The Clouds their Backs together laid

The Clouds their Backs together laid
The North began to push
The Forests galloped till they fell
The Lightening played like mice

The Thunder crumbled like a stuff
How good to be in Tombs
Where nature's Temper cannot reach
Nor missle ever comes
(F 1246)

Started 10/19 and continued 10/20...
This poem vividly depicts the wild forces of nature unleashed upon the earth. There is a sense of opposition as the clouds stand "their backs together laid" and the north "began to push". Immediately Dickinson creates struggle as the powers of nature build and unleash themselves upon the world below. The forests "fell" and the lightening wreaks its danger "like mice." There is a powerful carelessness in the abilities of nature. Nature does not care about damage that might be done, nor about the panic it induces upon anything below. It is self-centered and self-pleasing in its abandon.

And yet, nature cannot touch the speaker. He or she is safe "in Tombs / Where nature's temper cannot reach." There is a large sense of irony in this statement from the speaker, because while he or she is safe from the wild danger of nature and its fury, it remains that the speaker is dead. One theme that can be derived from this poem is that safety has its sacrifices. To be safe from the looming clouds and the pouring rain and careless thunder, one also gives up the chance to see the glory of a sunset or the hallowed morning of fresh fallen snow or the riotous splendor of first spring or the fiery blaze of autumn harvest. There is a sense of give and take, and while there is security from the unpredictable forces above, the tomb is for the dead.

Morning is due to all (cont)

Now that I'm not falling asleep typing and, hopefully, the words are not missing letters, I'm continuing the last entry...

I feel like some of Dickinson's point in writing this poem is to point out that everyone has a beginning, or a morning. We are given hundreds of starts, literally as each day begins and figuratively with each opportunity that comes our way. The night, or completion, only comes to some. There are those who do not see the end of the day-- those who die unexpectedly or who do not see the end of the opportunities they were given. Some see the "night" or conclusion to hopes and dreams. But some do not.

At the end of this poem lies the rare Auroral Light. It is something that a very small percentage of the world gets to see, and I would think that it would be a thing of wonder and even rarer a sight in Dickinson's time. Today there is a large percentage of the world that will never see the aurora, and I believe that Dickinson uses this as a metaphor for those who never see the miraculous or the rare. So many people live ordinary lives, perhaps even content but never aware of what the amazing and unique experiences that lie just beyond them. Some are aware of such things, but some people have no interest in pursuing them. Likewise, others are aware of things like the auroral light but have so convinced themselves that it is an experience they will never have or deserve.

Morning, night, and the auroral light are possiblities of everyone. There is potential to reach each thing. And how few people actually pursue beyond the morning? I think there is a lesson in greatness found in this poem. Dickinson leaves this poem with an open thought for the reader. Namely, which do we pursue or find: morning, night or auroral light? Are we content with what we experience? And what more could there be, waiting for us to recognize as an opportunity and waiting to be experienced as miraculous?

How ruthless are the gentle--

How ruthless are the gentle--
How cruel are the kind--
God broke his contract to his Lamb
To qualify the Wind--
(F 1465)

This is one of probably dozens of Dickinson's poems that has confuses me. I really don't know what it is "supposed" to be about, and the last line doesn't seem to make much sense at all. That said, the first two lines are intriguing. It makes me think perhaps this is a commentary on society and what is "dignified" and "proper." It seems that so much of what was socially acceptable and the "refined" behavior of the upper class could be truly cruel and brutal. Lives, physically and emotionally and likely mentally, could be pulled apart with one wrong word or move.

Perhaps it could also be a commentary about institutions like slavery. The southern states defended slavery, often claiming the Africans taken as slaves were less intelligent, not human, and that it was for their own good. The "gentle" treatment is revealed in horrifying detail in books like Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin, and even the most well-meaning of those who keeps slaves only perpetuate a system of pain and separations, even death.

I wish I understood the last line.

Death is a Dialogue between

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.
(F 973)

Much of Dickinson's poetry casts the religion of Amherst and her family into doubt. She never made peace with the Christian view of her family, although through her poetry she struggles time and time again with issues of faith and belief. Specific answers as to what Dickinson believed or put her faith in is unknown-- she took that secret to the grave with her. It does seem, through her poetry, that she did believe in an afterlife or some existence beyond death. She also has a firm trust in the idea that people consist of body and soul and that the soul is eternal.

This poem is one of the closer hints that readers have at a profession of belief or assurance of some sort of faith. It's mystical, unclear and sort of like a statement a deist or even agnostic might make. If Dickinsons belongs in any specific "belief" category I would be tempted to put her in the "agnostic" column, because she seems to think that God might exist but really doubts that a personal relationship with him is possible.

All that aside, the speaker's description of the "overcoat of clay" and shedding that coat for a "another trust" is one of the most beautiful metaphors for the end of mortality and the eternal state of the soul found in poetry. Interestingly enough, death is never fearful or the winner in Dickinson's poetry. Death is personified as a gentleman at times, sneaky and sometimes even spiteful. But death never wins in Dickinson's poetry. Memory and the eternity of the soul always trump death.

Some say good night-- at night--

Some say good night-- at night--
I say good night by day
Good bye-- the Going utter me--
Good night, I still reply--

For parting, that is night,
And presence, simply dawn--
Itself, the purple on the hight
Denominated morn.
(F 586)

This poem fascinates me, and I was surprised to find it hiding so impishly among the other poems in Franklin's anthology of Dickinson. Yes, there is a speaker or persona in this poem who narrates it-- an other who is not the poet herself. And yet, I think it shows the depth of feeling and love that Dickinson had for those closest to her.

While she did not have a huge range of friends and people to whom she spoke or even wrote, she was prolific in what letter writing she did. Her language in her letters is practically poetry instead of prose, in its highly charged language and abundance of imagery and exacting phrases. Perhaps all of her poems truly were letters. At any rate, there is a deep connection to others. "Presence, simply dawn" expresses the glorious joy and eagerness that friends brought to Dickinson, as well as the speaker.

I think it is a bit interesting that Dickinson chose night and sunrise as the metaphors in this poem. Humans have no control over nightfall or sunrise, and it implies that Dickinson or at least the speaker has little or no control over the comings and goings of those beloved. Perhaps this could serve as an extended metaphor for death, as though each goodbye could be a literal and not just metaphoric death. Certainly death was not predictable and could strike far too suddenly. This may have enhanced the feeling of "goodbye" as a death and every "hello" as not only a sunrise but as its archetypal plot motif dictates, it could be a rebirth or resurrection. Again, hope tries to eke out some space in this poem, and I think Dickinson and her speaker ardently wish for the next "hello" of a sunrise and its revival of all things new and fresh.

adrift!

Adrift! A little boat adrift!
And night is coming down!
Will no one guide a little boat
Unto the nearest town?

So Sailors say -- on yesterday --
Just as the dusk was brown
One little boat gave up its strife
And gurgled down and down.

So angels say -- on yesterday --
Just as the dawn was red
One little boat -- o'erspent with gales --
Retrimmed its masts -- redecked its sails --
And shot -- exultant on!
(F 6)

I first read this poem sometime in college, and it reminds me of the loss of someone that I knew. When she passed away, everyone seemed to assume that they knew exactly who she was and what her fate was. It was this view that she had lived alright until an event or series of events, and then things happened and made assumptions. In many ways, it was one of those pitying things where everyone tries to say something but can't think of much to say that isn't downright rude. There were much deeper parts that most people never knew. And honestly I believe there were things she could not control. Yes, this is vague but there is a point...

That point is that so much of life exists in parts that we don't see, in things that are private and beyond us. The perceived dusk may well be a dawn waiting to be recognized. There is hope and there is potential even in the most dire situations. At least I would like to believe that, and perhaps it is a naive belief. At times it is a downright impossible belief.

This poem echoes Dickinson's recurring theme of time and eternity and what is temporal versus what is everlasting. The poem seems to be deceptively simple, with an almost nursery rhyme regularity the ABCB DEFE GHIHJ scheme. Always ready to invert our expectations, we find ourselves lulled by the rhyme into very clear expectations as the words gently rock us into a familiar pattern-- thought perhaps a dark pattern. The little boat flounders, sinks, and the seamen watch it go down. Simple, yes? But it isn't, for in the third stanza Dickinson twists perspective, reaching a whole new level of perception and launching her audience into the celestial realm.

Our perspective in life is so finite and limited, governed strictly by the rules of life and death and without any more control than the floudering ship. And while the storms and devastation of the sea, perhaps a metaphor for life, are beyond our control, we do control how we view and react to the situations we face. We can sit back and do nothing but say "how sad" and watch the ship sink. Why did those sailors not try to save anyone who could be saved? Or we can accept what happens and find joy in the situation and celebrate with the enduring soul. This isn't to say that we are not deeply affected by grief, and I don't mean to imply that mourning should be avoided or is wrong. Nor do I mean that we should not do all we can with whatever means we have to help those struggling. But perhaps more to Dickinson's point, we need to look deeper in the first place, beyond our limited view of the situation and find what lies at the heart of the matter, what endures or could endure.