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.

Over the fence

Over the fence--
Strawberries-- grow--
Over the fence--
I could climb-- if I tried, I know--
Berries are nice!

But-- if I stained my Apron--
God would certainly scold!
Oh, dear,-- I guess if He were a Boy--
He'd-- climb-- if He could!
(F 271)

This is one of those poems that I chanced upon, finding it only when I opened my anthology and looked at the first poem I saw. It seems to me that I find some of my favorite Dickinson poems this way, and today was not an exception.

I love when Dickinson writes about the limitations that we put on ourselves-- the impositions of society and our own guilt and self-made obligations to conformity. The possiblity of a stain upon the apron can be symbolic of the potential stain upon one's reputation. As one critic wrote, much of Dickinson's poetry hinges on the balance between the actual and the hoped for.

There are gender issues here, and it is open for feminist criticism. I suppose Freudian interpretation would make it that way, emphasizing the erotic in the berry and desire to act upon the suppressed desire. And feminist criticism could take issue with the Eve complex. The boy can hop the fence of propriety, sow his wild oats, and hop back into the good graces of all. Again the societal limitations become the theme of this poem, trapping the speaker in her corseted traditional role-- stifled and suppressed.

Sweet is the swamp with it's secrets

Sweet is the swamp with it's secrets,
Until we meet a snake;
'Tis then we sigh for houses,
And our departure take
At that enthralling gallop
That only childhood knows.
A snake is nature's treason,
And awe is where it goes.
(F 1780)

I hate snakes with a passion, and in fact am extremely afraid of them. And yet Dickinson's poem makes me almost consider giving them a second chance. They are unknown, the exotic, and the dangerous but fascinating possiblities in this poem. There is something terrifying about coming across a snake, especially among the great wild beauty of a swamp. And in the midst of that heart-stopping flight from the swamp, there is something about the utter panic that can bring a sordid sense of euphoria. Something about those moments of sheer terror can bring a little shiver of delight in their wake, for isn't that why we read ghost stories and scare ourselves silly with horror movies? It's the gothic mind-twist that entices us to read, even as we long to cover our eyes or plug up our ears and turn away.

I think that Dickinson and her speaker understand that without a little risk, without the snakes, the swamp wouldn't hold the half-forbidden lure. What is the point of exploration and adventure if the outcome is safely delivered as neatly as it could have been within the familiar confines of home? For all of the over protective nature of her childhood and the secluded nature of her adulthood, the inner part of Dickinson freely roamed the woods and swamps-- if only in her imagination. Her own imagination held its own allure, beautiful and terrifying, filled with not only those mossy landscapes and muddy waters but with what lies beneath. She eases her toes into the waters of the gothic and stirs those hints of the haunted self and the fallen humanity within.

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.

I stepped from Plank to Plank

I stepped from Plank to Plank
A slow and cautious way
The Stars about my Head I felt
About my Feet the Sea--

I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch--
This gave me that precarious Gait
Some call Experience--
(F 926)

The trouble with so many parts of life is that we can learn and learn, but the time come when we must step out into our own experience. Some people are bold and jump "plank to plank," while others take the "slow and cautious way," feeling out the path before them. It would be all well and good if the planks remained steady and sure and predictable. Life, however, is anything but steady and sure and predictable.

Dickinson's acute observations about the harrowing aspects of experience show her ability to tap into fears and distill them into a single poem. In eight lines she perfectly describes the uncertainty that we all face when we step into the unfamiliar-- whether the unfamiliar is going off on our own into world, being left to fully master a new skill, or even face the risk that is love. Every part of life requires risk. There is the chance the next step will not be there, that the persona will fall on his or her face. Trips and stumbles and free-falls happen. But life cannot happen without risk.

No matter how much Dickinson may have seemed to be isolated in her home in Amherst and distanced from the world, even she realizes that risk is necessary. That the "precarious Gait" is innate in the human experience called life. We stumble and fumble and trip along our way. And maybe someday we learn and risk enough to run.