Linda's Literary Home

Author: Linda Sue Grimes

  • Edgar Lee Masters’ “Theodore the Poet”

    Image:  Edgar Lee Masters - Portrait by Francis J. Quirk https://francisquirk.blogspot.com/2017/03/visit-to-national-portrait-gallery.html
    Image:  Edgar Lee Masters – Portrait by Francis J. Quirk

    Edgar Lee Masters’ “Theodore the Poet”

    The speaker in Edgar Lee Masters’ “Theodore the Poet” contemplates the purpose of life employing a comparison of crawfish and people.

    Introduction and Text of “Theodore the Poet”

    Edgar Lee Masters’ “Theodore the Poet” from Masters’ American classic Spoon River Anthology consists of two grand movements, each with three minor movements. The first grand movement focuses on Theodore’s intense scrutiny of crawfish. The second grand movement reveals that same level of study of people. 

    This complex arrangement fits the conception of this unique speaker as a “poet.”  As poets are makers, they need material for the making; unfortunately, Theodore offers no examples of his poetic products, only the moving part of his mind, gathered in those bits of materials.

    Theodore the Poet

    As a boy, Theodore, you sat for long hours
    On the shore of the turbid Spoon  
    With deep-set eye staring at the door of the crawfish’s burrow,
    Waiting for him to appear, pushing ahead,
    First his waving antennæ, like straws of hay,
    And soon his body, colored like soap-stone,
    Gemmed with eyes of jet.  
    And you wondered in a trance of thought  
    What he knew, what he desired, and why he lived at all.
    But later your vision watched for men and women
    Hiding in burrows of fate amid great cities,
    Looking for the souls of them to come out,
    So that you could see  
    How they lived, and for what,
    And why they kept crawling so busily
    Along the sandy way where water fails
    As the summer wanes.


    Commentary on “Theodore the Poet” 

    Edgar Lee Masters’ “Theodore the Poet” displays in a complex pattern of two grand movements, each with three minor movements.

    First Grand Movement:  Observation of Crawfish

    In the first grand movement, the speaker offers details gleaned from his hours of observing crawfish. This movement plays out in the first, second, and third minor movements.

    First Minor Movement:  Addressing His Alter Ego

    As a boy, Theodore, you sat for long hours
    On the shore of the turbid Spoon  
    With deep-set eye staring at the door of the crawfish’s burrow,
    Waiting for him to appear, pushing ahead,

    As Theodore addresses an alter ego, he is demonstrating the introspective nature of the poet. He begins by broaching the subject of his life-long habit of sitting by Spoon River “for long hours.” As Theodore sat peering intensely at the opening of the crawfish’s abode, the budding poet in him waited with curiosity for the crawfish to appear.

    Second Minor Movement:  Crawfish

    First his waving antennæ, like straws of hay,
    And soon his body, colored like soap-stone,
    Gemmed with eyes of jet.  

    The speaker then dramatizes his next act of talking to himself as he vividly describes the appearance of the crawfish followed by their activities. The crawfish’s antennae were waving, and they looked like “straws of hay.”  

    After the hay-like antennae appeared, the body of the crawfish soon emerged.  The crawfish body was the color of “soap-stone,” and it was “gemmed with eyes of jet.”  Theodore knows these details because he so studiously observed them.

    Third Minor Movement:  Philosophical Turn of Mind

    And you wondered in a trance of thought  
    What he knew, what he desired, and why he lived at all.

    In the final minor movement of the first grand movement, the speaker reveals what was on his mind as he watched the crawfish. He was, in fact, musing on and wondering about what the crawfish knew and what they desired.  Finally, he desired to understand why those creature even existed.   

    Theodore’s observations and musing demonstrate the philosophical nature of the mind of his ilk as a poet.  Poets like Ralph Waldo Emerson possessed that same kind of philosophical mind—observing, wondering, musing, and finally putting those musings down in written form.

    Second Grand Movement: Observation of People

    In the second grand movement, the speaker offers his observation of people.  This grand movement displays in the following fourth, fifth, and sixth  three minor movements.

    Fourth Minor Movement:  From Crawfish to People

    But later your vision watched for men and women
    Hiding in burrows of fate amid great cities,
    Looking for the souls of them to come out,

    In the second grand movement, later in Theodore’s life, instead of watching crawfish, he turned to observing people; thus he claims that “men and women” became the focus of his peering eye. 

    Because of Theodore’s former experience of waiting and watching for crawfish, the speaker/poet metaphorically refers to the places from which people exit as “burrows,” as he referred to the abode of the crawfish. 

    But he describes those people-burrows as great “hiding” places where those men and women play out their “fate amid great cities.”   Theodore then explains that he was watching the people to determine the nature of their souls; thus he was constantly searching for evidence of soulful behavior of the men and women he so studiously watched.

    Fifth Minor Movement:  Same Attitude

    So that you could see  
    How they lived, and for what,

    In this transitional movement, Theodore reveals that he watched the people with nearly the identical attitude that he had watched the crawfish: he wanted to understand the nature and procedure involved in the lives of those men and women as well as what those people desired out of life.  

    The philosophical mind of Theodore the Poet has drawn the inevitable parallel between human and animal life in such a way as to confound the minds of lesser observers.  Theodore’s observations have thus offered a unique poetic view of creation.

    Sixth Minor Movement:  The Question of Existence Remains

    And why they kept crawling so busily
    Along the sandy way where water fails
    As the summer wanes.

    Theodore wanted to understand people as well crawfish, but in the end, people became virtually indistinguishable from the crawfish.   In Theodore’s colorful description, just as the crawfish crawled over the sand, the people, in Theodore’s mind, took on the same quality of “crawling so busily / Along the sandy way.”

    Also like crawfish, those men and women seemed to be moving along that same “sandy way where water fails / As the summer wanes.”  Theodore has concluded that both crawfish and humankind seem to live rather useless lives.

    Because he leaves off his discussion without approaching his other main desire of knowing why those creatures, whether belonging to the animal kingdom or to the human race exist at all, he is implying that he will continue to wonder why. 

    And quite likely he has concluded that there is no answer that the human mind can ever conceive which can fully and finally answer that ultimate question of existence.

    Edgar Lee Masters - Commemorative Stamp
    Image: Edgar Lee Masters – Commemorative Stamp
  • River Music

    Image created by Gemini inspired by the poem

    River Music 

    He begins by whispering a hum 
    in her hair, along her neck, 
    already smooth with sweat.
    Mosquitoes buzz in 
    through the open windows.  
    In the morning she will be dotted.  He too.
    Across the river, lights on a cranky car 
    flash down the road
    and she loses her place—where was she? Ah, yes, 
    here with him, sweet-throat, nestled among trees,
    nose of the Chevy pointing into the bushes. 
    Crickets, frogs, barking dogs punctuate
    the love sentence.  The steady wash of the water.  
    She loves the listen of the river.
    Where is she again?  O, yes, rushing headlong, 
    a river in floodstage.
    His hands lift the floodgate.
    His mouth here and here, O yes, and there, 
    love the listen of the river, 
    the rush of the current.
    His voice, a croon, she opens O sweet tune.
    O hush a moment for breath, an easy breath.

    Feeling each other’s music made flesh—
    How long can they hold those notes?
    How long can they move those bodies 
    with the rhythm of the river?

  • The Pause   

    Image created by Gemini inspired by the poem
    Image created by Gemini inspired by the poem

    The Pause   

    Might think 
    lust-think 
    should shrink
    even though its lure
    has became
    a national pastime; for sure,
    her mothers’ mothers said
    time out.  But not modern woman—
    when she lies back, legs wide
    she grooves that no more
    children will result.  No need
    for devices to keep 
    juices from colliding.  The old girl
    twin vine is dry, spit out all the seeds,
    hung its fruit by the root, nothing seeps,
    except that bit of hormone still fancying
    itself eighteen, still ripening her apple,
    she will offer to that young man who thinks
    the silver in her hair is a gold-mine—
    he bares his shovel, prepared to dig.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die” is contemplating the ongoing, indifferent progression of world enterprise following mortal departure. The speaker finds quiet comfort in the uninterrupted continuation of earthly life.

    Introduction and Text of “If I should die”

    Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die” focuses on human mortality. The poem consists of four movements, utilizing Dickinson’s customary short lines and characteristic slant rime. The speaker considers the inevitable continuation of nature and human activity  after individual physical presence ceases entirely.

    This short work presents a calm acceptance of death. The speaker reflects on the fact that daily routines proceed without pause: the morning sun, seasonal bird activity, and economic transactions continue unabated. However, instead of expressing grief or dread, this speaker takes solace in knowing that earthly affairs remain active, orderly, and bright.

    In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s creation of speakers who view physical departure through calmness and detachment. By observing nature and business, the speaker comes to terms with personal transience while celebrating the enduring colorful vitality of the surrounding physical and social world.

    If I should die

    If I should die,
    And you should live –
    And time should gurgle on –
    And morn should beam  –
    And noon should burn  –
    As it has usual done  –
    If Birds should build as early
    And Bees as bustling go  –
    One might depart at option
    From enterprise below!
    ‘Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
    When we with Daisies lie  –
    That Commerce will continue  –
    And Trades as briskly fly  –
    It makes the parting tranquil
    And keeps the soul serene  –
    That gentlemen so sprightly
    Conduct the pleasing scene!

    Commentary on “If I should die”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “If I should die” is exploring with tranquil acceptance the nature of mortality through the steady, ongoing operations of nature and society.

    First Movement: “If I should die”

    If I should die,
    And you should live –
    And time should gurgle on –
    And morn should beam  –
    And noon should burn  –
    As it has usual done  –

    In the opening lines, the speaker introduces a hypothetical situation involving personal death alongside the survival of others: time continues to flow without interruption, described with the word “gurgle.” Morning light shines and noon heat burns just as it always has on the earthly plane.

    The speaker emphasizes that natural cycles remain completely indifferent to individual mortality. Morning and noon retain their established routines. This consistency shows that the physical world does not stop or mourn. The universe keeps its steady pace regardless of human absence, maintaining its ongoing, familiar rhythms.

    Second Movement: “If Birds should build as early”

    If Birds should build as early
    And Bees as bustling go  –
    One might depart at option
    From enterprise below!

    Continuing the conditional thought, the speaker observes that birds will still construct nests early in the day. Bees will continue their energetic gathering tasks. Nature’s industrious activity persists without pause, demonstrating that life’s fundamental forces carry on seamlessly even after an individual’s physical life has ended.

    Because natural activity persists so reliably, departing from earthly work becomes a manageable choice. The word “enterprise” summarizes all human endeavor. The speaker recognizes that any one individual’s involvement is not required to sustain the world’s grand design, making personal departure feel far less disruptive or alarming.

    Third Movement: “’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand”

    ‘Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
    When we with Daisies lie  –
    That Commerce will continue  –
    And Trades as briskly fly  –

    Moving into the third movement, the speaker shifts focus from natural phenomena to human society. It is comforting to realize that financial institutions remain stable. While humans lie beneath the flowers, economic markets and business transactions proceed with their customary energy and speed across the world.

    The contrast between lying with flowers and active trade highlights human transience. Society’s institutions outlasts individual lives. The speaker gains comfort from this stability, recognizing that human civilization maintains its energetic flow and enterprise long after any single participant has departed from the physical world.

    Fourth Movement: “It makes the parting tranquil”

    It makes the parting tranquil
    And keeps the soul serene  –
    That gentlemen so sprightly
    Conduct the pleasing scene!

    In the final lines, the speaker highlights the soothing effect of this ongoing activity. Knowing that lively individuals continue to manage social and commercial affairs brings peace. The departure becomes quiet and smooth because the overall societal picture remains well-ordered, active, and thoroughly pleasing.

    This assurance helps maintain inner stillness during life’s final transition. As Paramahansa Yogananda explains, an individual grounded in inner peace remains radiantly serene regardless of life’s shifting circumstances. He has colorfully described that attitude as standing “unshaken midst the crash of breaking worlds.” This speaker maintains this calm state while recognizing that earthly existence will flourish continuously.  

  • Glass Hammers

    Image created by ChatGPT inspired by the poem
    Image created by ChatGPT inspired by the poem

    Glass Hammers

    You called your words glass hammers—
    When they became too “poetic.”
    You said you liked their shape 
    Because they were beautiful to look at,

    Yet you thought them transparent, 
    Fragile, ill-suited for the job—
    But to you, and your ilk, 
    All poetry is glass hammers.

    The poems—and you didn’t 
    even like the word “poem”—
    She wrote in the love she
    Harbored for you have become

    Her refuge against the silence you 
    Left her with.  Her glass hammers 
    Stake the heart of indifference. 
    They nail the coffin of loneliness.

    She has struck with glass hammers 
    And shattered the mask of your grand 
    Delusion:  Its eyeless plaster has fallen 
    And sharded the ground—but

    You are apt to sculpt another 
    And another until you run out of life force,
    Until you spill the last drop of life-juice
    In the mud of primal urges.

  • Edgar Lee Masters’ “Zenas Witt”

    Image: Edgar Lee Masters https://www.best-poems.net/edgar_lee_masters/index.html#google_vignette
    Image: Edgar Lee Masters

    Edgar Lee Masters’ “Zenas Witt”

    One of Spoon River’s more vague speakers from the grave, “Zenas Witt” does make it clear that he suffered a miserable existence from age sixteen. 

    Introduction and Text of “Zenas Witt”

    Edgar Lee Masters’ “Zenas Witt” from Masters’ American classic Spoon River Anthology features an unfortunate character whose nerves, it would seem, led him to an early grave. Zenas is one of Edgar Lee Masters’ more vague speakers from the Spoon River graveyard.  

    This speaker does manage to impart the fact that his short life caused him great suffering before it was extinguished at an early age sometime vaguely after he had turned sixteen.  

    Zenas never becomes specific enough to let the reader know exactly when he died or what caused his demise.  That omission seems to be intentionally motivated in order to emphasize the young man’s poor memory and weakness of health.

    Zenas Witt

    I was sixteen, and I had the most terrible dreams,
    And specks before my eyes, and nervous weakness. 
    And I couldn’t remember the books I read,
    Like Frank Drummer who memorized page after page 
    And my back was weak, and I worried and worried,
    And I was embarrassed and stammered my lessons, 
    And when I stood up to recite I’d forget 
    Everything that I had studied. 
    Well, I saw Dr. Weese’s advertisement, 
    And there I read everything in print,
    Just as if he had known me; 
    And about the dreams which I couldn’t help. 
    So I knew I was marked for an early grave. 
    And I worried until I had a cough, 
    And then the dreams stopped.
    And then I slept the sleep without dreams 
    Here on the hill by the river.

    Commentary on “Zenas Witt”

    Zenas is fixated on his poor health issues.  He is especially disturbed about his inability to remember things he had learned.

    First Movement:   Fuzzy Thinking

    I was sixteen, and I had the most terrible dreams,
    And specks before my eyes, and nervous weakness. 
    And I couldn’t remember the books I read,
    Like Frank Drummer who memorized page after page 

    Zenas begins his discourse, by announcing that when he was sixteen years old, he had “the most terrible dreams.”  He saw “specks before [his] eyes.”  He reports his inability to remember books he had read. He likens his condition to “Frank Drummer,” who claimed to have memorized the entire Encyclopedia Britannica.  

    The disconnect between Zenas’ assertion that his condition was similar to Frank Drummer and his own description of his difficulty demonstrates the fuzzy thinking that the former seems to suffer in addition to his physical problems.

    Second Movement:  Bad Health

    And my back was weak, and I worried and worried,
    And I was embarrassed and stammered my lessons, 
    And when I stood up to recite I’d forget 
    Everything that I had studied. 

    Zenas continues to describe his unfortunate health issues:  he had a weak back, he worried excessively, he was easily embarrassed by his maladies, and when he had to stand up in class to recite his lessons, he would forget them.   Zenas’ memory was so bad that even though he had studied, he could never remember anything he had committed to memory.

    Third Movement:  Miracle Cure

    Well, I saw Dr. Weese’s advertisement, 
    And there I read everything in print,
    Just as if he had known me; 
    And about the dreams which I couldn’t help. 

    Zenas reports that he saw “Dr. Weese’s advertisement” and was attracted by what the ad said.  He read everything about Dr. Weese’s putative miracle cure.  Zenas felt that the doctor was describing his own situation, “just as if he had known me.” 

    The doc even knows about the dreams, and Zenas feels he must emphasis that he could not control the dreams.  Such a confession implies that Zenas might have believed he had control over his other woes but felt guilty that he did not do so.

    Fourth Movement:   No Miracle Cur

    So I knew I was marked for an early grave. 
    And I worried until I had a cough, 
    And then the dreams stopped. 

    Nothing ever came of this possible miracle cure, and Zenas admits that he was sure he would die early.  Thus, he continued to worry right up until the time developed a cough.     He says that the dreams abruptly came to a halt.  He does not elaborate or even hint at how long he continued to suffer his nervousness, nightmares, and poor memory.

    Fifth Movement:   No Dreaming on the Hill

    And then I slept the sleep without dreams 
    Here on the hill by the river.

    Suddenly, without fanfare, Zenas is dead.  He dramatically and poetically refers to his condition as “slee[ping] the sleep without dreams / Here on the hill by the river.” Zenas is one of the more tight-lipped deceased reporters from the Spoon River graveyard.  

    The reader never learns the specifics of his illnesses and is left to guess their nature as well as just how long Zenas had to suffer them.  He also leaves unclear just exactly what eventually killed him.

  • Twenty-Eight Lines on the Moon

     Image created by Gemini inspired by the poem
    Image created by Gemini inspired by the poem

    Twenty-Eight Lines on the Moon

    The moon does not structure sound.
    Though he has heard her songs in his bones.
    The man will not carry off the moon,
    But he might be able to bear her silence.
    She cradles his journey
    As she canoes the river.
    The moon does not appear stable,
    But she wears age like a diamond.
    The man will stare at her
    And refuse to gaze on his own madness.
    Her bald eye is a slow blink,
    A constancy of new.
    He carves life cycles around her.
    The moon does not touch him,
    Just ties him with yellow circles.
    The man separates his gravity from her,
    But she pulls his mind over jagged rocks.
    He is romanced by her candles,
    But his breath blows out the stars
    When he heaves under her glow.
    The moon swallows his sacred promises,
    Eats the meat right out of his memories.
    The man will lip her breasts
    Imagining he sucks twin moons.
    He often ponders the unity of reflected light,
    How centuries before him, people birthed and bathed
    And buried their dead beneath that same moon:
    The moon’s secrets hint like scent.

  • Edgar Lee Masters’ “Charlie French”

    005a Image/Edgar-Lee-Masters-Portrait.jpg
    Image: Edgar Lee Masters

    Edgar Lee Masters’ “Charlie French”

    Charlie French died of lockjaw, wondering which of his friends had shot off the cap pistol that delivered the fatal blow. 

    Introduction and Text of “Charlie French”

    Edgar Lee Masters’ “Charlie French” from Spoon River Anthology features its character musing about who might have been responsible for his contracting lockjaw which lead to his death.  

    The little drama creates a speaker in Charlie who finds himself obsessed with a specific detail.   After dying from this dreadful disease, he has his mind fixed upon who did it, who “snapped the toy pistol against” his hand.

    Charlie French

    Did you ever find out
    Which one of the O’Brien boys it was
    Who snapped the toy pistol against my hand?  
    There when the flags were red and white  
    In the breeze and “Bucky” Estil
    Was firing the cannon brought to Spoon River  
    From Vicksburg by Captain Harris;
    And the lemonade stands were running  
    And the band was playing,  
    To have it all spoiled
    By a piece of a cap shot under the skin of my hand,
    And the boys all crowding about me saying:
    “You’ll die of lock-jaw, Charlie, sure.”
    Oh, dear! oh, dear!
    What chum of mine could have done it?

    Commentary on “Charlie French”

    After dying of lockjaw, Charlie French has continued to wonder and obsess about which of his friends had shot off the cap pistol that delivered the fatal blow.

    First Movement:  Unidentified Listener

    Did you ever find out
    Which one of the O’Brien boys it was
    Who snapped the toy pistol against my hand?  

    Charlie is addressing an eclipsed listener, that is, a listener who cannot be identified.  Traditionally, when a poet’s speaker seems to be addressing no one, the context usually reveals that the speaker is, in fact, musing to him/herself.  But this is not the case with Charlie.   

    Charlie French wants to know who the culprit is who shot off a cap gun against his hand.  He asks the question at the beginning of his discourse and then concludes the discourse with the same question.  After his musing, he remains in the dark about who the cap-gun shooter was; thus he repeats the question.

    Second Movement:   A Civil War Enactment

    There when the flags were red and white  
    In the breeze and “Bucky” Estil
    Was firing the cannon brought to Spoon River  
    From Vicksburg by Captain Harris;

    Charlie describes the event at which his fatality occurred.  The description reveals a Civil War enactment or some other military observance.  There were “red and white” flags flapping in the breeze, while “Bucky” Estil was firing up the cannon.  

    The cannon had been transported to Spoon River by “Captain Harris,” who brought it all the way from Vicksburg. The Civil War era relic suggests that the celebration might have been a commemoration of that war, the American Civil War 1861–1865.

    Third Movement:  The Cap-Gun Mishap

    And the lemonade stands were running  
    And the band was playing,  
    To have it all spoiled
    By a piece of a cap shot under the skin of my hand,

    In addition to the cannon fire and flags, there were lemonade stands and a “band was playing.”  Then upon this jubilant scene intrudes Charlie’s unfortunate and ultimately fatal cap-gun shooting.  The day was moving along splendidly, “To have it all spoiled / By a piece of a cap shot under the skin of my hand.”

    Fourth Movement:   Strong Suggestibility

    And the boys all crowding about me saying:
    “You’ll die of lock-jaw, Charlie, sure.”

    Seeing the cap-shot stain under Charlie’s skin, the other boys gathered around him and started making comments:  “You’ll die of lock-jaw, Charlie, sure.”   The suggestion frightened Charlie so severely that he actually did contract the disease, and then he expired, leaving the reader little knowledge about this character other than his strong suggestibility.

    Fifth Movement:   It’s a Who Dunnit

    Oh, dear! oh, dear!
    What chum of mine could have done it?

    The exclamation, “Oh, dear! oh, dear!,” connects two strands of thought and activity:   First, the boys who were observing Charlie’s cap-gun shot hand are thinking thus, if, in fact they are not the ones projecting this utterance.

    And second, Charlie himself definitely engages this “oh dear” sentiment about his own health’s prospects; therefore, the implication is that Charlie let out this cry.    Charlie’s main reason for carrying on this discourse is further emphasized as he continues to wonder, “What chum of mine could have done it?”

  • Blood Fire 

    Image created by ChatGPT inspired by the poem
    Image created by ChatGPT inspired by the poem

    Blood Fire     

    As it rushes the body,
    Fingers flame
    To inflame fingers.
    Heart bangs at the door
    To drum heart.

    They talk.

    And as eyes spark mouth,
    Mouth sears lips with lips
    In a blazing ethereal kiss.

    Arms engulf body
    And body seals to body

    Until like a ripe apple

    It drops off—

    To die.

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Taken from – men this morning”

    Image: Emily Dickinson - Amherst College - Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 - likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
    Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet

    Emily Dickinson’s “Taken from – men this morning”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Taken from – men this morning” dramatizes the soul’s transition from earthly life to a metaphysical kingdom, where the departed assume exalted, courtly roles.

    Introduction and Text of “Taken from – men this morning”

    The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “Taken from – men this morning” narrates the sudden removal of a young girl from the human realm, portraying death not as an end but as a grand procession escorted by divine beings. In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s intuitive grasp of the soul’s immortality, a theme central to this work.

    Taken from – men this morning

    Taken from men – this morning –
    Carried by men today –
    Met by the Gods with banners –
    Who marshalled her away –

    One little maid – from playmates –
    One little mind from school –
    There must be guests in Eden –
    All the rooms are full –

    Far – as the East from Even –
    Dim – as the border star –
    Courtiers quaint, in Kingdoms
    Our departed are.

    Commentary on “Taken from – men this morning”

    The speaker presents death as a ceremonial transition, where mortal hands relinquish the body to divine escorts who lead the soul onward.

    First Stanza: “Taken from – men this morning”

    Taken from men – this morning –
    Carried by men today –
    Met by the Gods with banners –
    Who marshalled her away –

    In the first stanza, the speaker establishes a stark contrast between human agency and divine intervention. The repetition of “men” in the opening two lines emphasizes the physical, earthly handling of the deceased: taken and carried by human hands on the same morning. This literal action suggests the funeral procession, where mourners bear the body to its final resting place in the grave. 

    The phrase “this morning” imparts a sense of immediacy and suddenness, as if the transition occurred without warning, leaving the living to grapple with the swiftness of loss.

    However, the tone shifts dramatically in the third line with the introduction of “the Gods with banners.” Here, the speaker introduces a mythic or metaphysical dimension, where divine beings arrive to claim the soul. The image of “banners” evokes a triumphant procession, not a somber burial. 

    The “Gods” do not come in mourning but in celebration, as if welcoming an honored guest into a higher realm. This portrayal aligns with the teachings of Paramahansa Yogananda, who explains that death is “temporary emancipation,” given when karma determines that the present body has served its purpose.

    The verb “marshalled” further reinforces this sense of order and purpose. The “Gods” do not merely collect the soul; they escort it with dignity and direction, guiding it toward its current earned destination. The speaker thus reframes death not as a tragic cessation but as a dignified passage, where the soul is received by celestial hosts. 

    In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s employment of riddling imagery to veil profound spiritual truths, inviting readers to contemplate the mystery of what lies beyond the veil.

    This stanza also subtly challenges conventional mourning practices. By depicting the “Gods” as the true escorts, the speaker implies that human grief, while natural, may be misplaced. The departed are not lost but are being led to a grander existence. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda teaches that when a dear one dies, instead of grieving unreasonably, one should realize that he has gone on to a higher plane at the will of God, and rejoice that he is free. The speaker’s vision thus offers comfort, not through denial of loss, but through a reimagining of death as a glorious transition.

    The brevity of the lines, with their alternating meter, creates a rhythmic cadence that mimics the steady march of a procession. The short, clipped phrases—”Taken from men,” “Carried by men,” “Met by the Gods”—build a sense of movement, as if the reader is witnessing the soul’s journey in real time. This structural choice enhances the poem’s dramatic effect, drawing the reader into the scene of departure and divine welcome.

    Second Stanza: “One little maid – from playmates”

    One little maid – from playmates –
    One little mind from school –
    There must be guests in Eden –
    All the rooms are full –

    The second stanza narrows the focus to the identity of the departed: “One little maid” and “One little mind.” The repetition of “One” underscores the singularity and preciousness of this young life.

    The speaker emphasizes the girl’s youth by referencing her “playmates” and “school,” evoking images of childhood innocence and the abrupt interruption of daily life. The phrase “from playmates” suggests a sudden separation from the joys and companionship of youth, while “from school” implies an early departure from the realm of learning and growth.

    Yet, the speaker quickly pivots to a broader, more mystical assertion: “There must be guests in Eden – / All the rooms are full –.” Here, Eden is not depicted as a sparse or exclusive paradise but as a bustling, welcoming place, already filled with departed souls. 

    The image of “rooms” full of guests suggests a communal afterlife, where the departed are not isolated but are part of a vast, vibrant community. This vision resonates with Paramahansa Yogananda’s description of the astral world, where souls enjoy a freedom such as they never knew during their earthly life.

    The phrase “All the rooms are full” also carries a note of gentle irony. On the one hand, it suggests that Eden is so populous that there is barely room for another guest. On the other hand, it implies that the arrival of each new soul is anticipated and welcomed, as if the house of eternity is always ready to receive its next inhabitant. The speaker’s tone is not one of alarm but of quiet assurance, as if the fullness of Eden is a natural and comforting state.

    In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s use of domestic imagery—houses, rooms, gardens—to convey metaphysical concepts. Here, Eden becomes a grand guesthouse, where the departed are honored visitors. This metaphor makes the abstract notion of the afterlife more tangible and relatable, especially for readers who may find comfort in the idea of a welcoming, populated heaven.

    The stanza’s structure, with its alternating lines of tetrameter and trimeter, maintains the rhythmic momentum established in the first stanza. The short lines create a sense of intimacy, as if the speaker is confiding a secret truth about the nature of death and the afterlife. The near rime between “school” and “full” provides a subtle sonic link, reinforcing the connection between the girl’s earthly life and her new, eternal home.

    Third Stanza: “Far – as the East from Even”

    Far – as the East from Even –
    Dim – as the border star –
    Courtiers quaint, in Kingdoms
    Our departed are.

    In the final stanza, the speaker shifts to a more abstract, cosmic perspective, describing the distance and mystery of the departed realm. The simile “Far – as the East from Even –” evokes an immense, almost unbridgeable gulf between the world of the living and the world of the dead. 

    The East, symbolizing dawn and beginnings, stands in stark contrast to Even (evening), representing closure and endings. This spatial metaphor suggests that the departed have moved beyond the cycle of day and night, into a timeless realm where such distinctions no longer apply.

    The phrase “Dim – as the border star –” further emphasizes the elusive nature of this realm. The “border star” refers to a star on the edge of visibility, a faint light that marks the boundary between the known and the unknown. 

    This image captures the speaker’s acknowledgment that the afterlife remains partially veiled from human perception, accessible only through intuition and contemplative musing. 

    In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the poet’s employment of such liminal imagery to convey the mystery of spiritual truths that lie just beyond the reach of ordinary understanding.

    Yet, despite this distance and dimness, the speaker offers a striking vision of the departed: “Courtiers quaint, in Kingdoms / Our departed are.”  The word “Courtiers” suggests that the dead assume roles of honor and service in their new existence, attending to the divine in celestial kingdoms. 

    The adjective “quaint” adds a touch of charm and antiquity, as if the departed have become part of a timeless, elegant order. This portrayal aligns with Paramahansa Yogananda’s teaching that souls in the astral region are clothed in gossamer light, free from the burdens of the physical body.

    The speaker’s use of “Kingdoms” (plural) suggests a multiplicity of divine realms, each with its own court and order. This vision resonates with yogic teachings that describe the astral world as a land to which souls go at death, where they enjoy freedom such as they never knew during their earthly life. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda explains that in the Lord’s dream astral world, souls carry no frail, heavy frames that collide with other crude solids and break; after all, light, even in the material realm, remains indestructible. 

    The final two lines bring the poem to a close with a gentle, almost matter-of-fact assertion: “Our departed are.” The speaker does not speculate or plead; she simply states the truth as she intuits it. 

    The departed are not gone; they are present, alive, and active in their own realm. This assertion offers a profound comfort to the bereaved, suggesting that death is not a separation but a transformation, where loved ones continue to exist in a higher, more vibrant state.

    The stanza’s structure, with its compact lines and rime between “star” and “are,” creates a sense of closure and resolution. The short, declarative phrases mirror the speaker’s confidence in her vision, as if she has peered beyond the veil and returned with a message of hope and assurance. 

    The poem thus ends not with a question or a lament, but with a quiet affirmation of the soul’s immortality and the enduring presence of the departed.  Thus the speaker’s complete and abiding faith and assured confidence are clearly unveiled.