Happy Valentines Day, Emily Dickinson

    By Oxy Mora on Tue, 02/14/2012 - 8:57am |

     

       Oh, Emilie!

     

    This poem---opon

    a rose stem...fixed

    may pose within--

    or blossom yet...

     

    From your eyes

    may doubt leap---

    never so close...

    my conversion lies.

     

    To our trysting place--

    oh, Heavenly One...

    thy hidden smile

    thy wandering child.

     

     

    Note: phrases and words written by Dickinson, as in "trysting place" and e.g., describing herself as a 
    "wandering child".  Class poem, from seminar, obviously. 

     

     

    Comments

    Thanks for the infusion of Emily Dickinson. 
    I wrote this tonight so I could post something for you.
     
    -----------------------------------
     
    I'm adrift in damp depression 
    over moonbeams which don't shine for me.
    each night is dark, and my porch swing still frozen in perpetuity.
    my gloom is an amber shadow, which hides behind each flirting tree
    and still  ... my violets await the Spring.
    And so, I can not help but wonder ... 
    and while I'm wondering, I sing.
     
    Now, I know my voice has gotten raspy 
    and my memory's lost a gigabyte or two,
    but what I feel has sailed the oceans
    and wrestled dragons (more than a few.).
    my feelings scaled enormous mountains, and engaged in many a daring fling
    Still, I can not help but wonder
    and while I'm wondering, I sing.
     
    Hope, my friend has perplexed many,
    for it's just a feathered thing,
    And while I haven't got a penny,
    my violets still await the Spring.
     


     

    by MrSmith1 on Tue, 02/14/2012 - 11:43pm

    Emilie and I thank you very much. Well done, Mr. Smith, well done. 

    Absolutely love, "my feelings scaled enormous mountains, and engaged in many a daring fling".

    Can't believe you wrote that of an evening. Keep going, man. 


    by Oxy Mora on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 12:35am

    Mr.  Smith, Oxy.. those are fantastic! Thanks for the terrific read to both of you.


    by tmccarthy0 on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 12:27am

    Thanks, Tmac.


    by Oxy Mora on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 12:36am

    oh, oh emily....blush

     

     

    Wild Nights – Wild Nights! (249)  
    by Emily Dickinson
     

    Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
    Were I with thee
    Wild Nights should be
    Our luxury!

    Futile – the winds –
    To a heart in port –
    Done with the compass –
    Done with the chart!

    Rowing in Eden –
    Ah, the sea!
    Might I moor – Tonight –
    In thee!

     

     


    by EmmaZahn on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 2:10am


    Thanks, Emma. She was the treasure of the 19th Century. And for a life time she fought the pressures for religious conversion and practiced her art. Such an amazing person. 


    by Oxy Mora on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 10:03am

    There are certain moments that I would love to be able to go back in time and witness. One of them would the posthumous discovery of Emily Dickinson's poems by her sister.

     

    I re-worked my improv of last night a bit ...

     

    -----------------------------

     

    I'm adrift in damp depression 
    over moonbeams which don't shine for me
    each darkened night, my porch swing's empty
    and no-one sips my tea but me.
     
    Gloom is an amber shadow,
    which hides behind each flirting tree
    and yet  ... in spite of all misgivings,
    my violets still await the Spring.
    And so, I can not help but wonder ... 
    and while I'm wondering, I sing.
     
    Now, I know my voice has gotten raspy 
    and my memory's lost a thought or two,
    but what I feel has sailed the oceans
    and wrestled dragons (more than a few.).
    my feelings scaled enormous mountains, and engaged in many a daring fling
    Still, I can not help but wonder
    and while I'm wondering, I sing.
     
    Hope, my friend, has perplexed many,
    Emily says it's a feathered thing,
    But whether you've got too much or you haven't any,
    my violets still await the Spring.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


    by MrSmith1 on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 1:06pm

    Great poem, Mr. Smith. Yes, the moment of discovery must have been something. As I recall, some material was burned, I think it was Dickinson's request, but a large bundle was saved. Thomas Higginson figured prominently in her life and in the publication of "Poems", 1890. I read two biographies which are fascinating. One is "My Wars are laid away in books", Alfred Habeggar, really readable. 

    I miss the rhyme of "perpetuity" and "tree". 


    by Oxy Mora on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 1:24pm

    Yeah, I liked the perpetuity line, but I thought it didn't quite scan...  didn't someone once say something about being a writer means that sometimes you have to kill your babies?  


    by MrSmith1 on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 3:02pm

    It's true and its the hardest part. Excellent poem, wasn't carping. 


    by Oxy Mora on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 3:12pm

    Camille Paglia (a Dickinson scholar way before she was a pop culture commentator)  bitches about Dickinson's family (& Higgonson) screwing up her legacy, how they edited her stuff to be "namby pamby" acceptable to the times, basically castrating the real  "Amherst Madame DeSade," until the more accurate Harvard editions came out in the 1950's:

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0zEDCtyWEMY&feature=player_embedded


    by artappraiser on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 8:13pm

    Yes, that's true, but ... then again, they could have burned all of them or, not realizing what they had, simply threw them away.  Thankfully, the later, comprehensive editions restored the poems to their original structure and put them into a reasonably accurate chronological order.


    by MrSmith1 on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 9:23pm

    Thanks, Mr. Smith. I've been perusing the Habeggar biography and am thinking it's the other one I like better. Anyhow, they are both worth reading, especially the context of culture and religiosity in New England during the period. 


    by Oxy Mora on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 10:29pm

    Right. She had an active emotional life with Higginson, Bowles, Wadsworth and Lord. Higginson was a journeyman poet and accomplished writer---but I don't think he fully understood her genius, as I guess no one could have had at that time. As Mr. Smith points out, the original poems were restored. Someone said a really tacky thing about her poetry, that it could all be sung to the tune of the "Yellow Rose of Texas". I fortunately came by an 1890 edition when it was affordable, and keep it in a small bookcase near by bedside. 


    by Oxy Mora on Wed, 02/15/2012 - 10:25pm

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