Linda's Literary Home

Author: Linda Sue Grimes

  • Awaken In Me Divine Joy

    Image:  Created by Grok inspired by the poem/chant
    Image: Created by Grok inspired by the poem/chant

    Awaken In Me Divine Joy

    —after “O Thou King of the Infinite”

    Divine Belovèd,
    Awaken in me that joy—
    Bright and sustaining joy

    That comes only in union
    With Thee, O Belovèd Divine,
    Awaken in me that joy!

  • James Weldon Johnson’s “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing”

    Image: James Weldon Johnson - Portrait by Laura Wheeler Waring https://npg.si.edu/object/npg_NPG.67.40
    Image: James Weldon Johnson – Portrait by Laura Wheeler Waring

    James Weldon Johnson’s “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing”

    James Weldon Johnson penned the poem “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing” in 1900 to celebrate the birthday anniversary of the great emancipator, President Abraham Lincoln.

    Introduction and Text of “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing”

    After James Weldon Johnson wrote the poem “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing” in 1900 to celebrate the birthday anniversary of the great emancipator, President Abraham Lincoln, his brother John Rosamond Johnson composed the musical melody for the poem.

    The song was later entered into the United States Congressional Record, and in 1919, the National Association for Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) selected the song to serve as the “Negro National Hymn (Anthem)”—also referred to as the “Black National Anthem.”   The NAACP employed the song as a cry for unity during the civil rights struggles of the 1950s and 1960s.

    The poem shares a common theme with the American National Anthem, “The Star Spangled Banner”; both works celebrate and offer gratitude to the Divine Belovèd (God) for the rewards of freedom and individual liberty.  

    Johnson’s poem is especially significant for the black experience, including liberation from slavery and the subsequent struggle against the Black Codes and Jim Crow laws that the Democratic Party continued to enforce to foster segregation and denigration of the former slaves and their descendants after the American Civil War (1861–1865).

    Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing

    Lift every voice and sing,
    Till earth and heaven ring,
    Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
    Let our rejoicing rise
    High as the list’ning skies,
    Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
    Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
    Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
    Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
    Let us march on till victory is won.

    Stony the road we trod,
    Bitter the chast’ning rod,
    Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
    Yet with a steady beat,
    Have not our weary feet
    Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
    We have come over a way that with tears has been watered.
    We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
    Out from the gloomy past,
    Till now we stand at last
    Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

    God of our weary years,
    God of our silent tears,
    Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
    Thou who hast by Thy might,
    Led us into the light,
    Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
    Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
    Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
    Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
    May we forever stand,
    True to our God,
    True to our native land.

    Reading by Phylicia Rashad 

    Commentary on “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing”

    James Weldon Johnson’s “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing,” also known as the Negro National Anthem and the Negro National Hymn, was sung publicly for the first time on February 2, 1900, by a choir of 500 children at the Stanton School in Jacksonville, Florida.

    Johnson was serving as principal of the school at the time, and the occasion was a celebration of the birthday anniversary of President Abraham Lincoln.

    First Stanza: Sing Joyfully, Loudly with Determination

    Lift every voice and sing,
    Till earth and heaven ring,
    Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
    Let our rejoicing rise
    High as the list’ning skies,
    Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
    Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
    Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
    Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
    Let us march on till victory is won.

    The speaker begins by enjoining his listeners to sing joyfully and loudly in order to raise their voices to the Heavens.  Such thankful voices should spread throughout the seascape and sky.  The joy of singing about freedom can become infectious, as it uprights the minds and hearts of the downtrodden.

    The singing must be filled with the joy and faith that these people have been taught in the past, even during times that were dark with many shames.  But that singing must also ring out with the hope they must foster as they look to the present and future for better times.

    The speaker/singer encourages his hearers/listeners to continue their struggle until they meet with victory over oppression.  He insists that victory is not the final reward, but victory for freedom will demand constant vigilance, eternally watching and fighting to maintain that precious commodity. 

    The human race in all its various hues and shades has learned nothing, if not that there is never a guarantee of freedom without effort.  Keeping that emphasis on constant effort must remain part of every generation’s thinking and behavior.

    There are always groups afoot, conspiring to take the freedom and property of others.  Lest defeat be snatched from the jaws of victory, each human being must remain watchful to protect their hard-won freedoms.

    As the third American president, Thomas Jefferson, averred in his 1787 letter to the son-in-law of John Adams, William Stephens Smith:

    . . . what country can preserve it’s liberties if their rulers are not warned from time to time that their people preserve the spirit of resistance? Let them take arms. . . .  The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.

    While celebrating the joy of great accomplishments, it is often prudent to acknowledge that there is no such thing as heaven on earth.  Perfection must be left for heaven, while life on earth will always entail certain risks and require vigilance.

    Second Stanza: Remaining Undeterred by Tears and Death

    Stony the road we trod,
    Bitter the chast’ning rod,
    Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
    Yet with a steady beat,
    Have not our weary feet
    Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
    We have come over a way that with tears has been watered.
    We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
    Out from the gloomy past,
    Till now we stand at last
    Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

    The speaker reminds his listeners of the difficulties they have faced.  The road has been “stony”—not impossible to travel but not at all easy.  And he does not anticipate the travel will become any easier, especially without the proper attitudes and behavior.

    Their struggles made having hope a weary task, but through unwavering courage and much hard work, they know they have gained certain goals and have the ability to hold on to them; thus, they must celebrate and be thankful for all the strides forward that they have achieved.

    They have continued their march, undeterred by tears and even death.  They have traveled on despite the blood shed, the gloom, and the often dashed hopes and dreams.    

    They now can see that they stand in the much desired light of both hope and faith.  That faith gleams like a “bright star” and casts light on all those who strive for it.  

    They can finally visualize and realize that their struggles have resulted from faith, hope, and have resulted in a certain measure of success in the achievement of freedom.

    Third Stanza: Prayer, Devotion, and Gratitude

    God of our weary years,
    God of our silent tears,
    Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
    Thou who hast by Thy might,
    Led us into the light,
    Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
    Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
    Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
    Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
    May we forever stand,
    True to our God,
    True to our native land.

    In the  third and final movement, the speaker offers a prayer of gratitude to the Divine Reality (God).  The speaker/singer recognizes that the Creator (God as Father) has always guided them as they have been met with struggles for freedom.  They have come through all the “weary years with silent tears.”  

    The speaker/singer acknowledges that with the love and guidance of the Divine Reality (God), they have been led into the light, and he fervently prays that they will continue down the bright path of righteousness that leads to and maintains individual liberty.

    The speaker asks of his Divine Creator that he have the ability to keep his feet from straying away from His mercy and guidance.  He knows that only his deep faith can continue to guide and guard him through the vicissitudes of life’s trials and tribulations.

    He also petitions the Divine Guide to assist them all and not allow them to descend into drunkenness with worldly affairs that would divert their attention away from the Only Reality.

    With this concluding, holy image—”Shadowed beneath [God’s] hand”—the speaker places his life, his trust, and his faith in the only Hand that matters.    This celebration in song offers a historical glimpse into the enduring qualities that always mattered most in achieving improvements in the human condition.

    As all hymns turn hearts and minds Godward, this important song remains a necessary part of American history, uplifting the spiritual stature of all who experience the performance of its sentiment.

    Rendered in song by the Southern Sons 

    Image:  James Weldon Johnson - Commemorative Stamp - http://usstampgallery.com/view.php?id=e331c006856fe114a9ec83472d926981f48b72ec
    Image: James Weldon Johnson – Commemorative Stamp
  • Emily Dickinson’s “Once more, my now bewildered Dove”

    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 “Once more, my now bewildered Dove”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Once more, my now bewildered Dove” dramatizes the soul’s anxious search for spiritual certainty while maintaining courageous hope amid uncertainty and isolation.

    Introduction and Text of “Once more, my now bewildered Dove”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Once more, my now bewildered Dove” employs a minimalist two-stanza structure to portray the soul’s repeated attempts to discover assurance in a troubled world. The speaker draws upon the biblical story of Noah’s dove to symbolize the restless human heart seeking divine confirmation and spiritual refuge. 

    As Paramahansa Yogananda taught, “The nature of Spirit is joy; and the nature of your soul is joy.” The speaker’s dove dramatizes that same longing for safe spiritual harbor within the storms of earthly uncertainty.  

    Once more, my now bewildered Dove

    Once more, my now bewildered Dove
    Bestirs her puzzled wings
    Once more her mistress, on the deep
    Her troubled question flings –

    Thrice to the floating casement
    The Patriarch’s bird returned,
    Courage! My brave Columba!
    There may yet be Land!

    Commentary on “Once more, my now bewildered Dove”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Once more, my now bewildered Dove” reveals the speaker’s spiritual resilience as she dramatizes the soul’s persistent search for divine certainty.

    First Stanza: Soul as Bird

    Once more, my now bewildered Dove
    Bestirs her puzzled wings
    Once more her mistress, on the deep
    Her troubled question flings –

    In the first stanza, the speaker immediately introduces the symbolic “Dove,” a creature long associated with peace, innocence, and spiritual aspiration. Yet this dove appears “bewildered,” suggesting that the soul has encountered confusion while navigating the uncertainties of earthly existence. 

    The speaker’s use of “Once more” emphasizes repetition, implying that this struggle between doubt and faith recurs continually throughout human life.  The dove’s “puzzled wings” suggest not only physical movement but also mental and spiritual agitation. 

    The soul desires elevation and freedom, yet uncertainty hampers its flight. In many Dickinson poems, the speaker dramatizes the soul as yearning to transcend earthly limitation, while simultaneously confronting the painful obscurity that veils spiritual truth from ordinary human perception.

    The phrase “her mistress” identifies the speaker herself as the guiding consciousness behind the dove. The soul and the human personality remain intertwined, even while the personality attempts to direct the soul toward revelation. 

    The speaker’s “troubled question” cast “on the deep” suggests prayer, meditation, or inward spiritual inquiry hurled into the mysterious abyss of existence.  The “deep” carries biblical and mystical implications. 

    The term evokes the vast floodwaters of Genesis while also symbolizing the unknowable dimensions of divine reality. As in many Dickinson riddles, the speaker refuses to explain fully the exact nature of the “question,” allowing readers to intuit the soul’s universal anxieties concerning meaning, permanence, and salvation.

    The speaker’s dramatization resembles concepts frequently emphasized by Paramahansa Yogananda, who taught that the human heart continually seeks reassurance of divine presence amid worldly confusion. 

    Paramahansa Yogananda explained,“The season of failure is the best time for sowing the seeds of success” from The Law of Success: Using the Power of Spirit to Create Health, Prosperity, and Happiness.  The dove’s repeated effort to take wing despite bewilderment reflects precisely such spiritual perseverance. 

    The speaker’s symbolism also recalls observations from my earlier Dickinson commentaries at Linda’s Literary Home regarding the poet’s tendency to dramatize the inner life through compressed metaphysical imagery. 

    Rather than offering abstract philosophical assertions, the speaker embodies spiritual tension through vivid symbolic action. The fluttering dove becomes the visible representation of invisible yearning.

    The stanza’s emotional force arises from the balance between uncertainty and persistence. Although the dove remains bewildered, she nevertheless “bestirs” her wings again. The speaker thus suggests that genuine spiritual seeking requires repeated effort despite the absence of immediate answers or comforting certainties.

    Second Stanza: Allusion of Searching

    Thrice to the floating casement
    The Patriarch’s bird returned,
    Courage! My brave Columba!
    There may yet be Land!

    In the second stanza, the speaker introduces a direct biblical allusion to Noah’s ark. The “Patriarch’s bird” refers to the dove Noah released repeatedly after the floodwaters had submerged the earth. By invoking this familiar narrative, the speaker expands her private spiritual anxiety into a universal drama of humanity searching for signs of divine mercy and renewed stability.

    The word “Thrice” carries symbolic significance, often suggesting spiritual completion or sacred persistence. Noah’s dove returned multiple times before finally discovering evidence of dry land. Likewise, the speaker implies that the soul may endure repeated disappointments before attaining spiritual assurance. The repeated return of the bird dramatizes patience rather than failure.

    The “floating casement” offers an especially striking image. The ark’s window becomes both a literal opening and a symbolic threshold between fear and hope. The dove repeatedly departs from temporary safety into uncertain vastness, only to return again.   Such movement reflects the soul’s oscillation between doubt and renewed aspiration.

    The speaker’s cry, “Courage! My brave Columba!,” introduces sudden tenderness and encouragement. “Columba,” the Latin word for dove, heightens the spiritual dignity of the bird while lending the poem a liturgical tone. At the same time, the term subtly echoes the name “Columbus,” invoking the great explorer who crossed unknown seas searching for a new world.

    That layered allusion enriches the poem’s central drama of spiritual searching. Like Columbus navigating dangerous and uncharted waters, the speaker’s symbolic dove ventures repeatedly into uncertainty, guided largely by intuition and hope rather than visible proof. The soul becomes both sacred dove and courageous explorer, willing to risk bewilderment in pursuit of discovery.

    The speaker addresses the soul compassionately, recognizing both its exhaustion and its bravery in continuing the search. The exclamation “Courage!” therefore functions not merely as comfort but as a rallying cry urging the soul onward despite repeated returns without final resolution. 

    Dickinson’s speaker suggests that spiritual discovery, like earthly exploration, demands perseverance through vast stretches of apparent emptiness before glimpsing the longed-for italics-emphasized “Land.”

    The concluding line, “There may yet be Land!” preserves uncertainty while simultaneously affirming hope. The speaker does not proclaim certainty that land exists; instead, she emphasizes the possibility of deliverance. Dickinson’s speakers often value the sustaining power of hope itself, even when ultimate knowledge remains inaccessible.

    The great Guru Yogananda frequently stressed that spiritual realization demands steadfastness amid periods of apparent silence or darkness. He taught that the devotee must continue seeking divine truth even when external evidence seems absent. The speaker’s encouragement to the “brave Columba” echoes that same spiritual endurance and refusal to surrender to despair.  

    The poem’s final affirmation remains intentionally restrained. The speaker avoids triumphant certainty and instead offers courageous possibility. Such restraint strengthens the poem’s spiritual realism, for authentic faith often survives not through guaranteed answers but through the willingness to continue searching despite bewilderment.

    Like many Dickinson lyrics, this compact poem transforms a brief symbolic scene into a profound musing on the soul’s inward pilgrimage. The dove’s repeated flight over uncertain waters becomes the enduring emblem of humanity’s determination to seek truth, peace, and divine refuge even while surrounded by mystery.

  • O Guruji, I Will Follow Thee

     Image:  Created by ChatGPT inspired by the poem
    Image: Created by ChatGPT inspired by the poem

    O Guruji, I Will Follow Thee

    —after “I Will Be Thine Always”

    O Guruji, I will follow Thee
    As long as Thou dost lead.
    No matter where
    Or how long the road, 

    I will follow Thee.
    No matter if others
    Turn away from the path,
    I will follow Thee.

    To the end of all being,
    To the end of all striving,
    I will follow Thee.
    As I move out of this earthly abode,
    The windows of my soul
    Will still be lit with the candle
    Of Thy promise,
    And I will follow Thee,
    O Guruji, I will follow Thee!

  • James Weldon Johnson’s “A Poet to His Baby Son”

    Image: James Weldon Johnson - https://www.green-wood.com/event/the-autobiography-of-an-ex-colored-man-110-years-later/
    Image: James Weldon Johnson

    James Weldon Johnson‘s “A Poet to His Baby Son”

    The poet James Weldon Johnson has created a speaker whose baby son gets a wild-eyed stare that can look “through the ceiling of the room, and beyond,” leading the father to suspect that he might have a budding poet to contend with.

    Introduction with Text of “A Poet to His Baby Son”

    James Weldon Johnson’s speaker in “A Poet to His Baby Son” offers a tongue-in-cheek complaint that his baby son might be contemplating becoming, like his father, a poet.

    A Poet to His Baby Son

    Tiny bit of humanity,
    Blessed with your mother’s face,  
    And cursed with your father’s mind.

    I say cursed with your father’s mind,
    Because you can lie so long and so quietly on your back,   
    Playing with the dimpled big toe of your left foot,   
    And looking away,
    Through the ceiling of the room, and beyond.
    Can it be that already you are thinking of being a poet?

    Why don’t you kick and howl,   
    And make the neighbors talk about   
    “That damned baby next door,”
    And make up your mind forthwith   
    To grow up and be a banker
    Or a politician or some other sort of go-getter   
    Or—?—whatever you decide upon,   
    Rid yourself of these incipient thoughts   
    About being a poet.

    For poets no longer are makers of songs,   
    Chanters of the gold and purple harvest,  
    Sayers of the glories of earth and sky,   
    Of the sweet pain of love
    And the keen joy of living;
    No longer dreamers of the essential dreams,   
    And interpreters of the eternal truth,   
    Through the eternal beauty.
    Poets these days are unfortunate fellows.   
    Baffled in trying to say old things in a new way   
    Or new things in an old language,   
    They talk abracadabra
    In an unknown tongue,
    Each one fashioning for himself
    A wordy world of shadow problems,
    And as a self-imagined Atlas,
    Struggling under it with puny legs and arms, 
    Groaning out incoherent complaints at his load.

    My son, this is no time nor place for a poet;   
    Grow up and join the big, busy crowd   
    That scrambles for what it thinks it wants   
    Out of this old world which is—as it is—
    And, probably, always will be.

    Take the advice of a father who knows:   
    You cannot begin too young   
    Not to be a poet.

    Commentary on “A Poet to His Baby Son”

    The speaker’s baby son gets a wild-eyed stare that seems so penetrating that it can look through things.  The speaker playfully then muses that the kid might be demonstrating qualities that could lead him to becoming a poet, like his father.  The speaker appears to be somewhat dismayed by that thought, for he is concerned about the current trend in poetry’s emphasis on non-poetic subjects.

    First Stanza:  A Distressing Possibility

    Tiny bit of humanity,
    Blessed with your mother’s face,  
    And cursed with your father’s mind.

    In the opening three-line stanza, the speaker is having a little talk with his infant son. He calls the baby boy a “[t]iny bit of humanity” and describes him as looking like his mother but thinking like his father. The speaker is happy with the first quality but distressed over the second.

    Second Stanza:  Poetry as a Curse

    I say cursed with your father’s mind,
    Because you can lie so long and so quietly on your back,   
    Playing with the dimpled big toe of your left foot,   
    And looking away,
    Through the ceiling of the room, and beyond.
    Can it be that already you are thinking of being a poet?

    The speaker is so distressed over the fact that the baby has his “father’s mind” that he calls the child “cursed” with that quality, repeating that lined in both the opening stanza and the second.

    The speaker then begins his exposition of the reason for thinking the baby  may be cursed. Before dropping the bombshell though, he relates that the baby can do baby things like lying quietly for extended periods on his little back, while playing with toes.  These are a little-baby activities that the speaker finds charming.

    But the speaker also senses a musing quality in the baby’s stare; the little one seems to be staring with such contemplation that he can see through the “ceiling” and “beyond.”  This searching stare suggest to the poet that his baby is contemplating becoming a poet when he grows up.

    Third Stanza:   Anything but Poetry!

    Why don’t you kick and howl,   
    And make the neighbors talk about   
    “That damned baby next door,”
    And make up your mind forthwith   
    To grow up and be a banker
    Or a politician or some other sort of go-getter   
    Or—?—whatever you decide upon,   
    Rid yourself of these incipient thoughts   
    About being a poet.

    The speaker then rhetorically queries his son, suggesting that he “kick and howl” and annoy the neighbors to get them to exclaim and swear because of the unwelcome noise.  Such behavior he suggests would ensure that his son might decide to be a enthusiastic individual and become some professional such as a “banker” or even a “politician.”

    The speaker insists that no matter what the kid does, he should never ever consider the notion of becoming a poet.  Because the father is a poet, he would know all of the disadvantages that profession can confer.

    Fourth Stanza:   The Modernist Bent

    For poets no longer are makers of songs,   
    Chanters of the gold and purple harvest,  
    Sayers of the glories of earth and sky,   
    Of the sweet pain of love
    And the keen joy of living;
    No longer dreamers of the essential dreams,   
    And interpreters of the eternal truth,   
    Through the eternal beauty.
    Poets these days are unfortunate fellows.   
    Baffled in trying to say old things in a new way   
    Or new things in an old language,   
    They talk abracadabra
    In an unknown tongue,
    Each one fashioning for himself
    A wordy world of shadow problems,
    And as a self-imagined Atlas,
    Struggling under it with puny legs and arms, 
    Groaning out incoherent complaints at his load.

    In the longest stanza, the speaker details his reason for dissuading his son from becoming a poet. The poet/speaker is decrying the modernist bent of poets. 

    These modernists do not compose songs of beauty, such as those of “the gold and purple harvest.”  They avoid remarking and making any references to “the glories of earth and sky.”  These poets seem to avoid taking note of their environment.

    But worse still is that these modernist poets are no longer interested in exploring and dramatizing love with all of its joys and sorrows.  They no longer compose songs devoted to revealing the joy just living can offer.   They seem to have ceased dreaming about essential realities.    These new poets avoid interpreting”eternal truth / Through the eternal beauty.”

    Instead of all these endearing qualities that have infused and sustained poetry and poetry lovers for centuries, these new poets have become “unfortunate fellows.” They have become confused and display only befuddlement stammering out ” old things in a new way.”

    The poet describes the claptrap of modernist poetry:  They speak a kind of magician logic in a made-up language.  They are no longer individuals with self-determination.

    These modernists are fabricating a word-salad world of “shadow problems.”  They represent themselves as “a self-imagined Atlas” “with puny legs and arms.” They bitch and moan about their victimhood.

    Fifth Stanza:  Not a Good Place for Poets

    My son, this is no time nor place for a poet;   
    Grow up and join the big, busy crowd   
    That scrambles for what it thinks it wants   
    Out of this old world which is—as it is—
    And, probably, always will be.

    It is then for the reasons spelled out in stanza four that the poet proclaims that in the current environment and with unhealthy, nasty trend, it is simply not a good time nor place to become a poet.v

    He suggests to the infant that he grow up and join the genuine activity of trying to be successful in acquiring what the needs and want, trying to have actual achievements, instead of bemoaning the lie of predetermined failure.  The speaker asserts that this world will always be this same old world.  And this poet/speaker’s experience tells him that it is not currently a place for a poet.

    Sixth Stanza:  The Voice of Experience

    Take the advice of a father who knows:   
    You cannot begin too young   
    Not to be a poet.

    Finally, the poet/father/speaker admonishes the baby son to follow his warning because it is coming from “a father who knows.”  He then cleverly turns his phrasing: “You cannot begin too young / Not to be a poet.”

    The Trend of Victimology in Poetry

    This poem is playful, yet serious. The speaker is only musing on the possibility that his son is contemplating becoming a poet, but he uses the poem as a forum to express his dismay at the way poetry was becoming a cesspool of victimology and self-aggrandizement at the expense of truth and beauty.  This poet was living during the period of time that saw identity politics beginning to take hold of the arts.

    For my own take on art’s decay through post-modernism please visit, “Poetry and Politics under the Influence of Postmodernism.”

  • Emily Dickinson’s “Heart!  We will forget him!”

    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 “Heart!  We will forget him!”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Heart! We will forget him!” dramatizes the struggle between emotional attachment and disciplined resolve as the speaker attempts to command memory itself into silence.

    Introduction and Text of “Heart! We will forget him!”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Heart! We will forget him!” consists of two minimalist quatrains in which the speaker stages an internal dialogue between reason and emotion. The little drama reveals how difficult it becomes for the human heart to surrender attachment once affection and memory have become intertwined. 

    As in many Dickinsonian poems, the speaker compresses profound psychological and spiritual conflict into deceptively simple language.

    Heart! We will forget him!

    Heart! We will forget him!
    You and I – tonight!
    You may forget the warmth he gave –
    I will forget the light!

    When you have done, pray tell me
    That I may straight begin!
    Haste! lest while you’re lagging
    I remember him!

    Reading

    Commentary on “Heart! We will forget him!”

    Emily Dickinson’s “Heart! We will forget him!” reveals a speaker attempting to discipline the emotions through force of will while recognizing the nearly impossible task of erasing genuine affection.

    First Stanza: Determination

    Heart! We will forget him!
    You and I – tonight!
    You may forget the warmth he gave–
    I will forget the light!

    The speaker begins abruptly with an exclamation addressed to her own “Heart!” The command sounds forceful and immediate, as though she fears hesitation will weaken her resolve. By pairing herself with her heart—“You and I”—the speaker divides the personality into reasoning consciousness and emotional memory, creating a tiny internal drama that exposes the divided nature of human awareness.

    The declaration “tonight!” intensifies the urgency. The speaker seems to believe that forgetting must occur instantly or not at all. Yet even within the command lies evidence that forgetting cannot be simple, because the speaker must persuade her own heart rather than merely dismiss the beloved naturally.

    The distinction between “warmth” and “light” deepens the poem’s symbolic resonance. Warmth suggests emotional comfort and earthly affection, while “light” implies inspirational guidance, or spiritual illumination. The speaker thus admits that the lost beloved affected not merely her feelings but also her inner vision and consciousness.

    The speaker’s attempt to divide emotional and intellectual remembrance recalls Paramahansa Yogananda’s teaching that attachment clouds spiritual freedom. In Self-Realization Fellowship’s discussion of transcending suffering, the great Guru explains that suffering persists when consciousness remains chained to outward conditions instead of anchored in Divine Reality. 

    Dickinson’s speaker, however, remains suspended between attachment and liberation; she longs to forget but still treasures the very memories she condemns.

    The speaker’s language also resembles the yogic injunction cited in my own sonnet sequence “Forget the Past”: A 10-Sonnet Sequence: “Forget the past. The vanished lives of all men are dark with many shames.” 

    Yet Dickinson’s speaker demonstrates how difficult that command becomes when memory carries emotional radiance instead of mere regret. The beloved’s “light” still shines in the speaker’s awareness even as she attempts to extinguish it.

    The stanza’s brevity heightens the emotional pressure. No explanatory details about the relationship appear because the speaker focuses entirely on the inward struggle. Dickinson’s characteristic minimalist compression permits each word—“Heart,” “warmth,” “light”—to resonate beyond literal meaning into emotional and metaphysical suggestion.

    Second Stanza: Keeping the Vow

    When you have done, pray tell me
    That I may straight begin!
    Haste! lest while you’re lagging
    I remember him!

    In the second stanza, the speaker’s confident command begins to unravel. She now admits that the heart must complete its forgetting before the conscious mind can even “begin.” The reversal subtly reveals that emotion governs memory more powerfully than rational intention.

    The word “pray” introduces an almost desperate tone. Although still addressing her own heart, the speaker sounds less commanding and more pleading. Her urgency increases in “Haste!” because she recognizes that delay threatens the fragile vow she has attempted to establish.

    Ironically, the speaker’s fear of remembering guarantees remembrance. Even while commanding forgetfulness, she continues repeating “him,” thus preserving the beloved through language itself. Dickinson frequently constructs such paradoxes, allowing the speaker’s effort to deny emotion to become proof of emotion’s endurance.

    The phrase “while you’re lagging” personifies the heart as stubborn and reluctant. The speaker understands that emotional attachment cannot simply obey intellectual decree. The human heart retains impressions long after the rational mind wishes to dismiss them.

    This tension resembles teachings found in “The Soul’s Nature Is Love” from Self-Realization Fellowship, where love is described as intrinsic to the soul itself. Dickinson’s speaker demonstrates that affection cannot easily be erased because genuine feeling leaves permanent impressions upon consciousness. The poem therefore becomes not merely a rejection of earthly attachment but also a revelation of love’s persistence.

    A similar emotional undercurrent appears in my original poem “Between Us Is a Whirlwind”, where separated lovers remain psychologically bound despite physical distance. Dickinson’s speaker likewise discovers that inner attachment survives outward separation. The heart continues moving toward remembrance even while the intellect commands retreat.

    The final line lands with remarkable subtlety. “I remember him!” sounds almost involuntary, as though memory has overtaken the speaker before the sentence can finish. 

    The poem closes not with successful forgetting but with the triumph of emotional recollection. Dickinson’s speaker ultimately reveals that the heart obeys its own mysterious laws, and memory itself becomes a testament to the enduring power of love—whether human or divine.

  • James Weldon Johnson’s “Fifty Years”

    Image: James Weldon Johnson - Portrait by Laura Wheeler Waring https://npg.si.edu/object/npg_NPG.67.40
    Image: James Weldon Johnson – Portrait by Laura Wheeler Waring

    James Weldon Johnson’s “Fifty Years”

    James Weldon Johnson’s poem, “Fifty Years,” recalls the struggle for civil rights in America that began with President Abraham Lincoln proclaiming the end of slavery with the Emancipation Proclamation.

    Introduction and Text of “Fifty Years”

    James Weldon Johnson begins his commemorative poem, “Fifty Years,” with the epigraph, “(1863–1913) On the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Signing of the Emancipation Proclamation.

    The speaker is paying homage to the many abolitionists who helped end slavery.  And while many citizens still held the view that their black brothers and sisters should remain second class citizens, the speaker offers the rationale for the blessings of equality and respect among all citizens.

    This speaker possesses a cosmic view of historical procedure, and he shares his awareness with his compatriots of all shades of skin color that God is always in control, and freedom must ring for those who seek it and work to maintain it—a view that remains as operative today as it did back in the early twentieth century.

    Fifty Years

    “(1863–1913) On the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Signing of the Emancipation Proclamation.

    O brothers mine, to-day we stand
    Where half a century sweeps our ken,
    Since God, through Lincoln’s ready hand,
    Struck off our bonds and made us men.

    Just fifty years—a winter’s day—
    As runs the history of a race;
    Yet, as we look back o’er the way,
    How distant seems our starting place!

    Look farther back! Three centuries!
    To where a naked, shivering score,
    Snatched from their haunts across the seas,
    Stood, wild-eyed, on Virginia’s shore.

    This land is ours by right of birth,
    This land is ours by right of toil;
    We helped to turn its virgin earth,
    Our sweat is in its fruitful soil.

    Where once the tangled forest stood,—
    Where flourished once rank weed and thorn,—
    Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood,
    The cotton white, the yellow corn.

    To gain these fruits that have been earned,
    To hold these fields that have been won,
    Our arms have strained, our backs have burned,
    Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun.

    That Banner which is now the type
    Of victory on field and flood—
    Remember, its first crimson stripe
    Was dyed by Attuckss’ willing blood.

    And never yet has come the cry—
    When that fair flag has been assailed—
    For men to do, for men to die,
    That we have faltered or have failed.

    We’ve helped to bear it, rent and torn,
    Through many a hot-breath’d battle breeze
    Held in our hands, it has been borne
    And planted far across the seas.

    And never yet,—O haughty Land,
    Let us, at least, for this be praised—
    Has one black, treason-guided hand
    Ever against that flag been raised.

    Then should we speak but servile words,
    Or shall we hang our heads in shame?
    Stand back of new-come foreign hordes,
    And fear our heritage to claim?

    No! stand erect and without fear,
    And for our foes let this suffice—
    We’ve bought a rightful sonship here,
    And we have more than paid the price.

    And yet, my brothers, well I know
    The tethered feet, the pinioned wings,
    The spirit bowed beneath the blow,
    The heart grown faint from wounds and stings;

    The staggering force of brutish might,
    That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed;
    The long, vain waiting through the night
    To hear some voice for justice raised.

    Full well I know the hour when hope
    Sinks dead, and ’round us everywhere
    Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope
    With hands uplifted in despair.

    Courage! Look out, beyond, and see
    The far horizon’s beckoning span!
    Faith in your God-known destiny!
    We are a part of some great plan.

    Because the tongues of Garrison
    And Phillips now are cold in death,
    Think you their work can be undone?
    Or quenched the fires lit by their breath?

    Think you that John Brown’s spirit stops?
    That Lovejoy was but idly slain?
    Or do you think those precious drops
    From Lincoln’s heart were shed in vain?

    That for which millions prayed and sighed,
    That for which tens of thousands fought,
    For which so many freely died,
    God cannot let it come to naught.

    Commentary on “Fifty Years”

    This speaker of this poem is offering a tribute to the struggle for civil rights in America that began with President Abraham Lincoln proclaiming the end of slavery with the Emancipation Proclamation, as he cites several of the most noted abolitionists.

    Stanza 1 – Stanza 3:   Celebrating 50 Years Since the Emancipation Proclamation

    James Weldon Johnson’s narrator of “Fifty Years” is celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of President Abraham Lincoln’s affixing his signature to the Emancipation Proclamation [1], beginning the long process of ending slavery in the United States.  The speaker addresses the sufferers of slavery as well as his own contemporaries, “brothers,” many who are the descendants of slaves.

    Johnson’s speaker is dramatizing the signing the Emancipation Proclamation, implying that President Lincoln had erased the vicious practice of slavery and raised the status of the slaves to manhood—a status they had been denied.

    The speaker looks back in time as he compares those “fifty years” to a “winter’s day.” Historically, fifty years is, indeed, short, but this half century has been like a very cold season of winter for this Africans and their descendants.

    Johnson then takes the reader/listener even farther back in time with the disconcerting image of the slave standing, “naked, shivering,” who were “[s]natched from their haunts across the seas,” and who “[s]tood, wild-eyed, on Virginia’s shore.”

    Stanza 4 – Stanza 6:   Proudly Claiming a Heritage

    Proudly and rightly, the speaker decrees, “this land is ours by right of birth”; he and his ancestors have developed the fallow earth with their “sweat,” which has resulted in “fruitful soil.”

    Instead of merely,”tangled forest,” now, through their labor there are “peaceful wood,” cotton, and corn fields yielding valuable products for the American people. The speaker claims that to turn this nature-wild land into a domesticated home, “[o]ur arms have strained, our backs have burned, / Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun.”

    Stanza 7 – Stanza 9:  Dramatizing Patriotism   

    The speaker dramatizes the patriotism of his fellows who have died fighting for America even before it recognized them as equal patriots and  full citizens. His allusion to Crispus Attucks [2], the first patriot to die in the American Revolutionary War, offers a stark reminder: “Remember, its first crimson stripe / Was dyed by Attucks’ willing blood.” 

    The speaker highlights the fact that Attucks died willingly for his country, not forced because he was a slave. He stresses that this race of American patriots has always stepped forward to defend America, even in foreign wars.

    Stanza 10 – Stanza 12:   They Have Already Secured Their Rights  

    The speaker is adamant in reporting to a land still roiled in racism (Johnson was writing  this 1913) that at no time has “one black, treason-guided hand / Ever against that flag been raised.” 

    Because of the genuine qualities that his African American brothers and sisters have demonstrated since the founding of America, the speaker maintains that they do not deserve to “hang [their] heads in shame” or “speak but servile word,” or be timid in claiming their heritage as true, patriotic Americans.

    Therefore, the speaker demands that his contemporaries, “stand erect and without fear.” They have procured the right to their “sonship here,” and they have tendered more than should be required of anyone.

    Stanza 13 – Stanza 15:   Affirmation Despite Adversity  

    The speaker never makes light of the black experience in America; he knows very well  the physical and mental humiliation that his fellow patriots have suffered—as well as the broken spirit.  He is aware of the deep levels of discouragement such treatment causes. He understands that there are  always times that all one can rely on is prayer. 

    However, this speaker also understands that such oppression cannot endure. He, therefore, commands his listeners to become fearless and to look forward to the future and retain “[f]aith in your God-known destiny! / We are a part of some great plan.”

    The speaker then alludes to William Lloyd Garrison [3] and Wendell Phillips [4], two strong abolitionists. He inquires, rhetorically, if his fellows believe that the “fire lit by their breath” could be snuffed out. 

    He further asks if his brothers can imagine that the spirit of John Brown [5] and Elijah Lovejoy [6] has become lifeless and departed. He wants them to consider the death of Abraham Lincoln [7] —did the great emancipator die “in vain”?

    The speaker delivers an affirmation that all of those great abolitionists and the great emancipator did not resist only to die in vain. 

    He insists, “millions have prayed” for and “tens of thousands have fought” for and “many freely died,” so that dark-skinned people could know the equality they deserved. And of most importance, he treasures and maintains an abiding faith that, “God cannot let it come to naught.”

     Sources 

    [1]  Editors. “Emancipation Proclamation.”  National Archives.  Last reviewed on January 28, 2022.

    [2]  Editors. “Crispus Attucks.” Biography.com. Updated :June 1, 2020 Original: January 19, 2018.

    [3]   Editors. “William Lloyd Garrison and the Liberator.”  U.S. History. Accessed August 13, 2023..

    [4]   Curators “Wendell Phillips.”  Wendell Phillips High School Hall of Fame. Accessed August 13, 2023.

    [5]   Editors. “John Brown.”  American Battlefield Trust.  Accessed August 13, 2023.

    [6]  Editors. “Elijah Lovejoy.” History News Network.  Accessed August 13, 2023.

    [7]   Editors.  “The Lincoln-Douglas Debates.” History.com.  June 14, 2021 .

  • Original Short Literary Fiction: “Transformation through the Ages: Two Letters to Myself”

    Image-Created by ChatGPT inspired by the text
    Image: Created by ChatGPT inspired by the text

    Original Short Literary Fiction: “Transformation through the Ages: Two Letters to Myself

    The process of aging asks us to move from one version of ourselves into another—slowly learning how to carry memory, change, loss, wisdom, and time within the same person.

    Dear Older Me,

    I’m writing to you from age twenty, which feels impossibly young and impossibly certain all at once, right on the edge of adulthood. Everyone keeps telling me that life will change me, but I still wake up every morning believing I will somehow remain recognizable to myself forever. I wonder if you remember feeling that way.

    Lately I’ve been thinking about aging—not in the dramatic sense of illness or endings, but in the quieter sense of becoming someone new over time. I look at photographs from just a few years ago and already feel strange about them. 

    The girl in those pictures is me, but also not entirely me anymore. Her worries were smaller. Her body was different, plumper, rosier, full of some kind of strange awareness.  But her understanding of herself was unfinished.

    I wonder what it’s like for you now, at nearly ninety, carrying six plus decades of former selves inside you.

    Do you still feel connected to me? Or do I seem like a distant relative you remember fondly but imperfectly?

    People talk so much about youth as though it’s the truest version of a person, and aging as though it’s some slow departure from that truth. But I’m beginning to suspect that every age is temporary, and every version of ourselves eventually becomes a kind of memory.

    That thought frightens me sometimes.

    I notice already how language changes around age. Adults speak of young people with nostalgia, impatience, envy, and tenderness all at once. And young people speak about aging as though it’s something abstract—something happening to other people. Yet every day we are all moving quietly toward another stage of ourselves.

    I wonder what it feels like to look into the mirror at eighty plus. Do you still recognize your expressions even if the face has changed? Do you still feel young somewhere underneath everything time has altered?

    I’ve also been thinking about photographs and memories. Right now, my room is full of snapshots from childhood, school dances, birthdays, awkward haircuts, and vacations that already feel far away. I can’t imagine ever wanting to hide those versions of myself, even the embarrassing ones. But I wonder if, by your age, those images begin to feel less like evidence and more like archaeology.

    Do old photographs comfort you, or do they ache?  I hope you’ve kept them all anyway.

    I hope you understand that the younger versions of yourself were not mistakes. I hope you speak kindly about us—the insecure teenager, the reckless twenty-year-old, the exhausted middle-aged woman trying to hold everything together. I hope you see all of them not as separate people, but as chapters in the same long story.  Most of all, I hope you haven’t become embarrassed by change itself.

    Right now, growing older seems terrifying because everything around me celebrates beginnings and quietly fears decline. But perhaps aging is not a process of disappearing. Maybe it’s a process of accumulation. Maybe the older face simply carries more life within it.  If you could tell me anything from where you are now, I think I’d want reassurance that becoming older does not mean becoming less.

    I hope you still laugh easily.  I hope you still feel wonder.  I hope you still believe your life mattered.  And I hope, somehow, that you are grateful for me too—for this young girl standing at the beginning, trying so hard to understand time before she has truly lived it.

    Love,
    Your Former Self

    Dear Former Self,

    Your letter arrived like a voice carried across water—young, searching, and achingly sincere. I read it slowly, not because age has made me slower, though perhaps it has, but because your words reopened rooms in my memory I had not visited in years.

    Yes, I remember you.  More importantly, I remember being you.

    At twenty, you believe identity is something you must discover once and then defend forever. What age eventually teaches is that the self is not a monument. It is weather. It shifts continuously—sometimes gently, sometimes violently—and survives through adaptation rather than permanence.

    You ask whether I still feel connected to you. I do, though not in the simple way you imagine. You are not buried beneath the years; you are woven through them. I still recognize your idealism, your sensitivity, your fear of being forgotten or diminished by time. Those things remain, though softened now by experience.

    And yes, there are moments when I look into the mirror and feel startled. Aging happens so gradually that you scarcely notice it while living through it, and then suddenly you catch sight of your mother’s face in your own reflection, or your grandmother’s hands resting in your lap.

    The body changes first in obvious ways. The knees complain. The spine stiffens. Sleep becomes lighter. Faces hollow and soften simultaneously. But the deeper transformation  is stranger: the realization that inside the aging body, consciousness remains largely untouched by chronology.

    I am eighty-nine, yet some mornings I still feel eighteen until I stand up.  That is one of the great hidden truths of aging: the young self never fully leaves. She simply becomes surrounded by additional selves gathered over a lifetime.

    You asked whether old photographs comfort or ache. The answer is both.  Photographs become less about appearance and more about vanished worlds. You stop focusing on how pretty you once were and begin noticing who is no longer standing beside you. An old picture can break your heart because time is visible there in a way it never feels while you are living it.

    But keep the photographs anyway.  Keep all of them.  One day you will treasure the evidence that ordinary afternoons once existed at all.

    You fear that aging may mean becoming less. I understand that fear because our culture speaks of aging almost entirely in the language of loss. Loss of beauty. Loss of relevance. Loss of strength. Loss of possibility.

    And yes, there are losses. I will not lie to you about that.  You will lose people you cannot imagine living without.  You will lose certain ambitions.  You will lose versions of your body that once felt effortless.  But aging is not merely subtraction.  It is also refinement.

    At twenty, you experience life intensely because everything is new. At ninety, you experience life intensely because you finally understand how temporary everything always was. A simple morning light across the kitchen table can move you to tears. An ordinary conversation can feel sacred.  Youth burns brightly, but age glows.

    You asked whether I still laugh easily. I do—more easily, in fact. Young people often believe seriousness gives life meaning, but age teaches the opposite. Much of survival depends upon learning when to laugh at yourself gently.

    And wonder? Yes, wonder remains too. Perhaps even more so. The older you become, the more miraculous existence itself begins to feel. Not because life becomes easier, but because you finally understand how improbable it always was.

    As for whether your life mattered: meaning does not arrive as a grand declaration. It accumulates quietly through small acts of love, attention, endurance, forgiveness, and presence. A meaningful life rarely feels monumental from the inside.

    You hoped I would be grateful for you.  I am.

    I am grateful for your impatience, your hunger for understanding, your belief that life must contain something beautiful and true. You carried us forward. Without your courage to begin, I would never have arrived here with so much tenderness intact.

    So let me leave you with this:

    Do not spend your youth mourning age in advance. Become fully each version of yourself when it arrives.

    The frightened girl, the ambitious woman, the joyful grandmother—they all belong to you. None of them are failures of the others. They are simply the many forms a human life must take in order to become complete.

    Love and blessings,
    Myself Now

  • Waltzing on the Rim of Eternity

    Image - Created by ChatGPT inspired by the poem
    Image: Created by ChatGPT inspired by the poem

    Waltzing on the Rim of Eternity

    —after “Spirit and Nature”

    They win as they balance—
    Soul and body.

    Radha, the body.  Krishna, the soul.
    Victorious Radha Govinda! 

    Victory when spring brings flowers
    And God brings rain.

    Spirit and nature locked and balanced,
    Waltzing on the rim of Eternity.