Emily Dickinson Museum Discussion Group, 15 January 2016

Emily Dickinson Museum Poetry Discussion Group

Facilitated by Tom Martinson

"Nature - the Gentlest Mother is."

Tom. In terms of the topic, I wasn’t sure about it. I started off with the poem A Bird came down the Walk. I was fascinated by the last lines.

Than oars divide the ocean,

Too silver for a seam -

Or butterflies, off Banks of Noon

Leap, plashless - as they swim.

I started thinking about her depiction of nature as something very delicate, and something to be admired from afar. So I started reading other poems, to see if I could find other poems that connected with that. Then I started seeing that sometimes nature is very delicate, but sometimes it’s also something scary and powerful. So that’s how I got to Emily Dickinson as an observer of nature. We all know that she was, but I think that she brings a perspective that a lot of people who may or may not be environmentally conscious could appreciate. That’s how I came to the topic, but if we get off on different directions, that’s fine, too. Could I ask someone to read 654?

Clare reads.

Beauty—be not caused—It Is—

Chase it, and it ceases—

Chase it not, and it abides—

Overtake the Creases

In the Meadow—when the Wind

Runs his fingers thro' it—

Deity will see to it

That You never do it—
                        - J516/Fr654/M310

[ To hear this poem read aloud go to https://youtu.be/207g_DVPfKA ]

Tom. I’m OK with that poem, until the last two lines. There seems to be some divine intervention here – anyone want to try to straighten me out on this? What is the antecedent of “it?”

Harrison The ceases.

Greg. You never overtake the creases.

Tom. What does that mean, overtake the creases?

Greg. In the nineteenth-century science was beginning to de-mystify what had been miraculous unknowable phenomena, and she uses the word overtake – and science was overtaking the mysteries of nature – but you can’t really do that with the wind in the grass.

Tom. Yes, so I wonder if she’s saying that the Deity does not want us to interfere or the Deity does not want us to get ahead of nature.

Greg. I read Deity as not so much as the Calvinist father God but more as just the divine in nature.

Harrison. “Overtaken” is an interesting word. She has a poem that begins:

The overtakelessness of those
Who have accomplished Death 
Majestic is to me beyond
The majesties of Earth –
She’s talking about distance between us and those who have accomplished  death and those who have died. To overtake them would be to establish some kind of communication with them. … but you see, overtaking the creases involves not only reaching them physically, but understanding them in a certain way.

Tom. And the admonishment here is that we don’t want that understaning?

Harrison. The Deity doesn’t want it. The Deity could be nature herself.

Tom. Right
.
Elaine. I’m just thinking,   Beauty—be not caused—It Is—It is, and then, to take it another step, you’re not going to change the crease, because they are, and I don’t see Deity as imposing anything. I see her as saying “It is what it is.” That’s about as deep as I can go.

Someone. That’s beautiful.

Robert. I was seeing it as art is – beauty is viewed from a natural distance. If you get close to the creases you’re not going to appreciate – it’s like you’re looking at a picture from a distance.

Jay. Are we sure that this is a poem about nature? It could be a poem about beauty of all sorts, and she just uses two lines, really, to illustrate the point. Whenever you chase beauty you may destroy it. So many of her poems start out as though they area about nature, but they may be about something in addition or instead of.

Lucy. I think you’re right in some capacity, because she’s talking about the difference between natural beauty and performed beauty, or beauty that’s made, or chased. In this poem I think we see her dubbing her favorite kind of beauty as the untouched beauty, and it’s that that you find when you walk outside

Greg. In another poem she writes,

A Color stands abroad

On Solitary Fields

That Science cannot overtake

But Human Nature feels.

I think that’s the same sentiment. [That’s A Light exists in spring].

Elaine. Is there a date?

Greg. 1863 according to Franklin.

Tom. One of the things that I thought of when I read this poem was Keats’ Grecian Urn. There’s a picture on the urn of lovers pursuing each other, forever frozen in time, never actually to acquire the treasure. You’re almost within reach, but you’re never actually there. The other line I thought of was “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”

Melba. Robert, I was interested in what you were saying, and the act of perception, because the Transcendentalist writers were very aware of the act of perception as simultaneously an act of creation going on, an arrangement in you mind, and I think Emerson is really close to associating that with the divine, the divine impulse. So, if Emily’s thoughts are running along that route, then Deity will see to it is kind of her comment that the divine aspect of arranging and seeing this scene it that you will always have to be at a distance to the crease. You can’t actually get to it and touch it. You have to be far enough away from it that you can put it in perspective.

Harrison. It reminds me of a mirage, when you’re driving along the highway in the summer, and you see puddles ahead of you. When you get there, they’re not there.

Jule. I wonder if, metaphorically, overtake the creases could be if you imagine yourself out in nature, the wind is blowing the grass, and if you overtake them, if you try to run by them, the all of a sudden they’re behind you, you’re not looking at the beauty anymore.

Tom. “Overtaken” in the sense that a runner has overtaken an opponent in a race. That’s an interesting thought. OK, next we will go to 171.

Elaine reads.

A fuzzy fellow, without feet,

Yet doth exceeding run!

Of velvet, is his Countenance,

And his Complexion, dun!

Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!

Sometime, upon a bough,

From which he doth descend in plush

Upon the Passer-by!

All this in summer.

But when winds alarm the Forest Folk,

He taketh Damask Residence—

And struts in sewing silk!

Then, finer than a Lady,

Emerges in the spring!

A Feather on each shoulder!

You'd scarce recognize him!

By Men, yclept Caterpillar!

By me! But who am I,

To tell the pretty secret

Of the Butterfly!
                        -J173/Fr171/M98

[ To hear this poem read aloud, go to https://youtu.be/7y9vaG4I0QI ]

I  think she’s used all of her exclamation points in this poem [laughter].

Yclep by the way, is middle English for “named.”

Greg. I wonder why she put that in.

Harrison. It would have had better meter had she said “by men named caterpillar” instead. It would have scanned better. [20.31]

Elaine. And then she demurred. By me! But who am I …

Clare. Don’t you think she had fun writing this? I can just see her smiling. It has a little joi de vivre. [general agreement]

Harrison. What does damask mean?

Several. A kind of cloth. Elegant cloth. Usually a silk.

Harrison. I had a kindergarten teacher who had a caterpillar costume [laughter]. He’d get inside of it, and emerge, and spread his wings on the outside. I’ve never forgotten that. It’s been a while.

Tom. So, I thought that this one paired well with the previous one. Because it’s another one of those where, “I can see it, and I can enjoy it, and I can be enriched by it, but it’s far deeper than I can completely comprehend.

Jay. It’s a little earlier than the other one. It may actually be about nature [laughter].

Tom. Well, I’m hoping all of these have something to do with nature. That was my intention.

Lucy. I like all the vocabulary of textures, fuzzy – velvet – plush, and then finer than a Lady, Emerges in the spring!. I thought the gender stuff in this was really interesting, with regard to this idea of beauty – it’s really this kind of flashy gentleman caterpillar that is very decked out, and he’s definitely finer than a lady is. He definitely transcends the conventional categories of people  … kind of interesting.

Jule. To me it sounds like theater.

Clare. At the end, humbly, she puts herself in her place. “Who am I to disclose the secret?” I can recognize it and describe it but there’s a greater depth that I cannot plumb. I thought that was sweet how she humbly put herself in that position.

Lucy. Well, she’s also jabbing at the idea that men call it a caterpillar, because she has a pretty secret to tell of the butterfly. More than once, when she writes “but who am I?” – “I’m just a little nobody ….

Tom. Are you saying that she has a different vision of this caterpillar than the men?

Lucy. Maybe. Maybe not just because she’s a woman, or maybe because a woman spends more of her time in the garden …

Elaine. Or dressing for a party.

Greg. And it was the men who were doing the science and writing the dictionaries and giving names to things.

Terry. Overtaking things [laughter].

Jule. There is the lingering question. If men call it a caterpillar, what does she call it? She doesn’t answer that.

Greg. “Fuzzy Fellow?” [laughter]. … The butterfly was a symbol of the resurrection in Christian typology.

Tom. Would there be any validity in seeing this as considering a transition of one form of life to another?

Someone. A Feather on each shoulder suggests the wings of an angel …

Robert. The poem My Cocoon tightens — Colors tease —/ I'm feeling for the Air — gives a sense of that transformation.

Someone. I’m intrigued by the word “secret.” It seems to me that she could also be talking about the mystery of the transformation, that with this there is something mysterious, the way birth is mysterious.

Tom. This next poem is the one that gave me the title.

Jay reads.

Nature — the Gentlest Mother is,
Impatient of no Child —
The feeblest — or the waywardest —
Her Admonition mild —

In Forest — and the Hill —
By Traveller — be heard —
Restraining Rampant Squirrel —
Or too impetuous Bird —

How fair Her Conversation —
A Summer Afternoon —
Her Household — Her Assembly —
And when the Sun go down —

Her Voice among the Aisles
Incite the timid prayer
Of the minutest Cricket —
The most unworthy Flower —

When all the Children sleep —
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light Her lamps —
Then bending from the Sky —

With infinite Affection —
And infiniter Care —
Her Golden finger on Her lip —
Wills Silence — Everywhere —

                      -J790/Fr741/M372

[ To hear this poem read aloud, go to https://youtu.be/4dBLNw1BLK4 ]

Tom. When I first read this , the first word that I zoned in on was – I did not know why she’d choose the word aisles. I think of church, I think of school …

Jay. But not of gardens.

Tom. But not of gardens.

Someone. It could have been a plowed field.

Greg. The crickets are emitting a prayer. You do that in church. In another poem crickets celebrate their unobtrusive Mass.

Someone. How did you read aisles, Tom, when you first read it.

Tom. My notes say “Where is she? A church?” That’s all I have. [laughter]

Jay. In 1863 it could have been a cemetery, too. [general concurrence]

Greg. I love the rampant squirrels.[general agreement and laughter]

Elaine. What surprises me about this poem is that it’s a very gentle poem. Obviously Emily was very appreciative of nature – also very knowledgeable. What surprises me – she’s blocking out the floods, the forest fires ….

Someone. She’s looking at just one aspect of nature. I also think the way she has brought children into this poem is very sweet.

Burleigh. Someone suggested the war before. This sounds like she’s in a very sanctified space – a cemetery. There’s a sense of holiness about it – a blessing on the children here.

Harrison. She talks about nature as being merciful. “With tender majesty/ Her message is committed – to Hands I cannot see. And she goes on to say that she hopes she will be judged tenderly by those who are reading her.

Terry. Dickinson also referred to the Holyoke range as “Our strong Madonnas.” The hills that we can all see.

Victoria. I like what Terry said. There’s that passage in the bible that God cares for every sparrow, so there’s just an overriding benevolence in this poem – that the minutest cricket or the most unworthy little flower in the pasture – it feels to me – everything in the forest and in the hills she overlooks – the gentlest mother, the Madonna – overlooks all of nature in a benevolent way.

Lucy. It also reminds me of that poem How many Flowers fail in Wood/ Or perish from the Hill. The idea that someone is accounting for all of these things.

Someone. You do get an idea in that fourth stanza of some kind of Transcendentalist attitude toward nature in place to some biblical God watching over the sparrow and the lilies of the field

Melba. That final line has something of an ominous note. We’ve been told that nature is the gentlest mother, but her power is immense. She can will silence and has the power over life and death, even if it comes softly. She can take any of these things described out of existence.

Tom. Gentle, but powerful, controlling, always there, everpresent.

Someone. I don’t see the willing silence as overpowering, I see it as inspiring – evoking silence – the awe, the mystery, rather than a threat, or of death.

Someone else. It’s gentle, but it’s still a command.

Victoria. Are there two made-up words, infinite and waywardest?

Greg. “Most wayward” would be grammatically correct.

Tom. That’s interesting. waywardest and infinite would suggest someone who was not adept with the English language, something a child would say.

Harrison. She was just not patient with the English language.

Elaine. The English language is constantly changing. It was certainly spoken differently then.

Victoria. Well, my question is, are these original with her?

[Several] Yes.

Jule. Infiniter. It’s even beyond what we can imagine what we can imagine.

Lucy. It’s interesting to me that although nature has all these jobs, she still has all her domestic jobs, her household, her family.

Harrison. She wants to have it all. [laughter]

Tom. OK, I have a letter to read. This one is letter 185.

Victoria reads.

To Mrs. J.G. Holland early August 1856?

Don't tell, dear Mrs. Holland, but wicked as I am, I read my Bible sometimes, and in it as I read today, I found a verse like this, where friends should "go no more out" and there were "no tears," and I wished as I sat down to-night that we were there - not here - and that wonderful world had commenced, which makes such promises, and rather than write you, I were by your side, and the "hundred and forty and four thousand" where chatting pleasantly, yet not disturbing us. And I'm half tempted to take my seat in that Paradise of which the good man writes, and begin forever and ever now, so wondrous does it seem. My only sketch, profile, of Heaven is a large, blue sky, bluer and larger than the biggest I have seen in June, and in it are my friends - all of them - every one of them - those who are with me now, and those who were "parted" as we walked, and "snatched up to Heaven."

If roses had not faded, and frosts had never come, and one had not fallen here and there whom I could not waken, there were no need of other Heaven than the one below - and if God had been here this summer, and seen the things that I have seen - I guess that He would think His Paradise superfluous. Don't tell Him, for the world, though, for after all He's said about it, I should like to see what He was building for us, with no hammer, and no stone, and no journeyman either. Dear Mrs. Holland, I love, to-night - love you and Dr. Holland, and "time and sense" - and fading things, and things that do not fade.

I'm so glad you are not a blossom, for those in my garden fade, and then a "reaper whose name is Death" has come to get a few to help him make a bouquet for himself, so I'm glad you are not a rose - and I'm glad you are not a bee, for where they go when summer's done, only the thyme knows, and even were you a robin, when the west winds came, you would cooly wink at me, and away, some morning!

As "little Mrs. Holland," then, I think I love you most, and trust that tiny lady will dwell below while we dwell, and when with many a wonder we seek the new Land, her wistful face, with ours, shall look the last upon the hills, and first upon - well, Home!

Pardon my sanity, Mrs. Holland, in a world insane, and love me if you will, for I had rather be loved than to be called a king in earth, or a lord in Heaven.

Thank you for your sweet note - the clergy are very well. Will bring such fragments from them as shall seem me good. I kiss my paper here for you and Dr. Holland - would it were cheeks instead.

Dearly,
Emilie.

p.s.  The bobolinks have gone.

[ To hear Victoria read this letter, go to https://youtu.be/QFdn4aiNv7Y ]

Tom. I didn’t know that “The bobolinks have gone” is a line from a poem that appeared later on. It’s poem 1620.

The Bobolink is gone —
The Rowdy of the Meadow —
And no one swaggers now but me —
The Presbyterian Birds
Can now resume the Meeting
He boldly interrupted that overflowing Day
When supplicating mercy
In a portentous way
He swung upon the Decalogue
And shouted let us pray —
                       -J1591/Fr1620/M646

[ To hear this poem read aloud, to to https://youtu.be/M5lIjad48A0 ]

But, I’m curious. Is she saying here, if God were to look at what we have here on earth, that he might think that anything else would be superfluous. And is that contradicting so much of her other stuff? I don’t think that it is, but I don’t know.

Terry. It’s blasphemous.

Greg. I think you can find several Dickinson poems all points of view from absolute faith to absolute blasphemy. She just writes from different points of view, I think.

Someone. I like the line “Will bring such fragments from them as shall seem me good.” She’s very selective, it seems.

Harrison.

I reckon—when I count at all—

First—Poets—Then the Sun—

Then Summer—Then the Heaven of God—

And then—the List is done—

But, looking back—the First so seems

To Comprehend the Whole—

The Others look a needless Show—

So I write—Poets—All—

Their Summer—lasts a Solid Year—

They can afford a Sun

The East—would deem extravagant—

And if the Further Heaven—

Be Beautiful as they prepare

For Those who worship Them—

It is too difficult a Grace—

To justify the Dream—
                   - J569/Fr533/M292

[ To hear this poem read aloud, go to https://youtu.be/FPdcD9xuWAE ]

Victoria. I like Pardon my sanity, Mrs. Holland, in a world insane. She could write to this friend and say all of these crazy things, and her friend would continue to know her and love her for the wonderful woman that she was, but there’s a lot of people during her life that thought she was “half cracked.”

Tom. What about, I had rather be loved than to be called a king in earth, or a lord in Heaven? One of the things that I thought about when I read this letter, which I did many times – Frost has a poem, Birches,  I'd like to get away from earth awhile/ And then come back to it and begin over. I’m, wondering if she may not be thinking, “It isn’t so bad here, that I’m in a great rush to get to the other place."

Victoria. In her garden and in the woods where she roamed, that was paradise for her. She didn’t really need anything else. She had the biggest blue sky …

Terry. I want to know about the clergy. The clergy show up in the bobolink poem that you cited earlier.

Someone. Is it because of their appearance? Some of them appear to be wearing a black frock, a white surplice?

Clare. The Junkos.

Tom. So, what about the ps. What’s the Bobolink all about?

Harrison. It’s kind of a way of coming down to earth. We’re setting ourselves up for a particular place and time that’s familiar. After the speculation about heaven and earth and all of that it’s time to come back down to familiar things and kind of cool yourself off.

Lucy. Do you think that when she says “Pardon my sanity in a world insane” that she is referencing religion? For her, she’s the one that’s seeing clearly and maybe the Hollands were, too, or maybe they’re just recognizing that there were differences but – what is around us is what we should be focusing on versus what everyone else was concerned about – what was going to happen after you died.

Greg. It reminds one of Much Madness is divinest Sense/ To a discerning Eye/ Much Sense the starkest Madness.

Jule. This was the same time Darwin was forming all of his theories, though he refused to publish ‘til much later. I suspect there were a lot of people asking questions, but not too publicly.

Tom. OK, next one is 1570.

How happy is the little Stone
That rambles in the Road alone,
And doesn't care about Careers
And Exigencies never fears -
Whose Coat of elemental Brown
A passing Universe put on,
And independent as the Sun
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute Decree
In casual simplicity –
                     - J1510/Fr1570/635

[ To hear this peem read aloud, go to https://youtu.be/1Dutt_yk4hU ]

Harrison. Self-portrait. [general amusement]

Greg. “My barefoot rank is better.

Lucy. It’s so funny – she’s saying how happy is this little stone in the road. If you think about it, you don’t walk around and see a stone in the road and say, “Oh, I want to be you!” Yet, through this poem it seems so delightful, and yes, I want to be that happy little stone. “ … a happy universe put on …” this could be part of her fashion manifesto. [much laughter]

Robert. For me, it captures her happiness in that minute observation.

Tom. So what absolute decree is it fulfilling?

Jay. The absolute decree of existence, I guess.

Tom. Yes, and I was going to say, an existence of simplicity.

Tom. Will someone read 269?

Terry reads:
Dear Friends, " I write to you. I receive no letter. I say * they dignify my trust.' I do not disbelieve. I go again. Cardinals wouldn't do it. Cockneys would n't do it, but I can't stop to strut, in a world where bells toll. I hear through visitor in town, that * Mrs Holland is not strong.' The little peacock in me, tells me not to inquire again. Then I remember my tiny friend " how brief she is " how dear she is, and the peacock quite dies away. Now, you need not speak, for perhaps you are weary, and ' Herod ' requires all your thought, but if you are well " let Annie draw me a little picture of an erect flower; if you are ///, she can hang the flower a little on one side !

Then, I shall understand, and you need not stop to write me a letter. Perhaps you laugh at me! Perhaps the whole United States are laughing at me too! / can't stop for that! My business is to love. I found a bird, this morning, down " down " on a little bush at the foot of the garden, and wherefore sing, I said, since nobody hears?” One sob in the throat, one flutter of bosom " ^My business is to sing ' " and away she rose! How do I know but cherubim, once, themselves, as patient, listened, and applauded her unnoticed hymn? Emily.

Tom. I guess what I saw in this letter, to connect the stone, and the bird that sings but nobody hears. Elegy written in a Country Churchyard, “Full many a flower was born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air.” That is Thomas Gray. The beauty is not wasted if it is not observed. Like we read in that first poem, it is. It’s there. The fact that nobody sees it gives it no less significance. I thought that’s how it paired with the stone. It still has value.

Someone. And what is Herod?

Someone else. Does Herod perhaps stand for the business world, the busy world?

Tom. I’m wondering, is she identifying with the bird, also? Because, she was born to sing.

Jay. I think she’s justifying the letter, hoping that it will be seen as singing, not as complaining.

Greg. And she dis speak of her poetry as singing. Hele Hunt Jackson reprimanded her in a letter because she “would not sing aloud.”

Tom. OK. Next is 1618

Robert reads
There came a Wind like a Bugle —

It quivered through the Grass

And a Green Chill upon the Heat

So ominous did pass

We barred the Windows and the Doors

As from an Emerald Ghost —

The Doom's electric Moccasin

That very instant passed —

On a strange Mob of panting Trees

And Fences fled away

And Rivers where the Houses ran

Those looked that lived — that Day —

The Bell within the steeple wild

The flying tidings told —

How much can come

And much can go,

And yet abide the World!
                           -J1593/Fr1618/M645

[ To hear this poem read aloud go to https://youtu.be/hfa3oJuGcu0 ]

 Tom. What is the subject of “abide?” Is it the much that can abide the world?

Greg. I think she’s saying that the world still goes on. I remember these two lines quoted after that terrible disaster in Haiti, years ago.

Tom. Is the moccasin supposed to be the shape of a snake?

Harrison. The moccasin is poisonous a snake that strikes, as the lightning strikes, and can be deadly.

Greg. I thought the moccasin was footwear. [laughter and some concurrence]

Tom. The next one is 1778

High from the earth I heard a bird;
He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
And then he spied a breeze,
And situated softly
Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
Nature had left behind.
A joyous-going fellow
I gathered from his talk,
Which both of benediction
And badinage partook,
Without apparent burden,
I learned, in leafy wood
He was the faithful father
Of a dependent brood;
And this untoward transport
His remedy for care,—
A contrast to our respites.
How different we are!
                    - J1723/Fr1778/M687

[ To hear this poem read aloud, go to https://youtu.be/tjY5Q9DAcLs ]

The scansion of the poem is complicated.

Greg. For us, the care of a brood could seem burdensome, but for the bird it is transport, there’s nothing he’d rather be doing.

Terry. She speaks as if she’s in communication with him.  I gatered from, his talk …That’s fabulous, isn’t it? She talks with the birds.