Dear Friends,

A friend of mine gave me a book lately.  It was a new edition of Emily Dickinson’s letters, just recently out.  The volume itself is rather pretty, with old-fashioned flowers sprouting on the front - and just the right smallish size a book ought to be, easy to take anywhere.  While I always feel a little bad snooping into dead people’s letters, I thought I’d give it a try.

I’m glad I did – it’s delightful.  I’ve always been a fan of prose more than poetry, so I love learning about Emily Dickinson and seeing her style through her sentences rather than verses.  If you have read her poems, her letters give insight into the mind behind them; if you’ve never read her poems, the letters open a window to such an interesting personality, with so many quietly compelling beliefs and ideas.

 It seems like whenever I pick up the volume I find some very PLS-y quote that is beautiful and wise and makes me think.  It certainly makes me wish my own letters were more eloquent and insightful than they usually are.  :)  The things Dickinson says about writing, about living, about friendship, are so uniquely and gorgeously expressed.  Here are just a few to whet your appetite:


“It is also November.  The noons are more laconic and the sundowns sterner…November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.”

“Of our greatest acts we are ignorant.”

“I think you would like the chestnut-tree I met in my walk.  It hit my notice suddenly, and I thought the skies were in blossom.”  (Martin Buber anyone? ;) )

“You speak of ‘disillusion.’  That is one of the few subjects on which I am an infidel.  Life is so strong a vision, not one of it shall fail.”

"A letter always feels to me like Immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.  Indebted in our talk to attitude and accent, there seems to be a spectral power in thought that walks alone..."


It’s funny that Emily Dickinson seemed to live such a quiet and retired life, but the life you see in her letters is very vibrant, her world very full.

That’s what I loved most about these letters – how Emily D. is so in love with living.  And, for her, to truly live isn’t to have power or to have knowledge or to be great – it’s just to feel the world around you, to be left breathless by its beauty.  Even her poetry - she doesn’t write for the sake of leaving some grand legacy, she writes because it’s a channel to express her joy at living.  She says that “when a sudden light on orchards, or a new fashion in the wind troubled my attention, I felt a palsy, here, the verses just relieve.”

Love from, Emily W.
Lillian
11/4/2011 06:42:41 am

Emily, I loved this little post. It brought back fond memories of my thesis, which as most of you know, was about Emily Dickinson and Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Your post definitely echoes what I learned about Dickinson's life and personality. I'd like to expand on that, and shamelessly quote myself...

As Dickinson said to her editor and correspondent Thomas Wentworth Higginson when they met, “I find ecstacy in living; the mere sense of living is joy enough.” Cotter adds, “When Higginson asked whether she didn't miss going out, seeing friends, having a normal life, she answered, ‘I never thought of conceiving that I could ever have the slightest approach to such a want in all future time.’ Then she added, ‘I feel that I have not expressed myself strongly enough’.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald muses in The Great Gatsby on “that most limited of all specialists, the ‘well-rounded man.’ This isn’t just an epigram,” writes Fitzgerald, “life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all” (Fitzgerald 1925, 9). Fitzgerald’s half-jesting comment may hold a measure of truth. Examining the microcosm and the minutiae of human nature and circumstance may provide the greatest education for the aspiring author or artist...This reclusive privacy formed Dickinson’s best means to manage her intense sensitivity of thought and emotion. Perhaps for the poet especially, “Near-sighted eyes see with especial care, see with an urgent scrutiny” (Taggard 1930, 133). Biographers describe Dickinson’s joy and wonder in minute details of her surroundings, from a caterpillar on a leaf to the unusual whistle of a passing schoolboy. “One of [her niece] Martha’s strongest images is of Emily in ‘her flying wild hours of inward rapture over a beauty perceived or a winged word’” (Eberwein 1998, 16). These things all contributed to her art, her poetry.

Yummay.

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