Emily Dickinson

POETRY: The Savior Must Have Been A Docile Gentleman by Emily Dickinson

December 31, 2017

The Savior must have been A docile Gentleman— To come so far so cold a Day For little Fellowmen— The Road to Bethlehem Since He and I were Boys Was leveled, but for that ‘twould be A rugged billion [...]

POETRY: The Only News I know by Emily Dickinson

October 1, 2017

The only news I know Is bulletins all day From immortality. The only shows I see, Tomorrow and today, Perchance eternity. The only one I meet Is God, the only street, Existence; this traversed If other news there be, Or admirabler show, I’ll tell it [...]

POETRY: A Loss Of Something Ever Felt I— by Emily Dickinson

September 20, 2017

A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect A Mourner walked among the children I notwithstanding went about As one bemoaning a Dominion Itself the only Prince cast out— Elder, Today, a session wiser And fainter, too, as Wiseness is— I find myself still softly searching For my Delinquent Palaces— And a Suspicion, like a Finger Touches my Forehead now and then That I am looking oppositely For the site of the Kingdom of [...]

POETRY: Do People Moulder Equally by Emily Dickinson

September 16, 2017

For the Son of Man shall come in the glory of his Father with his angels; and then he shall reward every man according to his works. Verily I say unto you, There be some standing here, which shall not taste of death, till they see the Son of Man coming in his Kingdom. (Matthew 16:27-28) Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live As I, who testify it Deny that I—am dead— And fill my Lungs, for Witness— From Tanks—above my Head— I say to you, said Jesus— That there be standing here— A Sort, that shall not taste of Death— If Jesus was sincere— I need no further Argue— That statement of the Lord Is not a controvertible— He told me, Death was [...]

POETRY: A Word Made Flesh Is Seldom by Emily Dickinson

September 10, 2017

And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us. (John 1:14) A Word made Flesh is seldom And tremblingly partook Nor then perhaps reported But have I not mistook Each one of us has tasted With ecstasies of stealth The very food debated To our specific strength— A Word that breathes distinctly Has not the power to die Cohesive as the Spirit It may expire if He— “Made Flesh and dwelt among us” Could condescension be Like this consent of Language This loved [...]

POETRY: Who Has Not Found The Heaven by Emily Dickinson

August 30, 2017

Who has not found the Heaven — below — Will fail of it above — For Angels rent the House next ours, Wherever we remove [...]

POETRY: Success Is Counted Sweetest by Emily Dickinson

August 26, 2017

Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host Who took the Flag today Can tell the definition So clear of Victory As he defeated—dying— On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Burst agonized and [...]

POETRY: The Soul Unto Itself by Emily Dickinson

August 20, 2017

The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend— Or the most agonizing Spy— An Enemy—could send— Secure against its own— No treason it can fear— Itself—its Sovereign—of itself The Soul should stand in [...]

POETRY: A Clock Stopped by Emily Dickinson

August 9, 2017

A Clock stopped— Not the Mantel’s— Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing— That just now dangled still— An awe came on the Trinket! the Figures hunched, with pain— Then quivered out of Decimals— Into Degreeless Noon— It will not stir for Doctors— This Pendulum of snow— This Shopman importunes it— While cool—concernless No— Nods from the Gilded pointers— Nods from the Seconds slim— Decades of Arrogance between The Dial life— And [...]

POETRY: Much Madness Is Divinest Sense by Emily Dickinson

August 5, 2017

Much Madness is divinest Sense— To a discerning Eye— Much Sense—the starkest Madness— ‘Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail— Assent—and you are sane— Demur—you’re straightway dangerous— And handled with a [...]

POETRY: This World Is Not Conclusion by Emily Dickinson

November 25, 2016

This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond— Invisible, as Music— But positive, as Sound— It beckons, and it baffles— Philosophy, don’t know— And through a Riddle, at the last— Sagacity, must go— To guess it, puzzles scholars— To gain it, Men have borne Contempt of Generations And Crucifixion, shown— Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies— Blushes, if any see— Plucks at a twig of Evidence— And asks a Vane, the way— Much Gesture, from the Pulpit— Strong Hallelujahs roll— Narcotics cannot still the Tooth That nibbles at the [...]

POETRY: At Least—To Pray—Is Left—Is Left by Emily Dickinson

June 17, 2016

At least—to pray—is left—is left— Oh Jesus—in the Air— I know not which thy chamber is— I’m knocking—everywhere— Thou settest Earthquake in the South— And Maelstrom, in the Sea— Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth— Hast thou no Arm for [...]

POETRY: My Period Had Come For Prayer by Emily Dickinson

June 1, 2016

My period had come for Prayer — No other Art — would do — My Tactics missed a rudiment — Creator — Was it you? God grows above — so those who pray Horizons — must ascend — And so I stepped upon the North To see this Curious Friend — His House was not — no sign had He — By Chimney — nor by Door Could I infer his Residence — Vast Prairies of Air Unbroken by a Settler — Were all that I could see — Infinitude — Had’st Thou no Face That I might look on Thee? The Silence condescended — Creation stopped — for Me — But awed beyond my errand — I worshipped — did not “pray” [...]

SATURDAY READING: Despair by Joyce Carol Oates

November 1, 2014

From Deadly Sins What mysterious cruelty in the human soul; to have invented despair as a “sin”! Like the Seven Deadly Sins employed by the medieval Roman Catholic Church to terrify the faithful into obedience, despair is most helpfully imagined as a mythical state. It has no quantifiable existence; it “is” merely allegory, yet no less lethal for the fact. Unlike other sins, however, despair is by tradition the sole sin that cannot be forgiven: it is the conviction that one may be damned absolutely, thus a refutation of the Christian savior and a challenge to God’s infinite capacity for forgiveness. The sins for which one may be forgiven – pride, anger, lust, sloth, avarice, gluttony, envy – are [...]

POETRY: Emily Dickinson On Belief And Unbelief

February 21, 2014

1260 Because that you are going And never coming back And I, however absolute, May overlook your Track— Because that Death is final, However first it be, This instant be suspended Above Mortality— Significance that each has lived The other to detect Discovery not God himself Could now annihilate Eternity, Presumption The instant I perceive That you, who were Existence Yourself forgot to live— The “Life that is” will then have been A thing I never knew— As Paradise fictitious Until the Realm of you— The “Life that is to be,” to me, A Residence too plain Unless in my Redeemer’s Face I recognize your own— Of Immortality who doubts He may exchange with me Curtailed by your obscuring Face Of everything [...]

POETRY: Words Of Emily Dickinson On Friendship

August 2, 2013

303 The Soul selects her own Society — Then — shuts the Door — To her divine Majority — Present no more — Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing — At her low Gate — Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling Upon her Mat — I’ve known her — from an ample nation — Choose One — Then — close the Valves of her attention — Like Stone — 753 My Soul — accused me — And I quailed — As Tongues of Diamond had reviled All else accused me — and I smiled — My Soul — that Morning — was My friend — Her favor — is the best Disdain Toward Artifice of Time — or Men — But Her Disdain — ‘twere lighter bear A finger of Enamelled Fire — 1630 As from the earth the light Balloon Asks nothing but release — [...]

POETRY: Death — Five Poems

March 6, 2013

The Death of the Flowers William Cullen Bryant The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing wind, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they are all in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain [...]

POETRY: God And Emily Dickinson

November 7, 2012

Dost Thou Remember Me? Savior, I’ve no one else to tell And so I trouble Thee, I am the one forgot Thee so— Dost Thou remember me? Not, for myself I came so far, That were the little load— I brought Thee the imperial Heart I had not strength to hold. The heart I carried in my own— Till mine too heavy be, Yet strangest—heavier Since it went— Is it too large for Thee? Tie the Strings to My Life Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord, Then, I am ready to go! Just a look at the Horses— Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side— So I shall never fall— For we must ride to the Judgment— And it’s partly, down Hill— But never I mind the steepest— And never I mind the Sea— Held fast in Everlasting Race— By my own [...]

POETRY: Four Last Poems

August 15, 2012

Night on the Prairies Walt Whitman Night on the prairies, The supper is over, the fire on the ground burns low, The wearied emigrants sleep, wrapt in their blankets; I walk by myself—I stand and look at the stars, which I think now I never realized before. Now I absorb immortality and peace, I admire death and test propositions. How plenteous! how spiritual! how resumé! The same old man and soul—the same old aspirations, and the same content. I was thinking the day most splendid till I saw what the not-day exhibited, I was thinking this globe enough till there sprang out so noiseless around me of myriads of other globes. Now while the great thoughts of space and eternity fill me I will measure myself by them, And now touch’d [...]

HEALING: Letting Go by Scott Cairns

July 26, 2012

from The End of Suffering More than a hundred years ago, a chronically afflicted Emily Dickinson observed something of pain’s curious effects and aftermath. “After great pain,” she wrote, ” a formal feeling comes.” Her poem continues: The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs— The still Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’? The Feet, mechanical, go round— Of Ground, or Air, or Ought— A Wooden way Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment, like a stone— This is the Hour of Lead— Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow— First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go— In Dickinson’s poem, the human [...]