Emily Dickinson Reading Circle April, 2019

Emily Dickinson Reading Circle

April, 2019

Fascicle 15

Facilitated by Margaret Freeman

Margaret. If you remember, at the beginning of the year, I had suggested taking a somewhat different way of looking at the poems by thinking about how we are being drawn into and involved in the poem in some way. So, I said, think about the poem being a stranger on the street that you met, and when you do you get vibes, right? You may feel light and cheeful, if you like the person; you might feel afraid, or indifferent. So, I wanted you to approach the poems that way and I thought that our discussion was great [previous meeting], because you all talked about what the poem meant to you, as if it were the first time that you really encountered this poem. So then, I said let's do that with the fascicles, and find what poems really hit us. Then next, let's do the opposite - find the ones that leave us indifferent,or that we skip over. Was it puzzling - difficult - hard?
            As I was going through it, I don't think we did The Body grows without, did we? It's on the last sheet, inside.
The Body grows without  -
The more convenient way  -
That if the Spirit  - like to hide
Its Temple stands, alway,

Ajar  - secure  - inviting  -
It never did betray
The Soul that asked its shelter
In solemn honesty
                     - J578/Fr438/M176

[ To hear this poem read aloud, go to https://youtu.be/TvD4eTFXock ]

So, if you're an abolute total materialist, there's no such thing as soul. If it isn't substantive, it doesn't exist. This poem introduces the whole notion of soul, and I don't use that word. I use the word anima - the Latin.

Alice. She uses Spirit in the same poem. She usually tries to make a distinction between the two.

Margaret. It seems to me charactaristic of the attitude that the body is the temple of the soul. It's a very classic, Christian belief, coming out of Descarte, back to Plato - the separation of the body from the mind - or the soul - the spirit7, or however you want to think about it. But it's strange, there are very few poems, I think, where Dickinson just accepts something without questioning it - or giving it a twist - challenging it in some way, right?

Lois. I think that anybody who has the ability to observe themself is aware that there's something going on inside that really has nothing to do with the body. I mean, this activity that's going on inside of us all the time. I think this is a very sweet poem, in a way, because it acknowleges the possibility that someone can be so disillusioned, or so hurt, that they cannot really engage with the outer world the way they're expected to, or the way they see other people doing it, and Dickinson is sort of giving the body thi role of shelter for this entity that's not ready, in whatever stage in development, before they're ready to engage completely with the outer world. I think of a child, really, when I read this poem - like the child that's been misunderstood. My God are we misunderstood as children. THE WHOLE WORLD DOESN'T UNDERSTAND MA! [laughter] Dickinson is acknowledging that that's going on, but the body is a shelter, it's not meant to be anything else at cerain times. In the next poem, the very first word is "I." And, it begs the question, "Which 'I?'" The body that everyone sees, or this inner life that's going on? There's an inner life that isn't visible unless we want it to be visible - unless we choose to engage.

Esther. I'm caught by the second line in the second stanza, It never did betray. I thought, as I read that, she wouldn;t have had to say that, if she hadn't questioned if it was a possibility. It might have betrayed, so she had to examine that, and to me that's a little question.

Margaret. I thought you were going to say the second line in the first stanza, because for me that's the sore thumb in the poem - The more convenient way - convenient?

Esther. Convenient to look at, convenient to see?" - external.

Margaret. She says The Body grows without, and the variant for without is outside. So, the body grows outside, which is a more convenient way because, as you say, you can see it, but, it's growing within as well. It's suggesting that in fact there's another way to grow.

Lois. So, the suggestion is - our inner life we have to work at to get it to grow. We go through psychic pain in order to grow, and we can hide from psychic pain, but if you feed it, the body will grow. ... I don't agree with that statement that the body never did betray, but I feel that she's being probably more specific in some way that I don't see. There's a recognition of estrangement.

Alice. Does the body betray when there's an illness? The soul would no longer be free, because it's ties to the body and the body is impaired.

Lynn. I get the idea that one thing is inside of another thing, whatever it is.

Margaret. That's a metaphor. It's the container metaphor. If you take metaphors literally, it's dangerous. [laughter] But the metaphor is here, in the poem  because of the shelter - the whole thing is a metaphor of one as a container. But then, is she questioning that container? She's using it, but I don't think she's accepting it.

Alice. That's the kind of argument that's going on in my mind all the time. "Who am I arguing with?" Trying to argue two sides of any question, but, in the moment you're split like that, you do have a duality set up, that you can see both sides of it.

[Interlude]

Margaret. Let's look at How happy is the little Stone. Oh my God, there are five - possibly six - copies of this poem. She must have really liked this one.

Greg reads.
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/M635

It's fun

Barre. Is it odd for her to do couplets like that? Is that unusual?

Margaret. I hadn't thought of that. Yes, that is different.

Greg. Yeah, and the meter is, too.

Alice. Very traditional.

Lois. It reminds me of "I wish I were a Hay." It can be read as either someone wanting to zone out or as just a little nature poem.

Barre. Is that predestination - Fulfilling absolute Decree?

Greg. Decree is an important word in Calvinism.

Margaret. With three of her copies - she sent one to Sue, one to Thomas Niles, the publisher, and one to Higginson - each one of them carried a comment. I thought it would be interesting to see what those comments are. With the one that went to Sue, it's "Heaven the Surly Balm of a Technicality." But then, she transposed to read "Heaven the Balm of a Surly Technicality," which to me makes more sense. I think that's what she was getting at. The one that she sent to Thomas Niles - "The kind but incredible opinion of 'H.H.' and yourself - I would like to deserve. Would you accept a Pebble that I think I gave to her, though I am not sure." Helen Hunt was always trying to get Dickinson to publish, and she had contacted Nile about the whole thing. In the copy that she sent to Higginson, she wrote, "I am glad you are better, and to cherish the Cherubim be not too intrepid, desire my love to Baby's Mama - I am glad you are with the 'Elms' - that is a gracious place."

[Interlude]

Lois reads.
I had been hungry, all the Years -
My Noon had Come - to dine -
I trembling drew the Table near -
And touched the Curious Wine -

'Twas this on Tables I had seen -
When turning, hungry, Home
I looked in Windows, for the Wealth
I could not hope - for Mine-

I did not know the ample Bread -
'Twas so unlike the Crumb
The Birds and I, had often shared
In Nature's - Dining Room -

The Plenty hurt me - 'twas so new -
Myself felt ill - and odd -
As Berry - of a Mountain Bush -
Transplanted - to a Road -

Nor was I hungry - so I found
That Hunger - was a way
Of Persons outside Windows -
The Entering - takes away -
                                    - J579/Fr439/M176

Greg. It gives me a feeling of longing.

Lynn. I was thinking it had a kind of religious overtone, like Communion. The Curious Wine and the Bread.

Margaret. For me, the images of the hunger, the bread, and the crumb, they're all standing for something else, and you wonder what that something else is. And, I think the trigger there, is My Noon had Come - to dine

Lynn. What does that mean?

Margaret. Well, for her it's the zenith. Noon, Summer it's the apex.

Greg. One verse in I envy Seas, whereon He rides is:

I envy Light -that wakes Him -

And Bells -that boldly ring

To tell Him it is Noon, abroad -

Myself -be Noon to Him -

Noon is that high point; it's just the best position that you want to be in. I think that's what this is in this poem. We're at the meridian. We're at the peak of our experience.

Margaret. And that leads us right into another really strange poem in this fascicle.

Sophie reads.

If I may have it, when it's dead,
I'll be contented - so -
If just as soon as Breath is out
It shall belong to me -

Until they lock it in the Grave,
'Tis Bliss I cannot weigh -
For tho' they lock Thee in the Grave,
Myself - can own the key -

Think of it Lover! I and Thee
Permitted - face to face to be -
After a Life - a Death - We'll say -
For Death was That -
And this - is Thee -

I'll tell Thee All - how Bald it grew -
How Midnight felt, at first - to me -
How all the Clocks stopped in the World -
And Sunshine pinched me - 'Twas so cold -

Then how the Grief got sleepy - some -
As if my Soul were deaf and dumb -
Just making signs - across - to Thee -
That this way - thou could'st notice me -

I'll tell you how I tried to keep
A smile, to show you, when this Deep
All Waded - We look back for Play,
At those Old Times - in Calvary,

Forgive me, if the Grave come slow -
For Coveting to look at Thee -
Forgive me, if to stroke thy frost
Outvisions Paradise!
                        J577/Fr431/M172

That's creepy!

Lois. Someone has called Emily Dickinson "Amherst's Madame DeSade." [laughter]

Margaret. To me, this poem is her failing to reach noon with this person - that they lived on Calvary during their lifetime. So, if she couldn't have it in life, she'll have it in death

Lynn. And, there was a person like this, or this is just her imagination?

Margaret. Who knows? Some have said it's just the imagination, some have said no, it's a real person, and then you start getting into who it was, whether male or female - you know?

Lois. I like to think of it as fame - recognition of herself as a poet. I like to think of it as what we're doing here. We are it - the public recognition for her work.

Margaret. Then, wouldn't it be "If I may have it when I'm dead?"

Lois. I would write it that way, but [laughter]

Lynn. Why it?

Margaret. She often does that - uses it for people -

Lois. - when she doesn't want to be explicit.

Greg. A good example of that is, in a letter she wrote, "Until a man or woman has loved, it cannot know itself."

Margaret. There's a companion poem.

Mary Clare reads.
It is dead - find it -
Out of sound - Out of sight -
“Happy”? Which is wiser -
You, or the Wind?
“Conscious”? Won’t you ask that -
Of the low Ground?

“Homesick”? Many met it -
Even through them - This
Cannot testify -
Themself - as dumb -
                        - J417/F434/M174

Lynn. Huh? [laughter]

Margaret. What's interesting to me is, the first poem is so personal, and this one is so different - the way she's talking and thinking. Her tone is so incredibly different. Then, she goes straight into "Not in this World to see his face/ Sounds long," right?

Mary Clare. I chose this poem as one that made no sense at all to me.

Greg. OK. It's dead - try to find it. You can't, it's out of sight. Well, is it happy? How do I know know; who's wiser, you or the wind? Who knows if it's happy, it's dead. Is it conscious? Ask the low ground. Is it homesick? In other words, does it want to come back? Many met it - those are the others who have died -

Mary Clare. Oh. Greg, thank you.

Greg. Yeah, they can't testify - they're just as dumb - silent as the tomb, so to speak.

Lois. She sounds fed up.  [laughter]

[ A conversation follows, much of it inaudible and with crosstalk, that this might be a reaction to the homilies that one hears about the dead, such as "She's in a better place," etc. ]

Lois. I'd like to read "I never felt at Home - Below."

Greg. That's the whiney poem.

Lois. That's why I like it. [laughter]
I never felt at Home-Below -

And in the Handsome Skies

I shall not feel at Home - I know -

I don't like Paradise -

Because it's Sunday-all the time-

And Recess - never comes-

And Eden'll be so lonesome

Bright Wednesday Afternoons-

If God could make a visit-

Or ever took a Nap -

So not to see us - but they say

Himself-a Telescope

Perennial beholds us -

Myself would run away

From Him - and Holy Ghost - and All -

But there's the "Judgement Day"!

                                    - J413/Fr437/M175

Margaret. You know about Wednesday afternoon? That was half-day in Amberst. We used to have them in England. You'd be there [on a Wednesday] and suddenly everything was closed. Shops and everything would close on a half-day.

Lynn. It sounds depressing to me.

Lois. Yeah - she starts right out with I never felt at Home

Lynn. It sounds like she didn't feel at home anywhere. [ general agreement ]

Greg. She's homeless.

Margaret. Well, she's caught, you know, between the Puritan belief - which she could not accept- and - she couldn't be at home in what they say heaven was.

Greg. It's been said that in this she's using her "little girl voice" in attacking tenets of orthodox Christianity - this paradise that's supposed to be so desireable - but she's doing it in this "little girl" way. That's how she gets away with it.

[ Interlude ]

Alice reads.

Good Morning—Midnight—
I'm coming Home—
Day—got tired of Me—
How could I—of Him?

Sunshine was a sweet place—
I liked to stay—
But Morn—didn't want me—now—
So—Goodnight—Day!

I can look—can't I—
When the East is Red?
The Hills—have a way—then—
That puts the Heart—abroad—

You—are not so fair—Midnight—
I chose—Day—
                        -J424/Fr382/M203

But—please take a little Girl— [a little girl that he turned away]
He turned away!

Lois. There are other poems where she tends to have, even more than this, a regard for the night.

Margaret. Yeah - 322 in Franklin - 259 in Johnson -

Lynn reads.
Good Night! Which put the Candle out?
A jealous Zephyr — not a doubt —
Ah, friend, you little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The Angels — labored diligent —
Extinguished — now — for you!

It might — have been the Light House spark —
Some Sailor — rowing in the Dark —
Had importuned to see!
It might — have been the waning lamp
That lit the Drummer from the Camp
To purer Reveille!
                                    -J259/Fr322/M372

Lois. Apparently, she has it in fascicle 13, and then again in fascicle 36, which, at a quick look, appears to be the very same poem.

Margaret. That's right. The divisions are different, but it's the same poem.

Barre. Did they have the expression Good Night then? Like, when you're annoyed at something you say "Good Night!"

Margaret. Oh, you mean as an exclamationm not as a greeting.

Barre. Yeah. Was it the Zephyr? And now it's gone; you're in big trouble.

Lynn. That was my father's favorite swear - "Good Night Nurse!" [laughter]

Leslie (reading from web) "An exclamation of surprise that didn't come into general usage until the 1890's"

Barre. Well how do you explain its use in the poem?

Several. It's literal.

Margaret. The other Good Night poem is Franklin 97 and Johnson 114. This one is interesting, because there are two copies, and the first one does not have quotations around Good Night. But the one in the fascicle does.
Good night, because we must,
How intricate the dust!
I would go, to know!
Oh incognito!
Saucy, Saucy Seraph
To elude me so!
Father! they won't tell me,
Won't you tell them to?
                                    -J114/Fr97/M71

Barbara. It really ties in with the other Good Night.

Margaret. It's again the idea of night, winter, midnight, death, and so on, right?

EDIS Amherst Chapter September 2019

EDIS Amherst Chapter Poetry Conversation

September, 2019

Topic: Transitions

Facilitated by Victoria Dickson

Victoria. I've had this project in mind for a long time, doing paintings that are associated with certain poems. Oh! I forgot something that had to do with the most recent series, where I'm working on paintings that have to do with letters that Dickinson wrote, where she included the poem, but she also included an enclosure of something else. The last poem in particular [Further in Summer than the Birds] kind of pulls this little set of four poems together [inaudible]. Then I went off and gorgot the little enclosure. But, nevertheless, I think that these are poems that are about the turning of summer to autumn - life, death - so it may seem like a mixed bag, but I happen to have images for all of them, so I thought that might be kind of fun to share with you, in a different kind of way. I did a little reading of Charles Anderson, Helen Vendler, and Greg Mattingly, and they all say different things about these poems, and it's wonderful how everyone is moved by each one of these in a different way, and some things I agreed with, and I'm very interested in what you have to say, because often I learn from how people interpret these poems how they're moved by them, and that helps me with my arwork. So, I'm going to start with 122, which was an earlier poem. Charles Anderson says that Emily Dickinson wrote an early letter - he talks about this early letter with this whole idea of transitional seasons - transition between life and death.

"We are having such lovely weather - the air is as sweet and still, now and then a gay leaf falling - the crickets sing all day long - high in a crimson tree a belated bird is singing - a thousand little painters are ting[e]ing hill and dale."
[ Letter 57, 7 October 1851, to her brother, Austin ]

I just love that. Who wants to read the first poem?

Greg M reads.

These are the days when Birds come back --

A very few -- a Bird or two --

To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume

The old -- old sophistries of June --

A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee --

Almost thy plausibility

Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear --

And softly thro' the altered air

Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh Sacrament of summer days,

Oh Last Communion in the Haze --

Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake --

They consecrated bread to take

And thine immortal wine!

                        - J130/Fr122/M81

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

 "Alterd Air," I love that alliteration

[Victoria passes around a framed painting of a Morning Glory]

Victoria. I think it captures some of that blue of the October sky. It surprised me to have that blue at the end of the summer.

Jill. Are you saying this poem is about fall?

Victoria. I'm not saying anything. I'm saying that this is what came up for me.

Jill. Oh, so you read the poem and it inspired that.

Victoria. Yeah.

Greg D. Victoria, I have a question: Is the letter related to the poem? I don't know; it wasn't part of the poem; it wasn't an enclosure.

Melba. That letter sounds like Dickinson as a teenager. I'm thinking it's separated by a good ten-year period.

Greg D. It sounds like June, although there's a leaf falling.

Greg M. Last Communion in the Haze

Victoria. Yeah, that's not June.

Melba. She seems to be looking back on The old -- old sophistries of June. A sophistry is a specious argument, an overly-elaborate argument.

Jill. Words used to deceive rather than to convey the truth.

Adreana. I know that summer was a favorite season [general agreement] and so hear she's saying to autumn, "You're a cheat. You're trying to pretend that summer's coming back" - she calls it a Fraud, And then, of course, the latter part she's giving sacred examples because now she's conjuring up summer there. That's what she misses.

Polly. The reference to bread and wine there - a reference to the last supper.

Victoria. Cristanne [Miller] says, in her notes at the back, a lost copy was the source for the poem's 11 March 1864 publication in Drum Beat (a Union army fundraising publication) under the title "October." Two additional copies retained: of the first two stanzas, c. 1883, and one that MLT gave away in 1904 (lost).

Burleigh. I took the first stanzas to be talking about migrators. These are the days when Birds come back - when we see the ones that we don't usually see, passing through. So, to me that sets the stage for fall. And then, the blue and gold mistake - we had such a gorgeous sunset a few nights ago, everything was so golden; that's where I went, in my mind.

Victoria. I love that word mistake. That's like, the word in this poem.

Greg D. Fraud, mistake, and backward - those three are all sort of contrary in a way.

Mary. So, the day is the blue and gold mistake. It seems like a summer day, but it's not. I see.

Greg M. Yeah, it doesn't belong here.

Masako. Isn't she talking about Indian Summer?

Victoria. Yeah, that's what some people call it.

Masako. It's already fall, but this is a reminder about summer.

Burleigh. I love the repetition in the last stanza - Thy, They, thine - that progression.

Greg M. And partake and to take.

Polly. And I love the sideways glance at religion. The spirituality, not in church.

Melba. I do think she gets the emotion behind the Sacrament right, because a sacrament is a memory, sort of a brief look back at something that's happened that you want to be present for a moment.

Greg M. "Do ye this in rememberance of me," yeah.

Melba. So, that perspective seems like such a sophisticated one, yet she says Permit a child to join. I know the phrase about "suffer the little children," but it's a little jarring to me to have her in her child persona when I think that this is such an adult moment.

Jill. I think that I remember as a child being aware that winter, school, dark were coming as something threatening, even as a child. You were happier than me, Melba. [ laughter ]

Melba. OK, so the child could understand that this is a sacramental moment. That would have been a good thing. That would have aleviated some of the dark.

Polly. I think that for the child, all of this is beyond her.

.....

Greg M. altered air is a nice alliteration

Greg D. She says Oh Fraud ... Almost thy plausibility/ Induces my belief as expressing her doubt about immortality and the whole religious thing and not just the changing of the seasons.

Victoria. I read somewhere, Greg, that altered air, if you spell it with an "a" [altared] could be read as one of Dickinson's plays on words.

Jill. Another rhyme scheme: look and mistake, beleif and leaf, and join with wine.

Greg D. Also, the first two lines of each stanza rhyme, except in the first.

Melba. If you look at it as groups of six lines in stead of threes, it's a sextain - aabccb. Still, rhyming couplets is really unusual for her. But, this is pretty early, 1858 or 59, so maybe she hasn't settled into her preferred mode.

Greg D. Poets try to play around with - just everything - when they're first starting out.

Melba. [Examines the manuscript online] They are very clearly three-line groupings.

Jill. There is another poem in tercets - number 1377: A Rat surrendered here/ A brief career of Cheer/ And Fraud and Fear. [laughter] She did like seeing some animals dead, I know that - rats and cats

Victoria. Cristanne says about this next poem, "Christmas was primarily a Christmas holiday in the nineteenth century, although Clement Moore's 1822 poem 'A Visit from St. Nicholas' ('Twas the night before Chrismas') helped popularize customs involving Santa Claus; In 1874 ED wrote that her father 'frowned upon Santa Claus - and all such prowling gentlemen' (L425). Thanksgiving was not declared a national holiday until 1863.' "

I was moved by this poem because there's just so much imagery about the homestead itself - and all these different dimensions to her life that we know about, but this poem feels very concrete about death. And I would also say that this is a proleptic poem, so, she's writing this poem from somewhere else - the speaker is, which I thought was kind of mind-blowing. But, it's not some ethereal or other-worldly description that she's giving about her experience. Is anyone moved to read this poem?

Adreana reads.
Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms -
It had the Tassels on -

I thought how yellow it would look -
When Richard went to mill -
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I thought just how Red - Apples wedged
The Stubble's joints between -
And the Carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in -

I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If Father'd multiply the plates -
To make an even Sum -

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me -

But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
How just this time, some perfect year -
Themself, should come to me -

                                    - J445/Fr344/M181

[ To hear this poem read aloud, go to https://youtu.be/PVVwPV3Q0y0 ]

Jill. It's amazing, because it shows a lot of faith in an afterlife, with her family coming to her, if I'm reading the last stanza ... doesn't it remind you of "Because I could not stop for death?" It makes sense that she's being carried through the places that she loved, as in stanza 1 line 3.

Greg M. Which was an old Irish custom. That's how she organized her own funeral. She had the pall-bearers take her through the garden, and the orchard, and the barn - all the familiar places.

Jill. But then, in stanza 2, I feel like she wants to get out of the coffin, but something holds her will [mild amusement]. It's an incredible image.

Mary. But she didn't realize that she was dead. Yeah, very imaginitive. Bu0t you know, you don't really have to analyze this poem. It's right out there.

Jill. OK, so help me on this last stanza. What does sort mean?

Polly. How Christmas and Thanksgiving would come and she'd be gone. She doesn't want to think about that any more.

Greg. It refers to the previous stanza, and thinking about which one would miss her.

Mary. She's alone, without them, and there goin' on. When you think that stuff and you're still alive ....

Greg D. It reminds me of Dickins' "A Christmas Carol" - looking back, and Jimmy Stewart and "It's a Wonderful Life." [general amusement]

Buleigh. I love that line, I wondered which would miss me, least, and then she referst to her Father. [laughter]

Greg D. I don't think this poem speaks to her having a strong belief in an afterlife.

Greg M. She writes from all points of view. "God's hand is amputated now, and God cannot be found" - every point of view from utter, complete scepticism to firm religious conviction.

Greg D. She evens say that here. "This grieved me, so I tried thinking the other way. OK, so maybe there is an afterlife, and we're all going to be there."

Mary. It's alot happier thought, and it doesn't have to be about her own death. Who's Richard?

Jan. Just someone among the people - Shakespeare did this, you know - "Dick the Shepherd blows his nail," so, Tom, Dick, and Harry, and Richard. [general amusement] Can I ask something else? Themself should come to me?

Adreana. I love that. It seems very modern to me, with the pronoun shift.

Melba. I must admit, I am puzzled. I can sort of understand myself - that's reflexve - "I grieved myself by thinking this way, but why not they should come to me?

Greg. She needs the extra syllable, But really she uses reflexive pronouns in ways that we just don't anymore. In earlier times they did.

Jan. But is this referring to, like, Santa Claus? or is it "in stead of me choosing death, death would come to me?

Greg. Well, we think that she's imagining herself in the afterlife, waiting for her family to come to her. And that's more appealing thought to entertain.

Jan. Oh - hoho. OK.

Jill [addressing Greg D.] So, how do you argue that it's not a belief in an afterlife.Greg D. Oh, it might be - but there's no strong religious feeling in the poem. It's like it's just a story.

Mary. I think it's a little comical, actually - a little tongue-in-cheek. [crosstalk] The stocking's hanging too high for them to reach because she's in heaven. It sounds a little childish.

Jimm. My God, she's only 22.

Greg. You read it with a smile, don't you? [general agreement]

Polly. Maybe she just wanted to write about the fall. The fall imagery is so strong.

Victoria. It's so strong! ... Cristanne has this as summer 1862, but it could be late summer.

Jan. What do you make of I thought just how Red - Apples wedged/ The Stubble's joints between? Is that apples fallen and got stuck between the stubble?

Greg M. A lot of the Apple carts were wedge-shaped, and joints are the stubble of the corn that's left after the harvest. It's a botanical term for where one part of a stalk joins another. So, I picture the apple cart wedging between them.

Burleigh. I love the carts stooping around the field. [crosstalk]

Victoria. Well, speaking of death, I think the next poem is one that everybody knows and likes.

Masako reads.

I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -

The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -

I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable - and then it was
There interposed a Fly -

With Blue - uncertain stumbling Buzz -
Between the light - and me -
And then the Windows failed - and then
I could not see to see-
                                    - J465/Fr581/M270

[ To hear this poem read aloud, go to https://youtu.be/Hg9hJXJwlTc ]

Victoria. Cristanne has this to say. "in Barrett Browning's Aurora Leigh (1856) a dying woman claims that 'something came between' her and the man she loved, 'catching every fly of doubt/ To hold it buzzing at the window pane.' Sentimental death scenes were popular in the nineteenth century."
            When I read that, I thought, there's nothing like seeing where a great artist gets her inspiration. It was possibly from this poem. Edith Wharton wrote Ethan Fromme because she read an article in the newspaper about a sledding accident out in the Berkshires; or Picasso studied the ancient Greeks and Egyptians and got all kinds of inspiration from other artists. So, I think that this is an example. I would like to be able to follow through on some of these notes of sources of Dickinson's. There's some specific language here that she reinterprets and includes in this poem that I found really fascinating.

Mary. It's kind of a light take on death, I think. Everything gets dark, and you're gone. ... the stillness in the room.

Greg D. It seems very bleek to me. [general agreement] It's like, where's the light of the Savior, or something. Where's the light at the end of the tunnel? Nothing.

Greg M. Exactly.

Melba. I don't think that's fair, because the King is going to be in the room.

Greg M. Unless the King is death.

Jill. I thought he was. You think he's Christ?

Melba. The King is always alive, because "The King is dead. Long live the King." Live just passes to the next [inaudible]. So I think there's both death and the continuation of life there - a transition.

Adreana. Actually, I think it was interpreted - when this was discussed before - the eyes of the people around her - they were crying over this dying person - and then they were waiting for the King, the Christ, or some religious thing to happen, but of course [crosstalk] but it never happened, so ...

Victoria. I remember that discussion, too. That was a practice at that time in the nineteenth century, at a bedside, was to observe the dying person and see if possibly they could get a hint from that of what the afterlife would be like.

Greg M. They thought that the dying person might have a glimpse of the afterlife, and know whether they were saved or not. and they fervently prayed that their dying friend or family member was going to be saved, and they were looking for evidence of it. Very serious stuff - what happens? - a fly. [general agreement and amusement]

Greg D. A fly, and then the lights go out.

Victoria. One of the other things I love about all four of these poems is that there's this concrete - these little insects, or the corn, or the apples, things in nature that Dickinson always seemed to attach herself to life with.

Jan. Inclusive, also, I think. She sees the larger nature of a cricket. Another thing I want to add is: sometimes our imagination is amplified by what the cinema has done - often blurry visions, or sudden sounds and other effects, so that later - but she already did those, because of her imagination. The shock of suddenly coming upon a corpse, for example. She already did that. There's also a blue Buzz. There's a word for that mixing of sense impressions - synethsesia. But here, besides the fact that it has all of these illusions, it's like a direct perception of something very real. She's seen this happen, and then she can use it.

.....

Jan. What's interesting now is that there's very often a progression in her poems. First she sticks to the earthly; she describes it, and then, like the famous A Bird came down the Walk; then at the end, the bird takes flight, and then it goes up into butterflies; but, so often it's like an upward movement, as she exponates[?] with the things, and then she takes wings.

Greg M. She starts with the particular, and then it becomes more abstract.

Jan. A good example is:
A sepal, petal, and a thorn                                                      19

Upon a common summer's morn -

A flask of Dew - A Bee or two -

A Breeze - a caper in the trees -

And I'm a Rose!

So there's the flower, an insect, a breeze, and then phew! That's where I went when you talked about the little fly.

Burleigh. That tiny little mundane detail in the context of this huge transition - heh! - this sacred moment when you're leaving your body. There's humor.

Jan. Yeah, ghost humor.

Melba. There is the darker aspect there of being food for flies.