Skip to main content

Poetry Sunday: A Light exists in Spring by Emily Dickinson

"The Belle of Amherst" she has been called. Though she was not well known during her lifetime, in death Emily Dickinson has emerged as one of the most important poets that this country has produced. One of the memorable things about her poems is the eccentric capitalization of random words. Why did she do it? Who knows? She marched to a drummer no one else could hear.

In 1890, Dickinson published this poem about the unique light that occurs in spring. It is a passing thing as are most things in life and it must be experienced in the moment. It is a mystical light that "almost speaks" in a language known only to the soul.  

A Light exists in Spring

by Emily Dickinson

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.




Comments

  1. Spring does have a special light, and a special odour too. Everything about spring excites the senses.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I love her work. I think it's tragic she never got to see any real success while she was alive.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That seems to be the fate of so many artists - never appreciated until after they are dead.

      Delete
  3. Love. I've seen two productions of The Belle of Amherst--such a wonderful one-woman play. An absolute joy!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Spring and fall both (to me) have special lights but they are not the same light. Here, starting sometime in February you see the glow in upper tree branches, too, as sap starts to flow. Now, buds are swelling. Oh, that feeling of coming alive. Emily Dickinson felt it, and she expressed it so well.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Each season seems to have its own distinctive light. You describe the light of spring very well.

      Delete
  5. I wonder how hard she needed to work to write a poem like this, or if the words just came to her and she just scribbled them down.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I don't know the answer to that but I suspect that, even though inspiration plays its role, the poet still has to work to hone the words.

      Delete
  6. The random capitalization has a lovely effect on the feeling of the poem.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. As I said, she did march - and write - to the beat of a drum only she could hear. That's what made her unique and memorable.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...