When I hoped, I feared
Emily Dickinson
Since I hoped, I dared!
I realized for a moment with a great sense of sadness that from now on, whenever I decide to read a famous poet for the first time, I must keep myself free from any prejudice and presumption. I had heard that she was regarded as a transcendentalist as far as the major themes in her poems were concerned. I do not know, from where I got this notion, I probably learned it from some of the early articles, I read about her poems somewhere. How authentic was that source? I never checked! And meanwhile, I never got time to read her, verifying such presuppositions.
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Ar you–Nobody–Too?
Transcendentalism is certainly present there, but I also found commonplace innocence along with that profound sapience and susceptibility for Life, Love, and Death in her poetry. She has also written on various subjects like trains, shipwreck, surgeons, contract, lost jewel, etc. But she has filled those ordinary looking stuff around, with the fragrance of her craft and sensitivity.
Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
stirs the culprit,- life!
She herself has claimed that she has her phrases for every thought, but she confessed her limitations as well.
I found the phrase to every thought
I ever had, but one;
And that defies me,- as a hand
did try to chalk the sun
While I was reading this bulky volume, I felt in the beginning as if I were getting acquainted with a young girl, who did not want to disclose her sentiments, and who felt irritated and looked sulky when someone read her and tried to empathize with her sensibility. I felt as if she wished to keep herself hidden. But at the very next moment, I felt as if she were daring me to explore too, proving my thoughts wrong about her hesitancy, telling me how audacious her approach was.
Who never climbed the weary league-
Can such a foot explore
The purple territories
On Pizarro’s shore?
Her poems on nature, love, and life are extraordinarily beautiful and touching. Her sensibility in writing about hope and hunger, about life and death, about exploring and returning is just wonderful.
Tomorrow night will come again
Weary perhaps and sore
Ah, bugle, by my window
I pray you stroll once more!
She has scrutinized almost everything. Her subtle observation enlarged my common sense. There were four- liners giving a sound imprint to my sensibility and then there were beautiful longer poems taking me to her world of imagination giving an impression of her vision. She was humorous at times and expressed herself lightly as well, but she never looked futile. She maintained the depth and gravity every time.
I heard that though she lived a secluded life, she was never disappointed with life. I think she might have been an extremely sensitive introvert who invaginated her sentiments from the world and then from within her, came out such beautiful and impressive rhymes and verses, which made her readers feel instantly connected to her. I am so pleased and joyous reading her and having filled myself with such unique and exotic poetry of this poetess that I am going to visit her poetic world again and again.
That’s a promise!
The soul unto itself
Emily Dickinson
Is an imperial friend,-
Or the most agonizing spy
An enemy could send
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