot about her, of course, and found that, like many others, I loved her poetry.
Her writing and style are unusual and spellbinding, the atmosphere - serene, ethereal, full of musing and silence, the themes - nature, death, spirituality. Most of the poems I read out loud multiple times before moving on to the next one, and most I wanted to bookmark.
I'm currently reading
Emily Dickinson: Letters, and plan to read another collection of Dickinson's poems I own after this.
Outstanding and an instant favorite.
-
برای نفرت وقت نداشتم
چرا که اجل مانعم می شد،
و عمر چنان دراز نبود
که من بتوانم
کینه را به پایان برم.
برای عشق نیز فرصت نبود
اما از آنجا که باید کاری کرد،
پنداشتم
زحمت کوچک عشق
ما را بس.
*****
درد را رگه ای از بی خبری ست
هیچ در یاد ندارد
که از کی آغاز شده، یا اینکه جهان
بی آن چگونه بوده است.
آینده ای در کارش نیست، جز وجود خویش.
نهایتش حاوی گذشته ی اوست
و آینده اش را به روشنی می بیند:
فرا رسیدنِ دوره های جدیدِ درد.
*****
هرگز نمی دانیم که می رویم
وقتی روانه ایم
در به شوخی می بندیم
سرنوشت در پی ما می آید
و کُلون در را می اندازد
و ما را دیگر دیداری نیست.
*****
این که چنین کسانی مرده اند
دلگرمی مان می دهد
که با آرامش بیشتر بمیریم
این که چنین کسانی زیسته اند
گواه است بر جاودانگی
در این روزها که حس میکنم ��غزم را کسی متلاشی کرده است و افکارم را بیرون ریخته؛ دچار بحران ۲۳ سالگی شدم.
من ماندم و یک عالمه افکار ِسرگردان.
شاید همان بهتر که توفانی از راه برسد و همه شان را با هم از دست دهم و خیالم تا ابد راحت شود.
"آه ای دریا، کاش یک امشب را در تو لنگر اندازم." -
I read Emily Dickinson in translation back at school and remember thinking her poetry was plain.
Reading her now, I realise that the plain one was me.
This, to me, is poetry in its purest and therefore most powerful form.
It is melody, it is painting, it is wisdom. It floats high above and it goes deep within. Simply beautiful.
I especially loved the nature poems. They are invigoratingly alive and they made me want to go out and run barefoot, hug a tree, get stung by a bee and burnt by the sun. To just for a moment feel that the substance running in my veins is blood and not internet connection. -
"Jahresbuch" 2022
-
I spent much of my high school and college years reading poetry, sometimes the classics, and sometimes just a random book I picked up at the library. At some point I decided that Emily Dickinson was one of my favorites. I mean, I felt a funeral in my brain and Because I could not stop for death and I’m Nobody! Who are you? are unrivaled, right? (Especially for a moody teen!!) I still think those poems are unrivaled. But now that I’m all old and crotchety, I’ve discovered that many of Dickinson’s poems are just too fussy for my taste.
There is still magic here, though. I enjoyed reading this collection, rediscovering old favorites, and appreciating other poems that I had forgotten.A narrow Fellow in the Grass
A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides -
You may have met him? Did you not
His notice instant is -
The Grass divides as with a Comb,
A spotted Shaft is seen,
And then it closes at your Feet
And opens further on -
He likes a Boggy Acre -
A Floor too cool for Corn -
But when a Boy and Barefoot
I more than once at Noon
Have passed I thought a Whip Lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled And was gone -
Several of Nature’s People
I know, and they know me
I feel for them a transport
Of Cordiality
But never met this Fellow
Attended or alone
Without a tighter Breathing
And Zero at the Bone.
This book is based on the original editions edited by Mabel Loomis Todd, a neighbor and wife of a local professor, and Thomas Wentworth Higginson, a publisher who knew Dickinson during her life. (It was recently discovered that these two edited out all mentions of “Susan,” Emily’s close friend and sister-in-law.) It’s organized into four sections: Life, Love, Nature, and Time and Eternity.
The “Life” section is unfortunately full of fussy little moralisms and nostrums. It’s like she’s trying to write a book of manners and morals for fussy young puritans. Happily, “Love,” and “Nature,” are stronger. The “Time & Eternity” section is focused on death and afterlife, and contains some of her strongest poems, but also a lot of repetitive poems about God and heaven.
Note: She uses the word “chrysoprase” often enough that I finally looked it up. Since it was usually used when describing an insect, I thought it was something related to a chrysalis (a reasonable assumption, right?) but it’s not. It’s an apple green gemstone, similar to quartz. Perhaps it was a popular gem back then? I looked up the etymology to see if it’s related to a chrysalis, and I found that “chrysoprase” is from the Greek khrusos (gold) & prason (leek). LOL a gold leek? Ok. I guess it was for the color? And “chrysalis” is just from the Greek for gold. No leeks involved. So they have the same root word but are completely unrelated. -
خود را درون گلم نهان می کنم
تا آن را بر سینه ات زنی
و مرا نیز بی اختیار در بر کشی
و دیگر هرچه پیش آید خوش است.
خود را درون گلم نهان می کنم
تا چون در گلدانت بپژمرم
تو بی اختیار هوای مرا کنی
انگار در نبودم تنهایی. -
Poems like Emily Dickinson's makes you question about life and what it means to love. This edition of collected poems gathers simply the most deeply-sentimental poems of love. I loved how the natural symbolism and the strong meanings behind the words worked.
-
“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.”
Every time I read a collection of poems from an author I love I end up loving the author a bit less. The reason for this phenomenon I think is that (with some important exceptions) the poems which become more famous are usually the best ones - I mean that there's a reason why they become well-known and not others. Chances are, the others are mediocre at best. In this case, while I incredibly enjoyed some sections (the Nature one has some of the sweetest, most moving lyric poems I ever read) some others left me somewhat untouched.
Don't get me wrong, I'm aware that it's a matter of personal taste (I like lyric poetry with all my heart, and all the rest a wee bit less), but I just couldn't be as enthusiastic about the rest of the collection like I was of my favourite Dickinson's poems that I learned to know and love in previous years. So, moral of the story, never read a poet you love (I'm joking of course).
One thing I'll say though, is Dickinson has so many different characters, I was so surprised by how she manages to talk to convincingly about such opposite topics like love and grief, or to create such light little poems alongside incredibly powerful and deep ones - it almost feels like reading a work by more than one author - truly amazing. Oh and let's not forget the way these poems were published, without all the variants she used to put in them! I would love to read an edition that reproduces all the variants, if you know of any please let me know!
Also what the heck is a bobolink and why does she talk about them so much? Had to google it ahah
“While we were fearing it, it came—
But came with less of fear
Because that fearing it so long
Had almost made it fair—
There is a Fitting—a Dismay—
A Fitting—a Despair
’Tis harder knowing it is Due
Than knowing it is Here.
They Trying on the Utmost
The Morning it is new
Is Terribler than wearing it
A whole existence through.” -
This collection was a great introduction to Emily Dickinson's poetry - but I think it was just that, an introduction. While there are certainly some gems within this edition, I found myself uninterested in her poems about nature, which take up a significant part of this book. In time, I could definitely be persuaded to buy a complete collection of Dickinson's poetry to indulge in on a warm spring day.
-
" It's all I have to bring to-day,
This, and my heart beside,
This, and my heart, and all the fields,
And all the meadows wide.
Be sure you count,
should I forget,-
Some one the sum could tell,-
This, and my heart, and all the bees
Which in the clover dwell."
A word
"A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.'
The Inevitable
'While I was fearing it, it came,
But came with less of fear,
Because that fearing it so long
Had almost made it dear.
There is a fitting a dismay,
A fitting a despair.
'Tis harder knowing it is due,
Than knowing it is here.
The trying on the utmost,
The morning it is new,
Is terrible than wearing it
A whole existence through.' -
While I was fearing it, it came,
But it came with less of fear,
Because that fearing it so long
Had made it almost dear.
There is a fitting a dismay,
A fitting a despair.
'T is harder knowing it is due,
Than knowing it is here.
The trying on the utmost,
The morning it is new,
Is terribler than wearing it
A whole existence through.
I've not read much poetry by US writers, actually Benjamin Franklin is about all I've ever really indulged in and that came about out of necessity at university, though I indeed enjoy his works.
My poetry loves lie across the pond in English romanticism. English romanticism conjures all sorts of emotion through vivid imagery and a great command of language, whereas I always felt the US poetry was moreso thematically focused in pioneering, politics, and the new found freedom from British rule. I want love and misery in my poetry not marching and the great chain.
I don't know. Both the US and the English romanticism share the majority of themes yet I think I find the English far more relaxed, less defensive. The US romantic individualism, for example, is understandably more aggressive (blunt?) and more politicised whereas the English is just an exploration of being. Can I just add that I find Whitman to be one of the gentler voices in US poetry of the period, and Longfellow and Poe (of course).
Then I see an ad for this new Emily Dickinson show. So, as always 'the book is better', and off I go to hunt down her works, which took all of two seconds. Thank you USA (you'll probably never hear me say that again, so savour it).
At first I was surprised at the simplicity of Dickinsons style and couldn't see how something so formulaic could be as highly considered as her works are, but therein lies her genius. With the simplest of techniques she constructs outstanding works by relying on the words, often in very short form, to evoke meaning rather than constructing a picture to create meaning.
Dickinson's works appeal directly to emotion: we all know what love or melancholy or death is, she doesn't draw us a picture to explain; she simply says what she means and we - as humans with experience of emotion - know precisely of what she writes. I guess it's kind of like being slapped, she just jumps right in, head first. And like a bruise, the more you look, the more you see the brilliant colours, and how they deepen and change each time you look.
Hope is the subtle glutton;
He feeds upon the fair;
And yet, inspected closely,
What abstinence is there!
His is the halcyon table
That never seats but one,
And whatsoever is consumed
The same amounts remain.
My rating: 5 preferred miseries out of 5
(They're not all miserable but I like the miserable stuff the best.) -
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
My life closed twice before its close -
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me
So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
-----------------------------
A minha vida fechou-se duas vezes antes de se fechar –
Mas fica por saber
Se a imortalidade me revela
Um evento maior
Tão largo, tão incrível de pensar
Como estes que sobre ela duas vezes tombaram.
Partir é tudo o que sabemos do céu,
Tudo o que do inferno se pode precisar. -
4.5/5 Stars
This was magical!
I've been reading this book for a long time because I wanted to savour the content as much as I could. Through reading this book, Emily Dickinson has become one of my favourite writers. Her writing invokes such emotion from its reader, and puts feelings into words, that every poem feels personal in some way. I highlighted and made notes on many poems in this collection to refer back to. This is definitely a collection I want to revisit often!
Now I'm on the hunt for more Dickinson! -
WARNING: This review is by someone who does not study or analyze poetry. This review is by someone who reads poetry rather quickly and hopes for something to strike her like a bolt of lightning. There will be no scholarly technical terms. You've been warned.
Natalie in Fantasy vs Reality:
Fantasy
I am just going to adore these lovely poems. I may sit on a blanket under a large oak tree while reading about life and love and nature and death (er...time and eternity). I will be transported to another time and place through the melodious verse.
Reality
Holy crap. This is really tedious. *Checks the number of pages left for the 100th time*
So it turns out I don't love Emily Dickinson as much as I had hoped I would.
:'( <----Crying sad face, which means I'm really sad about this.
Life poems were pretty good. Love poems left much to be desired. Nature poems were an absolute bore. Time and eternity were probably my favorite of the bunch. These are just my personal opinions. I'm sure there are folks out there that live for reading about bees and butterflies and flowers for hours upon hours.
These are great poems to read out loud, but it was hard to read more than a few pages at a time because it became so darn repetitive.
Honestly, I couldn't wait to get done with it and was proud of myself just for finishing. I could only take so many poems about these mundane things. I know these are all terrible things to say because Emily Dickinson is so beloved, but I think I just needed to take her in a much smaller dose.
2 Stars
(sorry) -
I've seen a lot of references to Emily Dickinson lately so I decided to give in and read this, which I had downloaded for free from Barnes and Noble last July 4th, when they put up all their volumes in the B&N Classics Series by American authors for free download for Nook or Nook app.
DO read the collected poems of Emily Dickinson. DO NOT read this version. The editors have "helpfully" messed with her stylings, replacing her dashes with other forms of punctuation, ridiculous. You also have to be slapped in the face with frequent endnotes. Personally, if I come to a word I don't understand, I will try to get the meaning from the surrounding words, or look it up. Don't insult me by being so helpful!
I had originally typed up a bunch of quotations from poems I liked but GR ate it, so I will just say that I like Emily Dickinson, but mostly when she is talking nostalgically about books or love. Her high output of poems on death don't really interest me - she is a little obsessive about it, not to mention repetitive. When you read a bunch in a row, the word immortality becomes less clever as a poem ending, and just becomes rather convenient instead. All of her poems read as idealistic, but knowing her life, it isn't too surprising. I am always surprised by how joyful they are, though. Her imaginary experience of the world was quite an ecstatic one.
"I dwell in possibility...." -
My splendors are menagerie;
But their competeless show
Will entertain the centuries
When I am, long ago,
An island in dishonored grass,
Whom none but daisies know. -
Wow,Dickinson you beauty. You the intellectual poet. You,a beautiful lady. A beautiful soul. Take my love.
You sliced up my heart into pieces and your words with their stream of emotions united them again. You stooped too low to touch my grounded soul that i ascended in dreams to play with the air you breathe. The poems you wrote made me dazzled with electric emotions, made me fell in love with you. I touched the silence between your words and kissed the picture your visuality drew upon my soul. While you are treading upon the flowers of eternity, i am touching the dew and seeing them vanishing in your flower.
But what you have given is still becoming you,what i am feeling is emotion of yours. Maybe i am transformed by you or You were always here within me. Thank you,breathe through me and i will be you.I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me
I Could make assignable,—and then
There interposed a fly,
With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz, Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then I could not see to see.I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.
And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.
And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll
As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race, Wrecked, solitary, here. -
Healing..
-
I LOVE IT
-
How do we review Dickinson's poetry? Can we review a piece of our soul?
I love every single word she writes, no matter how harsh, how saddening, how sudden it is!
