Beatrice Boyle

It is incredible (to me) that the works of Emily Dickenson were not published until after her death in 1886. She had originally offered them to publisher Thomas Higginson in 1862, for his opinion, but was rejected. However, he continued to correspond with her. It is widely believed that this early rejection of her work, discouraged her from seeking to have her work published thereafter.

It was only after her death in 1889, that her sister Lavinia discovered them in a box and sought to have them published.

Here is my favorite poem:

The Chariot

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 played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of grazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

__________________
To a Sr. Citizen, age is an attitude, not a number...To the young, attitude will get you fired!

Beatrice Boyle

Does anyone else have a favorite poem of hers they would like to share...a question about her life...etc., etc.,

__________________
To a Sr. Citizen, age is an attitude, not a number...To the young, attitude will get you fired!

Drzava

I don't like her at all. She requested her poems be burned after her death...why didn't she just do it before she died?

Beatrice Boyle

I'm confused...you don't like her as a Poet...or as a person. If the former...why?

Bea

__________________
To a Sr. Citizen, age is an attitude, not a number...To the young, attitude will get you fired!

WordBeast

This is my favourite Emily Dickenson poem:


Hope Is The Thing With Feathers


Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the Soul,
And sings that tune without the words,
And never stops at all.

And the sweetest in the gale is heard;
and sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Beatrice Boyle

Hi Word Beast...thanks for joining in.

I loved this one too...but then...I love ALL of hers!
I'm always amazed that for somone who never ventured out of her immediate surroundings, she knew the world as well as she did!

Bea

__________________
To a Sr. Citizen, age is an attitude, not a number...To the young, attitude will get you fired!

LoneWolf

I just bought a book of her poems, to study them and her technique, and wow...I was so impressed. If only I could put words together like that! I just started the book, so I don't really have any favorites, but I'll tell you when I do!

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My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way. --Ernest Hemingway

Beatrice Boyle

Hi Lone Wolf...you've just bought yourself a window to paradise in the realm of poetry! I love this:



This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me
The simple news that nature told
With tender majesty

Her messge is committed
To hands I cannot see
For love of her, sweet countrymen
Judge tenderly of me!

And judge we have indeed dear Emily!

__________________
To a Sr. Citizen, age is an attitude, not a number...To the young, attitude will get you fired!

LoneWolf

I think that's one of the first poems I read and I love it! I'm really excited to read the rest now!

__________________
My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way. --Ernest Hemingway

requiem_for_the_dead

Emily Dickenson was an exceptional poet. I can understand why she was rejected the first time she sent them to Higginson. Her writing style was very strange for that time period. It is one of the things that has most mystified me about her as a person, how she could have such insight into things. Reading Emily Dickenson is always a new experience for me, i always get new insights into her writing. Like i can read one of her poems over and over and each time get something different from it.

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The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between the lightning and the lightning bug.
Henry David Thoreau