Dickinson for the soul

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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.

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3 thoughts on “Dickinson for the soul

  1. DICKINSON IS EEEEVIL! Her and Sylvia Plath are the largest insult poetry has ever recieved.

    Dickinson is just a whiner who didn’t ever see anything beyond her little room.

    Read someone better like Shelley or Wordsworth or hell, even Eliot. Dickinson is terrible and the furthest from beautiful or uplifting.

  2. Furthermore, if you want the complete dickinson i’ll sell you mine for 10$ she’s been kicked out of my library along with Joyce and all other anti-human literature.

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