I have a bit of a headache and should be doing work. I am trying to come to terms with my actions yesterday by sublimating them into a drive to accomplish something i can be proud of. we’ll see how that pans out. It gets dark very early now and this saddens me, so i am transcribing a poem by Emily Dickinson about a sunrise.
I’ll tell you how the Sun rose —
A Ribbon at a time —
The Steeples swam in Amethyst —
The news, like squirrels, ran —
The Hills untied their Bonnets —
The Bobolinks — begun —
Then I said softly to myself —
“That must have been the Sun”!
But how he set — I know not —
There seems a purple stile
That little Yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while —
Till when they reached the other side,
A Dominie in Gray —
Put gently up the evening Bars —
And led the flock away —
This is one of the four poems Dickinson sent to a magazine editor to get his opinion. He asked for more and concluded that she did not have a grasp of the conventions of poetry to merit her publication. Of course, she stands as one of the great American poets, but post-humously. I do not know what a Bobolink is. I love the choice of words to be capitalized and the breakdown of rhythm in like #4. Dickinson is a comfort; she trudged on producing works of great beauty.
My headache is not gone, but something else is…and i’m happy. this morning was…surreal and i couldn’t stop laughing.