by Courtney Dekanich, sophomore English major at Silver Lake College
When the beginning of the semester was
still approaching, I looked back over the list of classes I had signed up to
take and couldn’t help but wonder at my choice to take a course on Emily
Dickinson. I knew that Dickinson had been extremely important in the world of
writing, that her work, once published, had had a great deal of influence, but
I had never really experienced her work. As such, my expectations were built
upon the commentary on Dickinson’s work that I had heard from others who
weren’t exactly fans. I cracked open my book of Dickinson’s poems for the first
time expecting a volume of flowery nineteenth century poems that would be just
a tad bit too sweet for me.
Instead, I found something rather
different.
I found depth and ambiguity. I found
hope and longing.
Occasionally, I’ve found a modicum of
meaning while reading through her poems, but part of the genius of Dickinson’s
work is found in the fact that, while each word was undoubtedly chosen
carefully, a set meaning in mind, possibilities in terms of interpretation now
are rather great in number. So, while there is undoubtedly a message found in
each of Dickinson’s poems, sometimes it’s not quite certain, more fluid than
solid.
This is due, in part, to Dickinson’s use
of symbolism. Among her most used symbols are flowers and bees. While they pop
up so often that they are undoubtedly significant, the differing contexts of
the numerous poems they appear in makes pinning down meaning a bit more tricky.
So, while a bee in one poem may be a symbol of the transition between life and
death, it may have altered meaning in the next poem in which it has a cameo.
Flowers, in Dickinson’s work, are even more ambiguous; roses are presented
differently from crocuses and daisies, buttercups are different from daffodils
and morning glories, and all of them differ slightly from poem to poem while
still, somehow, managing to hold on to a small kernel of constancy.
Another element present in some of
Dickinson’s poems is the idea of beauty in simplicity. While I have, over the
course of the semester so far, worked my way through a good number of
Dickinson’s poems – enough to make it difficult to choose any single piece as a
favorite – there are a few which have stood out. Among them is a poem in which
Dickinson seems to speak to the moon and stars.
Ah, Moon – and Star!
But – were no one farther than you –
Do you think I’d stop for a firmament –
Or a cubit – or so?
I could borrow a Bonnet – of the Lark –
And a Chamois’ silver boot –
And leap to you – tonight!
But – Moon – and Star –
Though you’re very far –
There is one – farther than you –
He – is more than a firmament – from me
–
And I cannot go!
This poem, a conversation with the moon
and stars about distance, about the impossible distance between narrator and
the unnamed “He,” stood out to me as a prime example of Dickinson’s power of
simplicity. The poem, only three stanzas long and beginning with a rather
simple rhyme, conveys all of the pain of longing across an indescribable
distance. Dickinson describes the distance and the things which she would need
to cross it in rather simple terms, putting forth the idea that – had she the
means to reach the one who was farther from her than the moon and stars – she
would. While a rather seemingly straightforward poem, the emotion it holds in
its few short stanzas is rather profound, a testament to Dickinson’s way with
words. And, while the poem may, at first, seem rather simple, there is the
question of who is the “He” of which she speaks; is it God, is it some other
who she longs to see, to be with?
It’s questions like this which are
frequently generated by Dickinson’s work; while one message – in this case,
that of longing – may be quite clear, other aspects of meaning remain
ambiguous, hazy.
And, perhaps, that little bit of mystery
is what has made Dickinson’s work endure.
Courtney Dekanich, a college sophomore, is currently pursuing a degree in English at Silver Lake College. |
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