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 “Low at my problem bending”
The speaker muses over a personal problem only to encounter a larger, calmer one that displaces all earthly calculation.
Introduction and Text of “Low at my problem bending”
In Emily Dickinson’s “Low at my problem bending,” the speaker bends intently over a private concern when a greater problem arrives. This new problem proves larger and serener, involving higher sums that dwarf the original figures.
The speaker then sets aside the “busy pencil” and lets the figures slip away. The “baffled fingers” question their own befuddlement in the face of this elevated demand. On the literal level the speaker appears engaged in arithmetic or accounting. Yet the intrusion of a calmer problem signals a shift from worldly sums to matters of the soul.
Low at my problem bending
Low at my problem bending, Another problem comes – Larger than mine – Serener – Involving statelier sums.
I check my busy pencil, My figures file away. Wherefore, my baffled fingers Thy perplexity?
Commentary on “Low at my problem bending”
Emily Dickinson’s “Low at my problem bending” dramatizes the speaker’s sudden elevation from a personal calculation to a higher, calmer demand that silences all earthly tools.
First Stanza: “Low at my problem bending”
Low at my problem bending, Another problem comes – Larger than mine – Serener – Involving statelier sums.
The speaker begins bending low over a private problem. At once another problem arrives, one larger than the original and marked by greater serenity. This new concern involves more important sums. The speaker senses that ordinary arithmetic cannot address the elevated scale now presented.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s habit of preferring inner information over outer, material level evidence. Here that same habit appears as the speaker recognizes the superior claim of the more placid problem.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that the vastness is your real Self. The speaker, confronted by the larger problem, begins to sense that same vastness beyond finite sums. The contrast between the low bending posture and the calm elevation of the new problem suggests a movement from earthly worry to meditation on the eternal.
Second Stanza: “I check my busy pencil”
I check my busy pencil, My figures file away. Wherefore, my baffled fingers Thy perplexity?
The speaker immediately checks the “busy pencil.” All the carefully ordered figures are filed away as if dismissed by a higher authority. The confused fingers then address their own confusion. They wonder why their former skill proves useless before the statelier demand. The speaker’s tools of calculation prove inadequate once the larger problem appears.
Ordinary sums give way before the serene scale of the soul’s true concern. Paramahansa Yogananda explains that one must change consciousness from that of a mortal to a divine being. The speaker’s “baffled fingers” enact that very change as earthly figures vanish.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s reliance on mystical intuition to resolve riddles of existence. That same intuition now silences the pencil and leaves the fingers questioning their former busy work.
The final question hangs in the air, inviting the reader into the same contemplative musing that has lifted the speaker beyond finite problems to the calmer, cooler realm of the Infinite.
Idioms of myriad worlds spiral down the begging path. The grain feathers tangle in the sandbar on the rim, Ending in the dwelling of manifest wrath With stupor offering its clank to the whim.
No one dreamed the others into swerving. Few sacrificed fathers and mothers for priding. Several rounded the edges on the curving. Many chafed at the marble pine for hiding.
The scooped talons of white crowing Dip under the sea-broad sky. Fleet winged bandies blowing Stretch and dither on the fly.
No tongue shatters so many brains as munificence. No tooth clatters the rain so well as malfeasance.
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 “Ambition cannot find him”
The speaker contemplates the profound transition from worldly obscurity to eternal stature following the quiet arrival of death.
Introduction and Text of “Ambition cannot find him”
In Emily Dickinson’s “Ambition cannot find him,” the speaker contemplates the dramatic transformation that takes place when a soul departs from its physical encasement. Death elevates the individual far beyond mundane human striving, creating an insurmountable distance between earthly concerns and spiritual liberation.
The speaker observes that earthly desires, emotional attachments, and social strivings lose all traction once a person steps across the mortal threshold. Transitioning into the unseen realm places the departed soul beyond the reach of both personal fame and human affection.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s habit of elevating inner awareness over outer circumstance. Here, the speaker asserts that the true elevation of the soul occurs far from mortal sight.
Ambition cannot find him
Ambition cannot find him. Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of nowhere Lie between them now.
Yesterday, undistinguished! Eminent Today For our mutual hone, Immortality!
Commentary on “Ambition cannot find him”
The speaker explores death’s shifting of a person’s status from complete earthly obscurity into infinite spiritual significance.
First Stanza: “Ambition cannot find him”
Ambition cannot find him. Affection doesn’t know How many leagues of nowhere Lie between them now.
The speaker begins by personifying “Ambition,” declaring that this driving human force can no longer reach or influence the deceased. Earthly drives lose all relevance once the soul departs the physical realm.
Human “Affection” also suffers a complete loss of contact, remaining entirely unaware of the vast expanse that now separates the living from the dead; mortal love cannot bridge this gap.
The speaker describes this spatial separation as “leagues of nowhere.” This phrase emphasizes the vast, unmeasurable vacuum that divides physical life from the metaphysical state. This vast void creates an absolute boundary. The departed soul exists entirely beyond the reach of human emotional calls or worldly seeking.
The speaker emphasizes that earthly perceptions fail to comprehend the realm of the departed. Human relationships are bound by space, whereas the soul transcends all material dimensions.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s preference for solitary spiritual journeys over communal ties. The departed soul embarks on a path where worldly bonds naturally dissolve.
The great Guru Paramahansa Yogananda explains that death is similar to a change of clothing. The speaker reflects this truth as the soul transitions into a completely different sphere of existence.
Through contemplative musing, the speaker recognizes that the vast distance between realms protects the departed soul. Unseen boundaries keep it safe from all earthly turbulence.
Second Stanza: “Yesterday, undistinguished!”
Yesterday, undistinguished! Eminent Today For our mutual hone, Immortality!
The speaker highlights a startling contrast, noting that the departed individual was “undistinguished” during earthly life. Yesterday, the person possessed no special fame or worldly acclaim; ”Today,” however, that same individual becomes “Eminent.”
The act of dying immediately elevates the soul above all mortal titles and achievements.
This elevation occurs because the soul has entered “Immortality.” Eternal life bestows a true dignity that no earthly praise could ever match.
The speaker refers to immortality as “our mutual hone,” implying that the material, earthly plane is not the soul’s native home: the old blue grass song “This World Is Not My Home” addresses and celebrate that theme. This shared destiny sharpens and refines human consciousness, preparing every soul for ultimate spiritual elevation.
Bill Monroe & His Blue Grass Boys perform “This World Is Not My Home”
Through contemplative musing, the speaker shows that true distinction comes from entering the eternal realm, not from acquiring fleeting worldly honors. Greatness is re-defined through the lens of eternity. What seemed ordinary in the physical world becomes glorious upon crossing into spirit.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that the soul’s true nature is divine and eternal, far transcending any temporary physical identity. Dickinson’s speaker captures this profound realization through the quiet triumph of death.
The poem concludes with a celebration of the soul’s sudden transition. Entering immortality grants every individual an enduring grandeur that earthly life and a physical encasement can never offer.
Interviewer: What has become of your face? Mirror: It is like the moon; it has 28 phases.
Interviewer: When did those eyes become blanks? Mirror: Oh, when is not important. The question is, are they blank enough.
Interviewer: Where does that sallow skin come from? Mirror: From deep inside where sallow is mixed with saffron and clumps of leaves are torn from shadow boxes with fennel pollen.
Interviewer: Why fennel pollen? Mirror: Why fennel pollen, indeed! Better than mace and thyme, more elaborate than a whistle, sweet, spice, electric . . .
Interviewer: Why does your mouth obey those loose-hinged jaws? Mirror: It was never one to disobey. In the radical morning, scruffs of necks seek to burn, and limber goths slink back to the swamp.
Interviewer: How will your heart explain to your brain that it has shattered itself again over the sharp rocks of indulgence? Mirror: Now, I am a small pool of crystal water that rushed down from the Himalayas to gather fools who have no right to breathe the temperate air of Maya, yet . . . they travel on.
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 “Success is counted sweetest”
Emily Dickinson’s “Success is counted sweetest” reveals the speaker’s conviction that victory is most deeply understood by those who have experienced its absence. The poem turns deprivation into a peculiar form of insight. This poem is one of Dickinson’s most anthologized and studied poems.
Introduction and Text of “Success is counted sweetest”
In Emily Dickinson’s “Success is counted sweetest,” the speaker presents success as something whose value becomes clearest through profound need. The person who possesses victory may enjoy it, but the person who has been denied success may understand its sweetness more intensely.
The speaker creates a little drama involving two contrasting figures: the victorious soldiers who possess the “Flag” and the defeated soldier who lies dying. The contrast allows the speaker to suggest that possession and comprehension are not necessarily the same thing.
On the literal level, the speaker is describing a battlefield in which one group has achieved victory while another has suffered defeat. Yet the language quickly moves beyond the battlefield toward a larger contemplation of desire, deprivation, perception, and the strange ways suffering can deepen understanding.
The image of “nectar” introduces sweetness into an otherwise painful setting. The speaker suggests that something desired becomes especially precious when it has been withheld. The defeated soldier, unable to possess victory, nevertheless receives an agonizingly clear awareness of its meaning.
This paradox gives the poem its particular force. The person who has lost may understand the value of winning more profoundly than the person who has won. The speaker thus transforms defeat into a peculiar kind of knowledge.
Success is counted sweetest
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple Host Who took the Flag today Can tell the definition So clear of Victory
As he defeated – dying – On whose forbidden ear The distant strain of triumph Burst agonized and clear!
Commentary on “Success is counted sweetest”
The speaker presents success as a mysterious experience whose meaning becomes clearest when it has been denied. The battlefield supplies the literal drama, but the deeper subject concerns the relationship between desire and understanding.
First Stanza: “Success is counted sweetest”
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne’er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need.
The speaker begins with an apparently simple statement: “Success is counted sweetest” by those who never experience it. The claim immediately creates a paradox because ordinary thinking assumes that the person who achieves success should understand its value best.
The speaker reverses that expectation. The successful person possesses the desired object, while the unsuccessful person remains painfully conscious of its absence. That absence produces an intensity of desire that possession may actually diminish.
The word “sweetest” introduces the language of taste. Success becomes something almost edible, something that can be savored like nectar. Yet the speaker does not allow the reader simply to enjoy the sweetness. She connects comprehension with “sorest need.”
The word “nectar” suggests something precious, desirable, and almost divine. To taste such sweetness would ordinarily require possession, but the speaker introduces a startling alternative: the deepest comprehension may arise through hunger rather than satisfaction.
The status “In need” is therefore more than simply lacking something. Need creates attention. The person who desperately wants something studies its value, imagines its qualities, and becomes intensely aware of what its absence means.
Paramahansa Yogananda offers a spiritual parallel when he explains that ordinary desire can produce temporary pleasure, while deeper fulfillment lies beyond the repeated cycle of wanting and satisfying desire.
The speaker’s “sorest need” likewise becomes a doorway to understanding. The unsuccessful person cannot taste the literal nectar of success, but deprivation makes the imagined sweetness extraordinarily vivid.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s privileging inner evidence over outer awareness. Here that tendency appears in another form: outward possession does not guarantee inward comprehension.
The first stanza therefore establishes the poem’s central paradox. What appears to be deprivation may actually produce a more penetrating awareness. The person without success may understand its value with an intensity unavailable to the person who simply possesses it.
Second Stanza: “Not one of all the purple Host”
Not one of all the purple Host Who took the Flag today Can tell the definition So clear of Victory
The speaker now introduces the victorious soldiers. The “purple Host” suggests a magnificent military company, while the “Flag” functions as the visible emblem of their triumph.
The word “today” makes the victory immediate. These soldiers have just experienced the excitement of conquest. They possess the very thing that the first stanza says the unsuccessful person understands most deeply.
Yet the speaker declares that not one of these victorious soldiers can provide a definition of victory as clear as the defeated soldier can. This claim deepens the paradox established earlier.
The soldiers who have captured the Flag know victory through possession. They have experienced the excitement, satisfaction, and public recognition associated with winning. Their understanding, however, remains limited by the very fact that they have succeeded.
The defeated soldier possesses no Flag and receives no public celebration. Instead, he receives the painful knowledge of what victory means because he is excluded from it.
The speaker’s choice of “definition” is especially interesting. She is not merely saying that the defeated soldier feels victory more intensely; she is suggesting that he can define it more accurately.
A definition ordinarily belongs to the realm of intellectual understanding. Dickinson therefore joins emotion and knowledge. The deepest understanding may not come from detached observation but from experiencing the painful consequences of what one lacks.
The “purple Host” also creates a visually impressive picture of victory. The soldiers appear splendid, powerful, and successful. Yet the speaker quietly strips that outward magnificence of its authority to define the experience.
The victorious soldiers possess the external evidence of success, while the defeated soldier possesses the inward evidence of its meaning. The contrast recalls the speaker’s recurring interest in unseen realities beneath visible circumstances.
Paramahansa Yogananda similarly directs attention toward inner realization rather than merely outward circumstances. He teaches that spiritual progress becomes evident through inner changes such as increasing calmness, joy, understanding, and security.
Thus the speaker’s battlefield becomes something larger than a military scene. The Flag represents outward achievement, while the defeated soldier represents the inward consciousness produced by deprivation.
The stanza ends with the victorious soldiers apparently holding everything that matters. Yet the speaker has already prepared readers to question whether possession itself constitutes the deepest form of understanding.
Third Stanza: “As he defeated – dying”
As he defeated – dying – On whose forbidden ear The distant strain of triumph Burst agonized and clear!
The final stanza brings the reader directly to the defeated soldier. He is not merely unsuccessful; he is “defeated – dying –.” The dashes slow the statement and create a dramatic pause around his terrible condition.
The word “forbidden” is particularly powerful. The soldier’s ear is forbidden to hear victory in the sense that victory does not belong to him. Yet he hears it anyway, and what he hears becomes extraordinarily vivid.
The image “distant strain of triumph” is both musical and military. The victorious soldiers may be celebrating somewhere beyond him, but their sounds reach the dying man. Their triumph becomes audible precisely because he has been excluded from it.
The speaker then introduces the astonishing phrase “agonized and clear.” The sound of victory is beautiful to those who have won, but to the defeated soldier it is agonizing. His suffering makes the meaning of the sound sharper rather than less distinct.
The dying soldier therefore possesses something the victorious soldiers do not: an almost unbearable awareness of what victory means to the person who has been denied it.
The poem ends without offering consolation. The speaker does not pretend that defeat is actually preferable to victory. Instead, she leaves readers contemplating the strange relationship between loss and understanding.
The dying soldier’s position also creates a profound irony. He cannot claim the Flag, participate in the triumph, or survive to enjoy any victory. Nevertheless, he may understand victory more clearly than those who celebrate it.
This final image turns the poem into a riddle about human experience. The reader must consider whether possession, deprivation, suffering, and understanding can ever be separated as neatly as ordinary thinking assumes.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s tendency to create little dramas that operate as riddles, allowing readers to discover meanings that are not stated directly. That same strategy is evident here.
The battlefield can therefore be read literally while also functioning as a larger representation of human striving. Success may be visible from the outside, while its deepest significance remains hidden within the person who longs for it.
Paramahansa Yogananda explains that true success ultimately involves something deeper than worldly achievement. He describes realization of the divine Self as “the ultimate success,” connecting genuine fulfillment with victory over the limitations of worldly existence.
Dickinson’s speaker does not explicitly make this spiritual assertion, but her drama leaves room for such contemplative musing. The victorious soldiers possess the Flag, while the defeated soldier possesses a painful clarity that outward victory cannot provide.
The poem’s final irony is therefore its most enduring insight: sometimes the person who appears to have lost possesses the clearest understanding of what the winner has gained. Success may belong to one person outwardly while its deepest meaning belongs to another inwardly.
Did you ever notice when you’re out walking In late November how some leaves, Caught by the wind, will kind of skip along beside you, It’s like walking with dogs, they scamper here and there And between your feet,
While most of them don’t budge, They seem to be enjoying a vacation from making green All summer; or maybe after fall has tumbled them From the trees and turned them many shades of brown, They’re just plumb tuckered out.
Driving Southwest in November
Sunday evening we are driving from Muncie to Indianapolis to fetch our granddaughter Samantha back home—after a few miles but even before we get to the Interstate you turn to me and remark about the fantastic colors of the sky: gold-pink-orange-rose-lavender light that
stretches and marbles across the many hued blue. I say it seems that there has to be an ocean over there to make that sky so rowdy with those tones, and then I say there is. You say how paintings like that look fake— but this is a gift.
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 “So from the mould”
Emily Dickinson’s “So from the mould” reveals the speaker’s contemplative musing on hidden transformation, suggesting that what appears ordinary or insignificant may suddenly emerge into brilliant and unexpected life.
Introduction and Text of “So from the mould”
In “So from the mould,” the speaker is considering the mysterious transformations that occur beneath ordinary appearances. Bulbs hidden underground eventually rise in “Scarlet and Gold,” while worms emerge from cocoons in unexpected splendor. The speaker then places herself and her reader among those who watch such transformations with wonder.
The images suggest that nature contains powers of transformation that remain concealed until the proper moment. What is hidden from “sagacious eyes” eventually becomes visible, while what appears lowly may become beautiful, elevated, and surprising. The speaker’s playful comparison invites readers to reconsider their assumptions about appearances and potential.
So from the mould
So from the mould Scarlet and Gold Many a Bulb will rise – Hidden away, cunningly, From sagacious eyes.
So from Cocoon Many a Worm Leap so Highland gay, Peasants like me, Peasants like Thee Gaze perplexedly!
Commentary on “So from the mould”
The speaker presents ordinary natural processes as occasions for astonishment. A bulb concealed beneath the earth can suddenly produce brilliant color, while a worm hidden within a cocoon can emerge transformed. The speaker then includes herself and her reader among those who watch such changes without fully understanding their mystery.
First Stanza: “So from the mould”
So from the mould Scarlet and Gold Many a Bulb will rise – Hidden away, cunningly, From sagacious eyes.
The opening phrase, “So from the mould,” immediately directs attention downward, toward the hidden earth from which life emerges. The word “mould” suggests something dark, ordinary, and easily overlooked. Yet from this unimpressive substance, the speaker says, beautiful “Scarlet and Gold” will eventually appear.
The colors “Scarlet and Gold” provide a striking contrast to the darkness associated with mould. Scarlet suggests brilliant red, while gold suggests radiance and preciousness. The speaker therefore transforms an ordinary natural process into something almost royal, as though the earth itself were secretly producing treasures.
The “Bulb” remains concealed while its transformation is taking place. The speaker’s capitalization gives the word an additional prominence, drawing attention to the small object that contains within itself the possibility of remarkable beauty. What cannot yet be seen nevertheless possesses the power to become visible.
The phrase “Hidden away, cunningly” gives the bulb an almost secret intelligence. Nature seems to be concealing its intentions deliberately. The bulb does not announce what it is preparing to become; instead, it remains underground until its transformation can no longer remain concealed.
The expression “sagacious eyes” adds another layer of playful irony. Even wise or perceptive observers cannot necessarily discover what is hidden beneath the surface. Human intelligence has limits, particularly when confronted with processes that unfold silently within nature.
The speaker therefore encourages a humble attitude toward appearances. What seems insignificant may contain something magnificent. The hidden bulb becomes an image of potential that cannot be judged by its present appearance. Its eventual emergence demonstrates that concealed life may be far more remarkable than outward circumstances suggest.
This idea has a spiritual resonance with Paramahansa Yogananda’s teaching that the deepest reality is discovered inwardly. Paramahansa Yogananda explains that meditation awakens “the soul—the immortal, blissful divine consciousness at the innermost core of your being.”
The comparison is especially appropriate because the bulb’s visible flower already exists as an unseen possibility within the hidden bulb. Likewise, the spiritual teaching suggests that divine consciousness exists within the individual before it becomes consciously realized. The visible transformation therefore becomes an image of something inward becoming outwardly perceptible.
In my earlier essays on Dickinsonian poems, I have discussed the speaker’s tendency to discover meanings beyond ordinary appearances. Here, that tendency becomes especially playful because the speaker uses the familiar process of a bulb rising from the earth to suggest the astonishing possibilities concealed beneath the surface.
Second Stanza: “So from Cocoon”
So from Cocoon Many a Worm Leap so Highland gay, Peasants like me, Peasants like Thee Gaze perplexedly!
The second movement shifts from the bulb beneath the earth to the worm within the “Cocoon.” The change continues the poem’s central concern with concealed transformation. Once again, something hidden eventually emerges, but this time the transformation is even more dramatic.
The speaker describes “Many a Worm” that can “Leap so Highland gay.” The phrase creates a humorous picture of unexpected exuberance. The creature that appeared lowly and confined becomes lively and elevated, seeming almost to leap joyfully into a freer existence.
The image “Highland gay” suggests more than physical movement. The phrase gives the emerging creature an atmosphere of freedom, brightness, and exhilaration. The speaker seems delighted by the contrast between the humble creature inside the cocoon and the surprising spectacle produced when its hidden transformation is complete.
The speaker then makes the poem personal by declaring, “Peasants like me.” This expression offers a deliberately humble comparison. She places herself among ordinary people rather than among the “sagacious” observers who might presume to understand everything that nature is doing.
The next line expands the comparison: “Peasants like Thee.” The capitalized “Thee” directly involves the reader. The speaker does not stand apart from the reader as an expert explaining nature. Instead, both speaker and reader are equally limited observers standing before a mystery.
The final word, “perplexedly,” provides the poem with its delightful conclusion. The speaker and reader gaze at the transformation, but neither possesses a complete explanation for its wonder. Their proper response is therefore not intellectual certainty but astonishment.
This perplexity can also be understood spiritually. Paramahansa Yogananda teaches that the deepest truths are not merely matters of outward observation but can be discovered through inward spiritual experience. The great guru describes intuition as “soul knowledge” and says that it provides “clear understanding of truth and duty amidst the confusions of the world.”
The poem does not explicitly identify its natural images with spiritual transformation, yet its language permits such contemplative musing. The hidden bulb and enclosed worm both possess possibilities that ordinary observation cannot immediately recognize. Their emergence reminds the reader that visible circumstances do not necessarily reveal the whole reality of a thing.
The speaker’s use of “Peasants” also prevents the poem from becoming solemn or preachy. She includes herself in the joke. She is not claiming superior wisdom; she is admitting that she, too, can only gaze “perplexedly.” Her humility makes the poem more engaging because wonder becomes a shared human experience.
The speaker finally leaves readers with a charming paradox: those who believe themselves wise may actually be “perplexedly” watching a world whose transformations exceed their understanding. The bulb and the worm therefore become small teachers. Both demonstrate that hidden possibilities can produce visible wonders that surprise everyone who takes the time to look.
some perform magic some stand & watch some educate some meditate some preach some pray some peep into your heart some reap the harvest of art some cogitate alone some congregate on street corners some bite some sport a leaky grin
some pass by your windows as silently & unobtrusively as shadows
