Emily Dickinson 1830-1886 A virtual recluse In 55 short years of life, rarely left her home in Amherst, Mass. A comfortable home: dad a prominent lawyer and civic leader. A chronically ill mother, for whom Emily had to care An unmarried sister (“Vinnie”) who also lived at home. A brother (Austin) and his wife Susan Gilbert, to whom ED wrote. A highly religious household, but Emily was different; a little strange and solitary. Not anti-social, but not exactly the “belle of the ball.” Hard to communicate with; on a different “wavelength.” Had few friends. Never married or had a “boy friend,” and, as far as we know, never experienced physical love. A valentine to a young man at Amherst “Sir, I desire an interview; meet me at sunrise, or sunset, or the new moon – the place is immaterial…With soul, or spirit, or body, they are all alike to me. With host or alone, in sunshine or storm, in heaven or earth, some how or no how – I propose, sir, to see you. And not to see merely, but a chat, sir, or a tete-a-tete, a confab, a mingling of opposite minds is what I propose to have…Our friendship, sir, shall endure till sun and moon shall wane no more, till stars shall set, and victims rise to grace the final sacrifice…I am Judith, the heroine of the Apocrypha, and you the orator of Ephesus. That’s what they call a metaphor in our country. Don’t be afraid of it, sir, it won’t bite! To George Gould, a friend of her brother Austin, Feb. 1850 “Vesuvius at home” Spent her solitude reading (Bible and Shakespeare), writing poetry. Some poems about the theme of creativity itself. Often compared her creative urge to a volcano bubbling invisibly beneath the surface: Volcanoes be in Sicily And South America I judge from my Geography – Volcanoes nearer here A Lava step at any time Am I inclined to climb – A Crater I may contemplate Vesuvius at Home. (#1705; ?) No desire for fame. Never in her lifetime did she try to publish her poems. Handwrote and tied them together in small bundles (“fascicles”), 1776 in all. Asked sister to burn them after death. Vinnie could not do it, and with a family friend, eventually brought them to light. I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – Too? Then there’s a pair of us? Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one’s name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog! (#288; c. 1861) Despite staying at home, she knew the world. I never saw a Moor – I never saw the Sea – Yet know I how the Heather looks And what a Billow be. (#1052; c. 1865) Dickinson vs. Whitman “One of the two great poetic geniuses of the 19th c.” (F. Madden) As different from Whitman as night from day. “You speak of Mr. Whitman – I never read his Book – but was told that he was disgraceful --” (ED in letter to TW Higginson, April 1862) Whitman a “public” poet who loved people; Dickinson intensely private. Whitman’s lines a ...

1. Emily Dickinson
1830-1886
A virtual recluse
In 55 short years of life, rarely left her home in Amherst, Mass.
A comfortable home: dad a prominent lawyer and civic leader.
A chronically ill mother, for whom Emily had to care
An unmarried sister (“Vinnie”) who also lived at home.
A brother (Austin) and his wife Susan Gilbert, to whom ED
wrote.
A highly religious household, but Emily was different; a little
strange and solitary. Not anti-social, but not exactly the “belle
of the ball.” Hard to communicate with; on a different
“wavelength.”
Had few friends. Never married or had a “boy friend,” and, as
far as we know, never experienced physical love.
A valentine to a young man at Amherst
“Sir, I desire an interview; meet me at sunrise, or sunset, or the
new moon – the place is immaterial…With soul, or spirit, or
body, they are all alike to me. With host or alone, in sunshine
or storm, in heaven or earth, some how or no how – I propose,
sir, to see you. And not to see merely, but a chat, sir, or a tete-
a-tete, a confab, a mingling of opposite minds is what I propose
to have…Our friendship, sir, shall endure till sun and moon
shall wane no more, till stars shall set, and victims rise to grace
the final sacrifice…I am Judith, the heroine of the Apocrypha,
and you the orator of Ephesus. That’s what they call a
metaphor in our country. Don’t be afraid of it, sir, it won’t

2. bite!
To George Gould, a friend of her brother Austin, Feb. 1850
“Vesuvius at home”
Spent her solitude reading (Bible and Shakespeare), writing
poetry.
Some poems about the theme of creativity itself. Often
compared her creative urge to a volcano bubbling invisibly
beneath the surface:
Volcanoes be in Sicily
And South America
I judge from my Geography –
Volcanoes nearer here
A Lava step at any time
Am I inclined to climb –
A Crater I may contemplate
Vesuvius at Home. (#1705; ?)
No desire for fame.
Never in her lifetime did she try to publish her poems.
Handwrote and tied them together in small bundles
(“fascicles”), 1776 in all. Asked sister to burn them after death.
Vinnie could not do it, and with a family friend, eventually
brought them to light.
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – Too?
Then there’s a pair of us?
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!

3. How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog! (#288; c. 1861)
Despite staying at home, she knew the world.
I never saw a Moor –
I never saw the Sea –
Yet know I how the Heather looks
And what a Billow be.
(#1052; c. 1865)
Dickinson vs. Whitman
“One of the two great poetic geniuses of the 19th c.” (F.
Madden)
As different from Whitman as night from day.
“You speak of Mr. Whitman – I never read his Book – but was
told that he was disgraceful --” (ED in letter to TW Higginson,
April 1862)
Whitman a “public” poet who loved people; Dickinson intensely
private.
Whitman’s lines are long and rambling, like spoken speech.
Dickinson writes in short, staccato lines, fractured by odd
dashes.
Many of her poems are in the same metric form as the hymns
she heard in church on Sundays.
But it is not religious verse: “If I read a book and it makes my
body so cold no fire can ever warm me I know that is poetry.”
Little formal education and a crisis of faith.
Attended Amherst Academy

4. Then Mount Holyoke Female Seminary (later Mount Holyoke
College)
Crisis of faith. To graduate, had to testify to “seeing the light”
of God and Christ.
Dickinson refused. A clear-eyed skeptic.
“Faith” is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see –
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.
(#185, c. 1860)
Some of Dickinson’s themes
Religion
Love
Pain and loss
Nature
Knowledge, science and truth
Success and failure
Creativity and language, poetry itself
Death, death, and more death
In short, her poetic interests as inexhaustible and various as
life.
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –
I keep it, staying at Home –
With a Bobolink for a Chorister --
And an Orchard, for a Dome –
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –
I just wear my Wings –
And instead of tolling the Bell for Church,
Our little Sexton – sings.

5. God preaches, a noted Clergyman –
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –
I’m going all along. (#324, c. 1860)
Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory
As he defeated – dying –
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!
(#67, c. 1859)
The Brain -- is wider than the sky – / For – put them side by
side –
The one the other will contain / With ease – and You – beside –
The Brain is deeper than the sea – / For – hold them – Blue to

6. Blue –
The one the other will absorb – / As Sponges – buckets – do –
The Brain is just the weight of God – / For – Heft them – Pound
for Pound –
And they will differ – if they do – / As Syllable from Sound –
(#632, c. 1862)
Much Madness is divinest Sense –
To a discerning Eye –
Much Sense – the starkest Madness –
‘Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail –
Assent – and you are sane—
Demur – you’re straightway dangerous –
And handled with a Chain – (#435, c.
1862)
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 but moor – Tonight –

7. In Thee! (#249, c. 1861)
Because I could not stop for Death – / He kindly
stopped for me --
The Carriage held but just Ourselves – / And
Immortality.
We slowly drove -- He knew no haste / And I had put
away
My labor and my leisure too, / For His Civility –
We passed the School where Children strove / At
Recess – in the Ring --
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain -- / We passed
the Setting Sun –
Or rather – He passed Us – / The Dews drew
quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown -- / My Tippet – only
Tulle –
We paused before a House that seemed / A Swelling
of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible -- / The Cornice – in
the Ground –
Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet / Feels shorter
than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads / Were toward
Eternity -- (#712, c. 1863)

8. Tell all the Truth but tell it slant –
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth’s superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind – (#1129, c. 1868)
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
–
(#465, c. 1862)