Image: Created by ChatGPT & Grok inspired by the poem
Options
Faces in the wind Seeming miles from shore A blank page awaits Walking fast past the window The pane seems real As any pain always will Slowing down is an option But you’d rather get answers Than continue to question
Fleeing is an option But a bridge looms large As rivers of memories emerge Standing is another option But the brink seems dangerous And a canyon of disdain May dismay the heart again
Leaving the woods Is an option Faster than crawling over logs Seizing the moment seems real Until the sunlight pierces the grass Then all bets are off and moving goes By trees that stand even more still than water Turning to ice in the snowy field Praying is an option Placing your life before the judge Allowing your soul to be guarded And guided as the weather booms And the horizon seems old and worn– I will make my bed of leaves, fold my hands Calm my heart and mind and the winter Storm will not touch my skin
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 “The Brain – is wider than the Sky”
Emily Dickinson’s poem, “The Brain – is wider than the Sky,” compares and contrasts the human brain/mind with the sky, the sea, and God.
Introduction and Text of “The Brain – is wider than the Sky”
The idea that a human being is made in the image of God was not first conceived by a poet; that claim is found in the ancient text of the Holy Bible, and both Eastern and Western religious philosophical texts expound principles that the image of the Divine Creator exists in the children that He has created.
Emily Dickinson possessed a great depth of knowledge of the King James Version of the Bible. Undoubtedly, as she composed this poem, she quite obviously kept in mind the following biblical claim from Genesis 1:26: “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.”
Dickinson’s poem, “The Brain – is wider than the Sky,” offers a unique expression of understanding regarding the unity of the Godhead and humankind. Emily Dickinson’s mystical ability allowed her to understand many ideas and concepts about the ineffable levels of being.
She was, therefore, able to interpret and expound on those ideas and concepts. However, instead of showcasing her knowledge in treatises, she chose to create little dramas with her poems.
The Brain – is wider than the Sky
The Brain – is wider than the Sky – For – put them side by side – The one the other will contain With ease – and You – beside –
The Brain is deeper than the sea – For – hold them – Blue to Blue – The one the other will absorb – As Sponges – Buckets – do –
The Brain is just the weight of God – For – Heft them – Pound for Pound – And they will differ – if they do – As Syllable from Sound –
Commentary on “The Brain – is wider than the Sky”
Metaphorically referring to the mind as the “Brain,” Dickinson’s speaker offers the essential truth that the Supreme Creator fashioned human beings in His image.
First Stanza: Brain Power
The Brain – is wider than the Sky – For – put them side by side – The one the other will contain With ease – and You – beside –
The first stanza contrasts the brain/mind with the sky claiming that the brain is wider because it can think about the sky and at the same time can think about the person who is thinking about the sky, and it can perform this operation easily.
That the brain can hold the sky reveals that the “Brain” is, indeed, a metaphor for “mind.” It is the mind, after all that, entertains the thought that is labeled “sky.” And while the mind is thinking “sky,” it also has the marvelous ability to retain thoughts of “you,” the reader, listener, audience—whoever might be hearing this lyric.
It will also be noted that the mind—”Brain”—possesses the ability to range even farther than the sky because it is “wider.” The width of the sky is not known; it is unlimited, thus the “mind” is even beyond unlimited—it being “wider.”
Such a quality must give one pause as one considers the possibility of possessing an instrument that can range beyond the limits of visual acuity. And this speaker is offering many instances that give the reader pause for thought—in order words, to exercise that mighty Brain/mind.
Second Stanza: More Brain Power
The Brain is deeper than the sea – For – hold them – Blue to Blue – The one the other will absorb – As Sponges – Buckets – do –
The second stanza contrasts the brain with the sea asserting that the brain can take in the sea as a sponge sucks up a bucket of water, once again referencing the vast thinking ability of the brain/mind.
If sponges can absorb buckets of water, they must be very large sponges and/or very many of them. The speaker is asserting again a vastness that is unlimited, even as sponges sucking up buckets of water might be.
But because she does not say two buckets, four buckets, or more, being absorbed by twenty or forty sponges, she has again allowed an unlimited number of items to come to mind. As the sky is limitless, those sponges and buckets must remain limitless as well, if their metaphorical likeness to the brain/mind is to remain operative.
Third Stanza: The Ultimate Brain Power
The Brain is just the weight of God – For – Heft them – Pound for Pound – And they will differ – if they do – As Syllable from Sound –
The third stanza contrasts but also compares the human brain to God. This stanza inflicts an interpretive difficulty; certain readers might mistakenly believe that the speaker is making a blasphemous assertion that the brain and God are the same. However, as elucidated in the following section, “God Is Not Limited,” such a claim is without merit.
God—the Unlimited
All devout believers contend that God is not limited by or to any one item of His creation. Almighty God—the Divine Belovèd and Father of All—is rightly considered to be vastly greater than all His creations taken together.
The human brain/mind thus is only one of God’s many creations, so to claim that “The Brain is just the weight of God” may at first without due reflection seem as if the speaker means that they are equal.
However, the blasphemy charge can be denied with a closer look at what the poem actually does, especially in the last three lines of the last stanza:
For – Heft them – Pound for Pound – And they will differ – if they do – As Syllable from Sound –
The speaker does not claim that the brain/mind and God are the exact same; she is concluding that the brain/mind and God are similar because of their vastness which she has demonstrated in her contrasts with the sky and sea.
The sky and the sea are massive—virtually cosmic in their proportions to other earthy creations—yet the brain/mind can conceive of them as ideas, which means that the brain/mind can hold them–that is, it can hold the ideas of those enormous entities.
As the speaker makes her claim that the brain/mind and God are close in essence, she expresses the reality that they do differ–they differ one from the other as a “syllable” differs from a “sound.” That difference is a solid one because there is a definite difference between a syllable and a sound.
The sense of the term “if”—in “if they do”—then becomes more accurately interpreted as “since” or “because.” She is offering the actual difference which negates the dual property of “if.”
However, because the aim of her speculation is to celebrate the significance as well as vastness of the brain/mind’s capabilities, the speaker avers that the brain/mind and God are similar. After all, it is the brain/mind that conceives the notion of God.
Still, God remains greater than the brain/mind because while the brain/mind is a “syllable,” God is “sound”; thus, the brain/mind becomes a perceivable symbolic representation of the ineffable God, as a syllable is a representation of sound. The difference is real, and ultimately, it is immeasurably more vast than the sky and ocean.
Keeping the tone that shed light on fear She waits with furious fists aimed and steady I keep her in mind lest she get too far behind The rope of despair or the bilge of traitors
The story ends where the road begins Playing with sonnets sitting in a tree I shall sharpen my eye as I bend a knee And become tranquil in the dusk
She can speak of you even as she thinks Of the perfidy you caused to awaken The minds splaying their wares Sunny and free as daisies with rust
Leave the brook and let darkness near As you ache for the morning bliss Scatter the frost on the turtle And bend your breath till it breaks
Underneath the ferns, you will hide fraud Lingering and longing for unearned praise– Who will suspect that you sang fire into being With your swagger and your sway?
As each light turns its magic upon the wind Purple pride will gather with the dew Frost and fog will play everywhere upon The resounding lies you repeat and repeat
Day light will not turn you into the clown Romping in terror but night time will allow Your audience to hear the honking And the noise seeping from your throat
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 “I gave myself to Him”
The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “I gave myself to Him” is musing on the imbalance that remains even after one has surrendered one’s life to God the Creator.
Introduction and Text of “I gave myself to Him”
The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “I gave myself to Him” is exploring the idea that after having devoted her attention to the Creator by giving herself “to Him,” she finds that the giving of such a gift cannot be mutual. She suggests the idea that the gift of herself will surely disappoint the Giver and Creator of all things.
She leaves open the notion there may be some mutual gain because “[s]ome” have “found it” so. She is likely referring to testimony from the saints who assure their listening audience of the great riches attained by such surrender to God.
The speaker is likely reassuring herself that such a bargain cannot bring about an occasion to boast, nor can it eliminate the necessity to remain humble. Her ultimate conclusion may seem pessimistic at first.
However, God remains the ultimate authority to which the human heart, mind, and soul must surrender regardless of any emphasis of mutuality in considering gain and loss. Thus without stating the conclusion directly, the speaker is implying that the human debt to God has to remain insolvent until the soul grasps its relationship to its Creator.
I gave myself to Him
I gave myself to Him – And took Himself, for Pay, The solemn contract of a Life Was ratified, this way –
The Wealth might disappoint – Myself a poorer prove Than this great Purchaser suspect, The Daily Own – of Love
Depreciate the Vision – But till the Merchant buy – Still Fable – in the Isles of Spice – The subtle Cargoes – lie –
At least – ’tis Mutual – Risk – Some – found it – Mutual Gain – Sweet Debt of Life – Each Night to owe – Insolvent – every Noon –
Commentary on “I gave myself to Him”
The speaker is exploring the nature of her relationship with her Divine Creator, the Heavenly Father, Divine Mother, or God. Although she professes to have given her life to her Creator or Heavenly Father, she discovers that she still owes a debt that can never fully be repaid.
First Stanza: Surrendering Her Life to the Divine
I gave myself to Him – And took Himself, for Pay, The solemn contract of a Life Was ratified, this way –
The speaker begins with a somewhat ambiguous statement that she has given herself to “Him.” The capitalized, masculine pronoun “Him” indicates she is likely referring to her Creator (God). Such capitalization is known as reverential or biblical capitalization. She continues to employ the reverential capital in the second line with the reflexive, masculine pronoun “Himself.”
The idea of giving oneself or one’s life to God is hardly a novel one. The religious and spiritual minded become positively gleeful at the notion of surrendering their lives to their Creator. So upon first encountering the speaker’s claim, the reader will then wonder what new or fascinating rendition of such a confession might be in the offing.
The speaker then begins to elaborate. After surrendering herself to God, the speaker affirms that her life became a reality. Her “contract” offers her “Pay,” or something substantial for her surrender.
That contract, in fact, “ratified” her existence. Just as a political contract, such as the American Constitution, had to be ratified, the speaker’s life was ratified or put into existence by affirmation by the contract she made when she gave her life to God.
Second Stanza: An Economics (Trade) Metaphor
The Wealth might disappoint – Myself a poorer prove Than this great Purchaser suspect, The Daily Own – of Love
The speaker then admits that the “Purchaser” of her insignificant life might well be disappointed because she may prove to be “poorer” than the Purchaser of her contract might have suspected.
The “great Purchaser” (God) may find that her ability to offer love may not be up to the standards He might expect. Of course, she is demonstrating her ability to remain humble because she is well aware that God’s love will always outweigh, outshine, and outpace her own.
Likely she is simply thinking of or musing on possibilities, as she employs an economics (trade) metaphor with such terms as “wealth,” “Purchaser,” and “Own.” She cannot know how important this life choice is going to be for her ability to love or to navigate the seas upon which her life’s boat will have to sail.
The speaker can only contemplate at this point, although she does know she can be certain that God’s love will always be greater than she could ever afford; the inevitability of such remains a given, a concept that even the most ardent atheist can grasp even if not accept.
Third Stanza: Speculating on Her Importance
Depreciate the Vision – But till the Merchant buy – Still Fable – in the Isles of Spice – The subtle Cargoes – lie –
The speaker continues to muse and employ a trade metaphor. She suggests that one must lower expectations until the time has arrived to sell the product. Although she has, in fact, given her life over to the “Purchaser,” she has continued to speculate about her own importance.
Thus she wonders if she might have oversold her own self in the process. She then suggests that like the precious “Cargoes” that remain in places from which rich spices are harvested, she may have presented herself as a fabulous commodity that is yet to be realized, like those “subtle Cargoes.” They remain “subtle” until they are delivered. And until they are delivered they simply rest or “lie” in one place.
Fourth Stanza: Equal Loss – Equal Gain
At least – ’tis Mutual – Risk – Some – found it – Mutual Gain – Sweet Debt of Life – Each Night to owe – Insolvent – every Noon –
Finally, the speaker seems to come to the notion that the exchange is not all one-sided: there may be a chance of failure on both sides. Yet, she asserts that there are those (saints perhaps?) who have declared that such a transaction garners gain on both sides.
After all, each night when the human body lies down to rest, it owes a debt for its life. As all debts must be repaid, that same body with a mind, heart, and soul continues to own that debt, which remains “insolvent” in the bright light of day.
While night time reminds the human ego as it prays to its Creator that it has not created itself, still it must remain aware to Whom it owes its continued existence. The speaker’s insolvency will remain because the limited human mind and heart can never repay the debt it owes its all-powerful Creator and Benefactor; only the soul can do that.
Evening sprays its dull stars across The mind of an endless blue distress. The tongue holds itself, lest it bleed. No words can cobble together A storm that whisks away the dark.
Seeming, appearing, ditherers— The ache of sorrow in the hushed blush. We will enter the fray but hold our ire In the bosom of doubt and fury. Where are you? now that you blundered So badly, allowing your feet to fumble Your brain to slip, your heart to scrap All pretense at affection.
Bent arguments keep on leaking—devoid Of facts—on the whole of humanity.
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 “‘Why do I love’ You, Sir?”
The speaker of Emily Dickinson’s oddly punctuated poem “‘Why do I love’ You, Sir?” uses logic to demonstrate the reasoning that leads the created soul to experience love for its Creator.
Introduction with Text of “‘Why do I love’ You, Sir?”
This unusual Emily Dickinson poem begins with the following oddly punctuated first line: “Why do I love” You, Sir?
Emily Dickinson’s Editors
When analyzing the poems of Emily Dickinson’s, it is useful to remember that she did not work with an editor for the purpose of publishing. Her poems were first edited after her death by Thomas Wentworth Higginson and Mabel Loomis Todd.
But, unfortunately, their reworking often smoothed out Dickinson’s quirky use of language to the point of crushing the innovation and nuances that made her the unique poet that she was. Therefore, Thomas H. Johnson restored her poems to the originals as found in the bundles (fascicles) of poems written in her own handwriting.
Thus the reader must be aware that Dickinson might have been persuaded to alter some of her quirks for publication, if she had been assured that her meaning would not be changed but instead made clearer by the changes.
The odd punctuation of this poem, especially the first line, is an example of a Dickinsonian quirk which, no doubt, would have been altered by an editor after close consultation with the poet. Indeed, it would be fascinating to hear Dickinson’s explanation for placing “Why do I love” in quotation marks, making it appear as a unit of thought that seems to address the second person “You.”
No one can ever know for certain what significance that odd punctuation might have had for the poet, and it is likely that modern readers may simply dismiss the quotation marks as they begin the poem.
The poem features four stanzas; the first two are innovative cinquains, the third is an innovative sestet, and the fourth is a Dickinsonian quatrain. The poem dramatizes the theme of God’s love as mystery.
But it also makes it clear that the speaker is simplifying that emotion: it is merely a natural sequence of events that the created soul will love its Creator. The complication comes in giving thought to that sequence. The speaker seems to desire to uncomplicate the issue once and for all.
“Why do I love” You, Sir?
“Why do I love” You, Sir? Because – The Wind does not require the Grass To answer – Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her place.
Because He knows — and Do not You – And We know not – Enough for Us The Wisdom it be so –
The Lightning – never asked an Eye Wherefore it shut — when He was by – Because He knows it cannot speak – And reasons not contained – – Of Talk – There be – preferred by Daintier Folk –
The Sunrise – Sire – compelleth Me – Because He’s Sunrise – and I see – Therefore – Then – I love Thee –
Commentary on “‘Why do I love’ You, Sir?”
The speaker of Dickinson’s oddly punctuated poem uses logic to demonstrate the reasoning that leads the created soul to love for its Creator.
First Stanza: Unavoidable Love
“Why do I love” You, Sir? Because – The Wind does not require the Grass To answer – Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her place.
The speaker seems to be talking to the Divine Reality (God), calling Him “Sir,” and questioning Him as to why she loves Him. Then the speaker replies with her own answer, “Because — / The Wind does not require the Grass / To answer.” However, in order to completely respond to this amazing mystery, the speaker finds it necessary to compare her feelings with phenomena of nature.
She thus decides to compare her love to the act of love the grass possesses. The grass simply cannot prevent itself from undergoing its waving motion after the wind has blown through it.
The speaker’s love for her Heavenly Father Creator God is just simply natural. There can be no questioning it. Of course, she will continue to question and answer. That’s just the way she rolls!
Second Stanza: The Wisdom of Love
Because He knows — and Do not You – And We know not – Enough for Us The Wisdom it be so –
In the second stanza, the speaker suggests that God as Father along with all she knows about anything, holds the “Wisdom” motivating the love in the soul of the created children for their Creator. Nothing more is necessary, because everything is enfolded in that love and wisdom.
Third Stanza: “Why” Remains Irrelevant
The Lightning – never asked an Eye Wherefore it shut — when He was by – Because He knows it cannot speak – And reasons not contained – – Of Talk – There be – preferred by Daintier Folk –
In the third stanza, the speaker returns to describing phenomena of nature to explicate the “why”: she reveals that that love eruption is akin to lightning striking the eye. The eye will never stop to ask “why” it is acting as it does as it closes from the onslaught of the light’s sudden brilliance. Intimately coalescing occurrences do not motivate one to ask why. They just are. Or it is so obvious that no one has ever in history bothered to question it.
The speaker is nevertheless still aware that human minds crave reasons for things and events. The human mind wants to discuss and declaim about the ineffable, even though the ineffable will never be “contained — / — Of Talk.” The mind may be likened to “Daintier Folk,” who wish everything to be clarified in words, despite the fact that words often cannot perform that feat.
By qualifying the mind and others who are not privy to such erudition as simply “daintier,” the speaker manages to suggest that there are those who are merely incapable of seeing what is right before their eyes. The employment of such a euphemism renders the speaker both kind and sympathetic and yet at the same time demonstrates her unique talent and deep mental perception.
Fourth Stanza: The Logic of Loving One’s Creator
The Sunrise – Sire – compelleth Me – Because He’s Sunrise – and I see – Therefore – Then – I love Thee –
The love for God, for this speaker, remains quite uncomplicated: as the sun rises, her eyes perceive light. As the Creator creates, the created loves. To her mind, only the completely daft can question the logic of loving one’s Creator.
But even without uttering any negativity regarding those who lack such natural understanding, the speaker has demonstrated her stance which remains replete with obvious implications.
It’s a sunny day by the water. I face myself in a skewed after-thought. What do I see, what do I hear?
Green water, soft-murmuring splashes The lake offers for musing. What will I be in future? What will I do tomorrow?
By the success of schoolgirl dreams I can only whisper possible scenes That come crashing like a nightmare Holding hostage my heart That tries to keep up with its blood Fusing each blank page for posterity.
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 “I measure every Grief I meet”
In “I measure every Grief I meet,” the speaker examines the nature of suffering. The poem is long by Dickinson standards—ten quatrains. Its theme relates squarely to the Dickinson voice that has become so beloved by her readers.
Introduction and Text of “I measure every Grief I meet”
By Dickinsonian reckoning, this poem is quite long. Of course, her longest poem is “Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,” the first one that appears in Thomas H. Johnson’s The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. But that Valentine message remains an anomaly, which hardly represents the poet’s later accomplishments.
The theme of “I measure every Grief I meet” squares directly with the Dickinson voice that has become so beloved by her fans. Death, dying, and grief figure greatly in her canon, yet the sum of her output is nothing other than finding the good, true, and beautiful that human beings are capable of experiencing on this “terrestrial ball.”
I measure every Grief I meet
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes – I wonder if It weighs like Mine – Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long – Or did it just begin – I could not tell the Date of Mine – It feels so old a pain –
I wonder if it hurts to live – And if They have to try – And whether – could They choose between – It would not be – to die –
I note that Some – gone patient long – At length, renew their smile – An imitation of a Light That has so little Oil –
I wonder if when Years have piled – Some Thousands – on the Harm – That hurt them early – such a lapse Could give them any Balm –
Or would they go on aching still Through Centuries of Nerve – Enlightened to a larger Pain – In Contrast with the Love –
The Grieved – are many – I am told – There is the various Cause – Death – is but one – and comes but once – And only nails the eyes –
There’s Grief of Want – and Grief of Cold – A sort they call “Despair” – There’s Banishment from native Eyes – In sight of Native Air –
And though I may not guess the kind – Correctly – yet to me A piercing Comfort it affords In passing Calvary –
To note the fashions – of the Cross – And how they’re mostly worn – Still fascinated to presume That Some – are like My Own –
In “I measure every Grief I meet,” the speaker examines the nature of human suffering. The poem is long by Dickinson standards, filling out a whopping ten quatrains.
First Quatrain: Special Observant Attention
I measure every Grief I meet With narrow, probing, Eyes – I wonder if It weighs like Mine – Or has an Easier size.
The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “I measure every Grief I meet” from Thomas H. Johnson’s Complete Poem of Emily Dickinson asserts that she scrutinizes every person who has sorrow with especially observant attention.
In this poem, “every Grief” provides a metonymic reference to a person who is grieving, of whose sorrow the speaker wishes to determine the breadth and depth. She knows the “size” of her own suffering, and thus she wonders if her fellows take their suffering as seriously as she does.
Second Quatrain: Old Pain
I wonder if They bore it long – Or did it just begin – I could not tell the Date of Mine – It feels so old a pain –
The speaker then avers that she has speculated about how much time has passed since the griever’s suffering commenced. She notices that her own suffering has been with her so long that it seems to be as old as pain itself.
Third Quatrain: The Depth of Suffering
I wonder if it hurts to live – And if They have to try – And whether – could They choose between – It would not be – to die –
The speaker then ponders the possibility that the depth of hurt might cause the suffering one to wish for death; she wonders if the sufferers think about or contemplate making the choice between continuing to live in pain and committing suicide.
Fourth Quatrain: The Onset of Complacency
I note that Some – gone patient long – At length, renew their smile – An imitation of a Light That has so little Oil –
The speaker reports that from her observations she has detected that some of those people in pain have grown so accustomed to their lot that they “renew their smile,” but their “imitation” smile is as faint as a lamp with “so little Oil.”
Fifth Quatrain: Any Balm in Time?
I wonder if when Years have piled – Some Thousands – on the Harm – That hurt them early – such a lapse Could give them any Balm –
The speaker then wonders if after the passage of “[s]ome Thousands” of years, they might finally have recovered from their original hurt; could such a long period of time be “a lapse” that “[c]ould give them any Balm”?
Sixth Quatrain: Pain Larger than Love
Or would they go on aching still Through Centuries of Nerve – Enlightened to a larger Pain – In Contrast with the Love –
The speaker suspects that the suffering might continue, especially if the “pain” grew “larger” than “the Love.”
Seventh Quatrain: Waxing Philosophical
The Grieved – are many – I am told – There is the various Cause – Death – is but one – and comes but once – And only nails the eyes –
The speaker then waxes philosophical in stating that many individuals have suffered and continue to suffer. Clearly, this speaker knows this fact largely from what she had heard and read. While the poet was something of a mystic, she does not create omniscient speakers
The speaker has likely been advised that many reasons exist for so much suffering in the world. Death is one cause only. While “death” is thought to happen to each individual only once, this speaker realizes that death “only nails the eyes.”
Death has no way of removing suffering from the soul. The mind of the unself-realized person will retain that taint until the sufferer has become God-united. The real “self” or soul transcends death’s reach, as this speaker understands.
Eighth Quatrain: The Causes
There’s Grief of Want – and Grief of Cold – A sort they call “Despair” – There’s Banishment from native Eyes – In sight of Native Air –
The speaker continues speculating about other causes of pain: “Grief of Want” and “grief of Cold” are two examples; then there are “Despair” and the “Banishment from native Eyes” despite remaining “In Sight of Native Air.” All of these instruments of pain are ancient and ever-present; they can never be eliminated.
Ninth Quatrain: Consolation in Christ
And though I may not guess the kind – Correctly – yet to me A piercing Comfort it affords In passing Calvary –
The speaker finally realizes that although she cannot ascertain the origin of the pain, she finds a deep measure of consolation from the experience and struggles of the blessed Lord Jesus.
Tenth Quatrain: A Spiritual Duty
To note the fashions – of the Cross – And how they’re mostly worn – Still fascinated to presume That Some – are like My Own –
As the speaker observes the many styles of crosses people over the centuries have worn and borne, she realizes that suffering is universal and shared. While such knowledge does not alleviate the suffering, it does demonstrate that there is a divine purpose, and that fact makes the act of bearing grief a spiritual duty, which ultimately leads to divine Bliss.
The hill gives my legs an excuse to bend And my arms a chance to steady their trembling But my back holds firm as I negotiate each step. What were they thinking, my parents, who Built their home so far from town? I never wished for more than heaven.
You, however, who grew up far from the midland, Kept your heart in a duffle bag, stuffed with straw. Sure, I’m only guessing, but you gave me the material: Sick laughter, sour smells clinging to your clothes, Boasting pride breaking your potential Which was poetry itself, sometimes sublime.
But you allowed your fangs of frosty fantasy To make a bloody truant of your future.
Commentarian Hat Image
A Prose Commentary on My Original Poem “Frosty Fantasy”
In my poem “Frosty Fantasy,” I have created a speaker who reflects upon the divergent paths of two lives: one rooted in place, discipline, and spiritual aspiration, the other undermined by self-deception and squandered promise.
The poem unfolds as a personal address, but beneath its conversational surface lies a musing on character, destiny, and the consequences of embracing illusion over authentic growth.
The title itself is deliberately ironic. Fantasy ordinarily suggests imagination, creativity, and possibility. Yet the fantasy explored here is “frosty”—cold, sterile, and ultimately destructive. Rather than nurturing the future, it freezes it.
The poem’s emotional movement progresses from the speaker’s own grounded perspective toward an examination of another individual whose considerable gifts have been compromised by pride and self-delusion.
Underlying the poem is the conviction that talent alone cannot sustain a meaningful life. Potential must be guided by self-knowledge, humility, and higher aspiration. Without such guidance, even genuine brilliance may become an instrument of self-sabotage.
First Stanza: The Discipline of Ascent
The hill gives my legs an excuse to bend And my arms a chance to steady their trembling But my back holds firm as I negotiate each step. What were they thinking, my parents, who Built their home so far from town? I never wished for more than heaven.
In the opening stanza, my speaker begins with a physical ascent up a hill. The hill is not merely geographical; it serves as a metaphor for the challenges inherent in human life. Each part of the body participates in the effort. The legs bend, the arms steady themselves, and the back remains firm. This catalog of bodily responses emphasizes perseverance and balance.
The speaker then turns briefly toward the parents who built their home “so far from town.” The question, “What were they thinking?” introduces a touch of humor and mild complaint, but the complaint quickly dissolves into a larger perspective. The concluding line, “I never wished for more than heaven,” transforms what might have remained an ordinary recollection into a spiritual declaration.
The speaker suggests that physical distance from worldly activity may have fostered a deeper orientation toward transcendent values. The ascent of the hill thus becomes inseparable from the ascent of consciousness.
Second Stanza: A Portrait of Displacement
You, however, who grew up far from the midland, Kept your heart in a duffle bag, stuffed with straw. Sure, I’m only guessing, but you gave me the material. Sick laughter, sour smells clinging to your clothes, Boasting pride breaking your potential Which was poetry itself, sometimes sublime.
The second stanza shifts attention toward the person being addressed. Unlike the speaker, this individual is portrayed as fundamentally unsettled. The image of keeping one’s heart “in a duffle bag, stuffed with straw” suggests emotional impermanence and spiritual emptiness.
A duffle bag is designed for movement and transience; it has no permanence or rootedness. The straw further implies something artificial, a substitute for genuine substance. The heart has become portable but hollow.
The speaker acknowledges uncertainty with the phrase “Sure, I’m only guessing,” yet immediately asserts that the evidence for such speculation has been provided by the subject himself. This rhetorical maneuver allows the speaker to maintain both humility and authority.
The subsequent images become increasingly severe. “Sick laughter” and “sour smells” create an atmosphere of moral and psychological decay. These sensory details suggest that inner disorder eventually manifests outwardly. The speaker is less concerned with literal odors or sounds than with the lingering effects of a troubled character.
The latter portion of the second stanza introduces the poem’s central sorrow. The addressed individual possesses remarkable potential. The speaker observes that his potential “was poetry itself, sometimes sublime.”
This line is intentionally generous. The poem does not depict an ordinary failure but the squandering of exceptional gifts. The word “sublime” elevates the subject’s capacities beyond mere competence into the realm of genuine artistic and spiritual possibility.
Yet this praise is immediately juxtaposed against “Boasting pride.” The contrast is crucial. The obstacle is not lack of talent but an inflated sense of self. Pride becomes the force that fractures the connection between potential and fulfillment. The speaker therefore presents a familiar but painful truth: greatness is often destroyed not by external enemies but by internal weaknesses.
Third Stanza: The Tyranny and Tragedy of Illusion
But you allowed your fangs of frosty fantasy To make a bloody truant of your future.
The final stanza—which is only an unrimed couplet—condenses the poem’s judgment into a single powerful image. The “fangs of frosty fantasy” transform fantasy from a harmless indulgence into a predatory force. Fangs suggest aggression, danger, and injury.
The fantasy has become something that bites and wounds. The adjective “frosty” reinforces the image of emotional coldness and spiritual paralysis. Rather than inspiring growth, these fantasies freeze the individual within a false vision of himself.
The phrase “make a bloody truant of your future” is deliberately startling. A truant abandons responsibility and neglects obligation. Here the future itself becomes the truant, absent because the subject’s choices have driven it away.
The image suggests that the future was once available but has been injured and expelled through self-defeating behavior. What might have become a life of accomplishment and creative fulfillment has instead been sacrificed to illusion. The poem ends without reconciliation because the speaker wishes to leave the consequences visible and unresolved. The loss itself becomes the final lesson.
An Afterthought
In “Frosty Fantasy,” the speaker examines the painful distance between promise and fulfillment. The poem contrasts two modes of living: one grounded in perseverance, aspiration, and rootedness, the other consumed by pride, instability, and self-deception.
The speaker’s judgment is severe but not entirely condemnatory. Embedded within the criticism is an acknowledgment that the addressed individual possessed genuine gifts, perhaps even extraordinary ones. This recognition makes the loss more poignant, not less. In fact, that loss may be designated a tragedy in the original usage of the term.
Ultimately, the poem suggests that imagination detached from truth becomes fantasy, and fantasy detached from discipline becomes destructive. The speaker portrays a life in which illusion gradually eclipses possibility, leaving behind not the fulfillment of potential but the lingering shadow of what might have been.
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 “Two Butterflies went out at Noon”
Emily Dickinson possessed the gift of mystic vision, and that vision is displayed brilliantly in this enchanting poem that dramatizes two butterflies embarking on a mystical flight. The poem offers a glimpse into Dickinson’s ability to blend nature with transcendental themes.
Introduction and Text of “Two Butterflies went out at Noon”
In Emily Dickinson’s “Two Butterflies went out at Noon” (#533 in Thomas H. Johnson’s The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson), the speaker is dramatizing an imaginary flight of two butterflies that ease out on a amazing journey.
Emily Dickinson creates a speaker, whose mystical vision is revealed in many of her poems, and this one serves as one of the finest examples of that vision. Her insightful gift accompanies her gift for creating little dramas that feature snippets of that insight in poetic form.
Two Butterflies went out at Noon
Two Butterflies went out at Noon – And waltzed above a Farm – Then stepped straight through the Firmament And rested on a Beam –
And then – together bore away Upon a shining Sea – Though never yet, in any Port – Their coming mentioned–be –
If spoken by the distant Bird – If met in Ether Sea By Frigate, or by Merchantman – No notice – was – to me –
Commentary on “Two Butterflies went out at Noon”
In Emily Dickinson’s “Two Butterflies went out at Noon,” the speaker dramatizes an imaginary flight of two butterflies embarking on an extraordinary journey. This poem exemplifies Dickinson’s mystical vision and her ability to craft poetic dramas that explore profound human themes through metaphorical imagery. It is a masterful example of her unique poetic voice.
First Stanza: Mysterious Arrival
Two Butterflies went out at Noon – And waltzed above a Farm – Then stepped straight through the Firmament And rested on a Beam –
The speaker begins with the simple yet intriguing statement, “Two Butterflies went out at Noon.” The butterflies’ sudden appearance is mysterious; they seemingly emerge from nowhere, unbound by any specific origin.
Their only marker is time—”Noon”—which suggests a moment of illumination or clarity. This temporal detail invites readers to ponder their symbolic significance as creatures of light and transformation.
The butterflies “waltzed above a Farm,” an image that evokes grace and harmony. Their movement suggests a carefree dance, embodying the beauty of nature’s fleeting moments.
The farm below serves as a grounding contrast to their ethereal presence, emphasizing their transcendence. Yet, their origin remains unknown, adding an air of mystery to their appearance and suggesting they are more than merely the physical beings well-known as butterflies.
The speaker does not clarify her own location during this observation, leaving readers to wonder whether she is physically present or perceiving them through an inner, mystical, transcendental vision.
After their graceful waltz, the butterflies “stepped straight through the Firmament,” ascending beyond the earthly realm into the heavens. This transition marks their departure from tangible reality into a cosmic or spiritual dimension.
Once beyond the firmament, the butterflies “rested on a Beam.” The beam could symbolize a ray of sunlight or divine energy, reinforcing their connection to higher realms.
This imagery suggests that the speaker’s perception extends beyond ordinary sight; she sees with an inner eye attuned to spiritual truths. The butterflies become metaphors for thoughts or souls—ephemeral entities that transcend physical boundaries.
Dickinson’s speaker’s metaphorical comparison likens these butterflies to thoughts—mysterious, fleeting, and boundless. Just as thoughts arise spontaneously and traverse unseen realms, so do these butterflies appear suddenly and vanish into intangible spaces with grace and speed.
The journey of these special butterflies mirrors the movement of ideas or spiritual insights that come unbidden and often disappear just as quickly. The nature of flight coincides with the nature of speed and lightness.
Second Stanza: Ephemeral Thoughts
And then – together bore away Upon a shining Sea – Though never yet, in any Port – Their coming mentioned–be –
In the second stanza, the butterflies continue their journey “Upon a shining Sea.” This sea symbolizes eternity or an infinite expanse, reflecting Dickinson’s life-long fascination with transcendence and the soul’s voyage beyond earthly confines.
The imagery evokes a sense of boundlessness, as the butterflies glide effortlessly over this luminous ocean without needing any vessel to carry them. Just as the soul, and even the mind, may seem to glide effortlessly from thought to feeling and back again.
The speaker notes that these remarkable butterfly-thoughts never stop at “any Port.” Their journey is uninterrupted by mundane destinations; they pass through existence without anchoring themselves in any fixed location. This detail emphasizes their ephemeral nature—they are not bound by material concerns but remain free to traverse limitless realms.
The absence of any mention of their arrival further underscores their elusiveness. The speaker suggests that if their presence had been detected in any port along their journey, it surely would have been noted or remarked upon by someone. Yet no such acknowledgment exists, heightening the sense of mystery surrounding their destination and purpose.
This seamless movement evokes wonder about where these itinerant butterflies will go next. Their path seems guided by an unseen force, reflecting Dickinson’s belief in the unseen powers that govern existence.
The butterflies’ journey becomes a metaphor for fleeting thoughts or spiritual revelations—beautiful yet transient experiences that defy capture or explanation. Even understanding by mental power exists beyond their realm.
Through this stanza, Dickinson’s speaker invites readers to reflect on the nature of impermanence and the ineffable qualities of spiritual experiences. The shining sea represents both possibility and mystery, a realm where boundaries dissolve and transformation occurs.
Third Stanza: Evading the Ultimate
If spoken by the distant Bird – If met in Ether Sea By Frigate, or by Merchantman – No notice – was – to me –
In the final stanza, the speaker avoids answering where the butterflies ultimately settle, instead emphasizing their elusive nature. She speculates about who might have observed them since their departure but concludes that no one has reported seeing them again. This lack of information reinforces their otherworldly quality—they exist beyond human comprehension or observation.
The speaker imagines possible witnesses who might have encountered these roaming butterflies: perhaps a “distant Bird” soaring high above or voyagers like frigates and merchantmen traversing vast seas.
These figures symbolize different perspectives—natural creatures attuned to the skies and human explorers navigating uncharted waters, like Christopher Columbus. Yet even these potential observers provide no reports of the butterflies’ whereabouts.
This absence of acknowledgment underscores their ethereal quality—they are invisible to ordinary perception and evade even those who might be best positioned to notice them. The butterflies symbolize fleeting thoughts or spiritual entities that traverse unseen dimensions, leaving no trace behind.
The speaker herself admits that she has no concrete knowledge of their final destination. Even as she entertains these butterfly-thoughts within her mind, she acknowledges their elusive nature—they come and go without leaving tangible evidence of their presence. Only through poetic imagination can she capture and display them for others to experience.
The speaker’s portrayal of these creatures reflects her longing for transcendence and her fascination with life’s mysteries. The poem becomes a devotional musing on impermanence, beauty, and the soul’s journey beyond the material level of existence.
A Poetic Meditation on Transcendence
In “Two Butterflies went out at Noon,” Emily Dickinson creates a speaker, who weaves an intricate tapestry of imagery and symbolism to explore themes of impermanence, transcendence, and spiritual insight.
The butterflies serve as metaphors for fleeting thoughts or souls—ephemeral entities that arise mysteriously, traverse unseen realms, and vanish without explanation—the nearly perfect description of the flight of thoughts and soul experience.
Through her vivid descriptions and enigmatic narrative, Dickinson’s speaker invites readers to reflect on life’s mysteries and embrace the beauty of impermanence. The poem exemplifies her ability to transform simple observations into profound musings on existence, showcasing her unique poetic vision.
Dickinson’s mystical perspective shines brightly in this work, offering readers not only a glimpse into her imaginative world but also an opportunity to contemplate their own journeys through life’s vast and mysterious landscapes.
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