About Emily

In case you were wondering...the title of my last post came from this poem by Emily Dickinson:


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 soul -



Her poems don't have titles as such but most of you will know Emily Dickinson's name even if you haven't read much by her. She is one of those writers who gets more and more well-known the longer she is dead (she lived 1830-1886...in fact she was born on 10 December so it's kind of her birthday around now). Resident of Massachusetts, USA, pretty much a recluse in her lifetime and advised against publishing her verse (!), I find it interesting how much her reputation as a poet is flourishing as time goes by. I seem to hear her name more and more (there is an English folk singer called Pete Morton who has a song 'I'm in love with Emily Dickinson' for a start) and I can't help thinking that this is only the beginning. Maybe it's because quite a lot of us love the image of the secret poet, living her batty life, not being appreciated (perish the thought!). Maybe it's that quite a lot of us feel we don't have that many women poets from the past to crow about and have grabbed her with both hands! Maybe it's just that the poems are such unusual blends of faith and realism and oddity and beauty. Who knows...but it's interesting, don't you think? Even more interesting is the fact that it was only in 1955 that her poems were finally published with her own, distinctive punctuation and so allowed to really work as they should (and her dashes are much bigger than the ones I've managed to get on here). For obvious reasons this is one reason why I find myself becoming more and more of a Dickinson reader and admirer – for me there is absolutely no reason why poetry should be punctuated like prose (do that if you want to but please don't expect everyone else to...it's so restrictive, so unadventurous, so...prosaic!). Indeed I can never understand why anyone would want to tell any other poet how to write at all. Get on with your own work, I say, and stop talking at the back...or see me later in detention...


I have a funny little book called 'The Enthusiast Field Guide to Poetry' and it's got some lovely little bits and pieces in it. It never says who the author/s of the book are (anyone know?) but on page 126 are these words:

“Dickinson punctuated the way she wanted to. She met with rejection because she insisted on her own terms. The dashes – they're deliberate. They make the poem halting and hesitant. They articulate the difficulty Dickinson had in saying what she meant.
And she had difficulty saying what she meant because, as she saw it, meaning is difficult.”

Now that sounds quite reasonable, wouldn't you say? Certainly sounds reasonable to me...


I have a little book of Dickinson's poems that I keep in the pile of books by my bed (somewhere near the top just lately). It's called a 'A Choice of Emily Dickinson's Verse – Selected with an introduction by Ted Hughes' (first published in 1968 and bought second hand for about a quid, full of inky annotations in the margins). Like all my favourite poets Dickinson has started to feel like a friend or a relative and in this case she is most definitely eccentric Auntie Em (and remember – eccentric in this house is a compliment...it has to be!). I'm not a huge Ted Hughes fan (because I can see the accomplishment but his poems don't do anything for me really...not yet anyway) but his introduction to this book of Dickinson is simply charming. There's something about the more macho male poets...no matter how good and respected and honoured they are...I almost like them better when they are blowing other poet's trumpets. I have a book of Robert Burns with an introduction by Don Paterson, for example, which is equally irresistible. I like Paterson's poetry (and will be reading more, I'm sure) but his...what could you call it...prickliness disappears when he's just busy appreciating Burns, not caring what anyone thinks about him and his, no doubt, marvellous oeuvre. Worrying about our own oeuvre...there's something we could all do a lot less of...


I think I may have quoted the Hughes introduction from this book before but here are a few snippets to mull over...

“she was first of all true to herself and her wits”

“her poems record not only her ecstatic devotion, but her sharp, sceptical independence, her doubt, and what repeatedly opens under her ecstasy – her despair”

“the precision of her feeling for language”

“the strengths and ingenuities of her poetic style”

“everywhere there is the teeming carnival of world-life”

“death obsessed her, as the one act that could take her the one necessary step beyond her vision”

“with the hymn and the riddle, those two small domestic implements, she grasped the 'centre' and the 'circumference' of things – to use two of her favourite expressions – as surely as human imagination ever has”


It's a great little book full of madness and mystery and I love it. “My business is to love,” said Emily, some time back when she was alive, “my business is to sing”.


Happy Emily Dickinson's Birthday for tomorrow, everyone!

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