Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson was born on December 10, 1830, in Amherst, Massachusetts. She attended Mount Holyoke Female Seminary in South Hadley, but only for one year. Throughout her life, she seldom left her home and visitors were few. The people with whom she did come in contact, however, had an enormous impact on her poetry. She was particularly stirred by the Reverend Charles Wadsworth, whom she first met on a trip to Philadelphia. He left for the West Coast shortly after a visit to her home in 1860, and some critics believe his departure gave rise to the heartsick flow of verse from Dickinson in the years that followed. While it is certain that he was an important figure in her life, it is not clear that their relationship was romantic—she called him “my closest earthly friend.” Other possibilities for the unrequited love that was the subject of many of Dickinson’s poems include Otis P. Lord, a Massachusetts Supreme Court judge, and Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield Republican.
By the 1860s, Dickinson lived in almost complete isolation from the outside world, but actively maintained many correspondences and read widely. She spent a great deal of this time with her family. Her father, Edward Dickinson, was actively involved in state and national politics, serving in Congress for one term. Her brother, Austin, who attended law school and became an attorney, lived next door with his wife, Susan Gilbert. Dickinson’s younger sister, Lavinia, also lived at home for her entire life in similar isolation. Lavinia and Austin were not only family, but intellectual companions for Dickinson during her lifetime.
Dickinson’s poetry was heavily influenced by the Metaphysical poets of seventeenth-century England, as well as her reading of the Book of Revelation and her upbringing in a Puritan New England town, which encouraged a Calvinist, orthodox, and conservative approach to Christianity.
She admired the poetry of Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, as well as John Keats. Though she was dissuaded from reading the verse of her contemporary Walt Whitman by rumors of its disgracefulness, the two poets are now connected by the distinguished place they hold as the founders of a uniquely American poetic voice. While Dickinson was extremely prolific as a poet and regularly enclosed poems in letters to friends, she was not publicly recognized during her lifetime. The first volume of her work was published posthumously in 1890 and the last in 1955. She died in Amherst in 1886. (https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/emily-dickinson)
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This is the last couple poems I’ve got dog-eared in “Poems To Read: A New Favorite Poem Project Anthology”. Normally I’m not a real classic poetry fan, but these two little poems by Emily Dickinson tickled my fancy. The gal who submitted them to this anthology writes:
This poem reminds me of how I feel when I read certain books. I don’t even have to leave my room to travel to far-off lands. Reading lets me leave my problems behind. (–Cristina P., 14, Student, Miami, Florida)
Do we have any more Dickinson admirers out there? Can you post a favorite in the comments?
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There Is No Frigate Like a Book
There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry —
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll —
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human Soul
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A Word is dead
A WORD is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
Cool biography. I wonder what kept her home. There have been times when I have isolated myself, and it makes me wonder if she did this.
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You know sometimes I think losing a best friend is far more debilitating and heartbreaking than losing a spouse or a lover. I wonder if not seeing the reverend just deprived her of such an outlet that she finally found in her brother.
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Very interesting review. It’s too bad that none of her poetry was published before here death. I wonder if the siblings were writers, or what occupation they might have had. At least the brother might have worked out of home. You indicated the sister led a rather solitary life. Thanks for the research.
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I actually got the info from poetry.org. I’ve never read much about her, but I knew when I read her words about hope that she would identify with how I feel sometimes. She said:
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.
I keep that in a frame on my desk. 🙂
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Oh, yes. That’s lovely. Hope warms the heart indeed. 😀
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Oneta, sorry I haven’t been around for awhile. The pneumonia and myathenia gravis has kind of stolen my thunder. But am getting treated for it now! Yay! Hope you’re well. ❤
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Here’s a ink to one I like – it’s longer than a lot of them…
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/i-measure-every-grief-i-meet-561
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Jane, that poem reminds me a lot of the way YOU write. I think it’s interesting that when they published her stuff they took out most of the dashes and stuff she used as they felt it was grammatically incorrect. But I get it, even in that poem where there’s a lot of it. She said and punctuated it just exactly as it was meant to be.
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I hadn’t noticed the similarity. It’s interesting that I don’t like a lot of her poetry, but am attracted to one that has a similar pattern to mine…
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Well, I think like gravitates to like?
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You know she’s one of my fave raves!
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So are you a classic poetry person, Lori?
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Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –
Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –
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What an interesting poem! Do you know the context, Martha? The history behind it?
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An amazing poet.
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It’s so interesting what beauty can come out of solitude sometimes, isn’t it…
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I’m not at all familiar with her work although of course I have heard of her. How interesting that she lived such a solitary ife and left such a strong mark of her presence in history.
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It sounds like she would have been an interesting person to add to my “get-to-know” list on Pinterest (which I haven’t been on in months!!!)
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