Friday, December 7, 2012

Emily Dickinson - a poem of despair


I noticed that Emily Dickinson wrote about death and despair a lot.  It makes me wonder about her life, the kind of pains and toils that were levied on her soul.  Her poetry is also usually cryptic, but one poem, 510, that is about despair is a piece of her literature that I think I understand fairly well.  The first half goes:

It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down—
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Sirocos—crawl—
Nor Fire—for just my Marble feet
Could keep a Chancel, cool—

And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine—

I found it interesting how Dickinson explains her experience with despair by comparing them to things that it is not: it’s not death, but the senses are just as numb; it’s not night, but it is a kind of darkness; it’s not frost, but feels just as cold in the spirit; it’s neither fire, but similarly wild and destructive.  Then the death in her life, the burials of others, seems to remind her of her own emotional burial.
                Then Dickinson writes:  

As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And 'twas like Midnight, some—

When everything that ticked—has stopped—
And Space stares all around—
Or Grisly frosts—first Autumn morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground—

But, most, like Chaos—Stopless—cool—
Without a Chance, or Spar—
Or even a Report of Land—
To justify—Despair.

I’m assuming she means she feels trapped, stifled, and separated from the world ("fitted to a frame"), and the “key” to her escape from this agony is missing.  Although one thing I can’t decide is whether the thing that ceased to "tick” is the speaker’s heart or some other mechanism in her spirit or mind.  But then she writes about “space” (a cold, dark, empty void) that surrounds her, and a “grisly frost” that freezes over and stops what I’m assuming to be her heart (“beating ground”).  Whether it kills the speaker’s body or spirit I’m unsure, but Dickinson explains that despair – like “chaos” – is undefeatable.  I’m wondering if “report of land” means that the speaker is stuck out in a metaphorical sea, alone, with no sign of land or hope for the end of the treacherous waves of despair.    

2 comments:

  1. Fantastic post! I love this poem by Dickinson and enjoy your analysis of it. In regards to Dickinson's life, she was actually secluded in her own home for her entire life, only engaging with others when they came to visit. She would spend her days with only her family to keep her company, in which most members were rarely present. This proved to make her a very reclusive introvert, which was often expressed in her poems. This explains how you noticed she felt "trapped, stifled, and separated from the world". Well done! Alongside her running themes of death and despair, Dickinson could also depict a sense of humor, inspiration and love for God. Here's a short poem you by Dickinson you may find interesting!

    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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  2. I enjoy Emilly Dickinsons poetry. Most of her poems are indeed about death and sadness or despair. Sometimes, however, even in the midst of her morbidity, it seems like she is reaching for hope, for something more positive, like in "I Could Not Stop For Death"

    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 grew quivering and chill,
    For only gossamer my gown,
    My tippet only tulle.

    We paused before a house that seemed
    A swelling of the ground;
    The roof was scarcely visible,
    The cornice but a mound.

    Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
    Feels shorter than the day
    I first surmised the horses' heads
    Were toward eternity.


    Even though it's clearly about death, I believe she is pulling out positivity by associating death with humanity, depicting him as a person. Although, poetry is what you make it, as with art, so perhaps i choose to see a positive in this poem, and perhaps there really isn't one at all? :)

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