Emily Dickinson - Three Series

Emily Dickinson - Three Series is the collection of Emily Dickinson's poems, which I had to read as an ebook, since I could not find a complete printed collection in store.  Also, the complete ebook was free. Not a bad deal, right? I wrote a bit about my reading experience last week. I decided to include it on my Spin list, even though I started it a while ago, because I needed the motivation to finish it. Reading one or two poems in between novels was not cutting it anymore. Plus, I've been wanting to share what I've been reading. 

It's just so difficult to talk about all the poems, but I feel like I should, like each one deserves a moment of its own. They deserve more than just the glimpse into her work that I'm going to give here.

I think most literary people (any many non-literary people) are familiar with Dickinson's 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 gazing 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 't is centuries; but each

Feels shorter than the day

I first surmised the horses' heads

Were toward eternity.

I remember reading this poem more than once during university, for various classes. Something about it must have stuck with me, because now I've read all of her poems. All those poems and all that reading has left me with eight pages of notes and highlights that I want to go back to and read again as I read the poems.

I decided to read the poems slowly. Many of the poems are short, some are only four lines, so I decided reading them like a novel would be a waste. I wanted to take my time, think, feel each poem. I may not write about each poem, but I can go through the eight pages of notes and highlights and pick a few things to share.

The poem titled in the collection, In A Library, is great.  It starts:

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is

To meet an antique book,

In just the dress his century wore;

A privilege, I think,

I just love it! The entire thing is an ode to books and libraries. It spoke to me.

As light as this poem was, there are many that have darkness, that come from some deep, solitary place. There are also others that seem to be observational, looking at the beauty of nature especially. There are times when I feel like she's talking about herself and others where I feel as though she is reacting to the outside world.

The Lonely House stood out for me as poem with a bit of a story. It had a good creep factor too, a poem for Halloween maybe.  The third stanza

How orderly the kitchen ’d look by night,

With just a clock,—

But they could gag the tick,

And mice won’t bark;

And so the walls don’t tell,

None will.

The walls don't tell what? Who's in my house? Maybe I'm reading too much into it.

I want to talk about The Mystery of Pain, but instead I'll just include the link. I'm nervous about looking too deeply at it.  There's pain there and maybe Dickinson wanted to solve the mystery of her own.

This one also stood out for me:

Death is a dialogue between

The spirit and the dust.

“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,

I have another trust.”

  

Death doubts it, argues from the ground.

The Spirit turns away,

Just laying off, for evidence,

An overcoat of clay.

I don't even know what to say about this one, I just want people to read it.

But for a new part of the emotional journey:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And 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 chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

This is actually the second time I've posted this poem on my blog. I think it's my favourite in the entire collection. 

There are just so many, too many. 

This one, near the end of the collection, almost had me crying:

We never know we go,—when we are going

  We jest and shut the door;

Fate following behind us bolts it,

  And we accost no more.

I read it shortly after the deaths of Alan Rickman and David Bowie, as well as news of the death of the oldest person in the world.  Rickman and Bowie were 69, but the former oldest person was 112. The poem just made me think that we never know when we are going to go, 69 or 112, sooner or later. I don't even know if that's what this poem is really talking about. 

Many of the titles (all?) are arbitrary, added posthumously. Some aren't even the same across all collections. Most of the poems are just numbered. I suppose that is because she only published handful of them in her lifetime. I wish she had published more in her life, but I suppose that's what many people have wished. I think that I might start re-reading the poems, just always have them on my tablet and between novels and stories, when I want a little clarity or burst of emotion, read one of her poems, a cycle from beginning to end and around again, always with me. Is that crazy? I don't know. I just find the idea comforting and isn't that what you want from what you read.

I don't think there is enough time in my world for an in depth study of her work, maybe back when I was studying in University. Let's just say, I recommend her work, from the well-known to the lesser-known and that Dickinson's work is something I see myself continually returning.

Ebooks and Emily

The Poems of Emily Dickinson – Three Series Complete....

It just ends. Bam, it’s over. So much time invested and there was no preamble, just the last poem, then the index of first lines. That’s it.  The index takes up the last 15% of the ebook. So I thought I had 15% more poems… or at least 10%. I’ve come to realize that the last few “pages” of ebooks are often ads for other books (by the author or similar authors) or acknowledgements or something. I knew there was an index at the end, but I didn’t think it would be so big.  I guess I should have checked. That’s been my one consistent complaint about ebooks, sudden, expected endings. It was just so abrupt, I feel thrown.

So, if anyone decides to read the complete works of Emily Dickinson, remember that any ebook edition potentially (and the Kindle edition specifically) ends at 85%.

Emily Dickinson!

The Classics Club Spin number is 19!  That means Three Series (aka the poems of) Emily Dickinson. I actually started reading this some time ago, like over a year. I read the first series over the course of a few months, but then I slowed down. It is a lot of poems, like A LOT. I still read them, but it has been down to a few every month, usually inbetween whatever novels or short stories I'm reading. Whenever I've made a Classics Club Spin list the past few times, if Random.org comes up with Dickinson's number, I include it.  I want to finish the poems.  I want to finish them before my list becomes due.  With the past few spins, I've hoped to get Dickinson, because I know it will be the motivation I need to finish the complete poems. I think I can do it. February 1st. Ya, sure. No problem.

Favourite Poetry - The Classics Club Meme

I don't usually do the Classics Club Meme, but I couldn't resist October's topic.  Classic poetry!  My long-time favourite poem is by Romantic, William Wordsworth:
 

A slumber did my spirit seal;  I had no human fears: She seem'd a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force;  She neither hears nor sees; Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course  With rocks, and stones, and trees.

It is lyrically beautiful, while also being so very sad.  I first read this poem in University.  It has stayed with me since. 

 

I went through poetry overload after University.  I took an entire course on poetry, plus there was poetry in other classes as well.  I spent so long dissecting classic and contemporary poetry that I couldn't read it anymore, just for the enjoyment.  A couple years ago that slowly started to change with Disney Princesses, and Rime of the Ancient Mariner (which for some reason I never read in University.)  Since, I have kept up with reading poetry here and there.  I also decided that there were some classic poems and poets I had to read.  This past spring, I started reading the complete works of Emily Dickinson.  I decided to do it slowly, as so many poems would just blend together if I read it all at once and I wanted the opportunity to savour each poem.  From the collection, I have two favourites so far:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And 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 chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

 

and

Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,
I have another trust.”

Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.

 

I know that The Chariot is Dickinson's most well-known poem, and I do think it is wonderful, but I can't have the same favourite as everyone else.  As soon as I read Hope it stuck with me and I think it might be like Wordsworth's classic, a poem I will think of for years to come.