Of a Poetess

Of a Poetess

A Confession of an Emily Dickinson Devotee

The shadows speak to her of Him
And everything Divine,
And so she writes in metered hymn
The depth of every sign.
The sun and moon and vaulted skies
Are symbols she will say-
She sees the Meaning they disguise
And writes what they portray.

That Meaning (set in cryptic verse)
Transcends what I can see,
And though I have the poet’s thirst
I cannot be as she:
For God has opened up her sight
To see internal things-
With ease she sees the purer light,
I see it and it stings.

-jwm
Of the Poem (Parameters and a Side Note)

Parameters

Stanza: Octet
Meter: Alternates between a tetrameter (8 syllables per line), and a trimeter (6 syllables)
Rhyme Scheme: ababcdcd per individual stanza

Note

To say Emily Dickinson is an incredible poet is not saying enough. Of course, and I say this respectfully of her, she’s just as human as the next person.

Here’s the deal, though … her passion and talent for poetry, coupled with her ability to perceive the depths of the transcendental in the exceedingly mundane, is a level scarcely reached by most people (and to give expression of it in verse, rarer still).

She composed roughly 1,800 poems in her lifetime. It was only when she died that those who were close to her came to discover her works. This suggests to me that not only did she care little for accolade, but that she cared for poetry for poetry’s sake. A true poet!Her commitment to poetry is chillingly inspiring. I’ve said this before, and I’ll unhesitatingly say it again: She, above any poet I’ve come to know or study thus far, is what a poet ought to be. She is to poetry what Kierkegaard is to existentialism.

Søren’s Counsel

Søren’s Counsel

The Advice of a Danish Existentialist

Tis not death the young man fears
No, what he fears, and this is true:
Staunch rejection of his peers,
And independence from their view.

May I offer this to you-
If you, young man, a man would be:
Know thyself and faith accrue,
And shun the faceless Crowd, like me.

Stroll the Jutland dells as free,
And be what God intends you to;
Wait in peace and you will see
Your peers will fear and follow you! 

-jwm

Of the Poem (Poetic Parameters and a Brief Note):

Stanza: Quatrain
Meter: The first line of each stanza has a seven syllable count, the remaining lines are in tetrameter (eight syllables)
Rhyme Scheme: abab baba abab (notice how the end-rhyme of last line of the first stanza becomes the end-rhyme of the first line of the second stanza, and so on … I thought this offered a beautiful cadence to the poem)

Note: Søren Aabye Kierkegaard was born on May 5th, 1813, in Copenhagen, Denmark. He’s the father of a branch of philosophy that would come to be known as existentialism.

In general, he’s an individualist who praises Socrates and his quest for self-knowledge; and a man who, through a leap of faith, threw himself into the arms of God.

Jutland is the name for a peninsula that forms the continental portion of Denmark. Kierkegaard journeyed there to visit Sæding, the place where his father (recently passed) grew up as a child.

In the last line of the last stanza the word fear is to be understood as fear in the sense of awe, or reverence, like the Hebrew word יִרְאָה (yirah).

Happy 180th Birthday, Emily Dickinson

What an incredible month for poetry December is … Milton's birthday celebrated yesterday, and today Dickinson (1830)! Awesome, awesome stuff!

Many people don’t know this about Emily Dickinson, but she composed roughly 1800 poems that almost nobody in the world knew about … her poetic life was essentially a secret, one that was lived- literally!- in solitude. This means, for me at any rate, that she loved poetry for poetry’s sake- and not for accolade, not for prestige, nor for honor, nor reputation or any of that! She, above any one I’ve come to know or study thus far, is what a poet ought to be.

Now anyone who knows me knows that Milton is my favorite poet, but I feel the truth of this statement deep, deep in my heart: I know of no other poet who is more authentic and more unique than Emily Dickinson. She is to poetry what Kierkegaard is to existentialism. I really, really love her and her works!

Happy birthday, Dickinson …

****

Poem 214: I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed

I taste a liquor never brewed –
From Tankards scooped in Pearl –
Not all the Frankfort Berries
Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of air – am I –
And Debauchee of Dew –
Reeling – thro' endless summer days –
From inns of molten Blue –

When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove's door –
When Butterflies – renounce their "drams" –
I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats –
And Saints – to windows run –
To see the Tippler
Leaning against the – Sun!

Kierkegaard Parable: The Poet

What is a poet? An unhappy man who in his heart harbors a deep anguish, but whose lips are so fashioned that the moans and cries which pass over them are transformed into ravishing music. His fate is like that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Phalaris imprisoned in a brazen bull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; their cries could not reach the tyrant's ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when they reached his ears they sounded like sweet music. And men crowd around the poet and say to him, "Sing for us soon again"—which is as much as to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul, but may your lips be fashioned as before; for the cries would only distress us, but the music, the music, is delightful.

Any thoughts ....

Selected from one of Kierkegaard's more well known works, Either/Or.