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 Soul selects her own Society”
Emily Dickinson’s “The Soul selects her own Society” portrays the nature of individual self-sufficiency, spiritual power, and the deliberate choice of isolation over social engagement. The result is a positive statement that the strength of the soul remains ascendent, despite a world of chaos.
Introduction and Text of “The Soul selects her own Society”
In only three innovative quatrains, Emily Dickinson’s poem, “The Soul selects her own Society,” reveals the power of the soul’s skill in selecting its companions and rejecting external influences.
This profound theme is one of many that similarly focus on issues of individuality in Dickinson’s 1775 span of poems. The poet grappled with questions of personal autonomy and the inner life by creating speakers who address those inquiries in unique, strong voices.
Emily Dickinson’s themes, poetic techniques, as well as the cultural and philosophical contexts that inform her poems all lend heft to the notion that the poet remained steadfast in her determination to live deliberately and independently.
The claims that Dickinson’s speaker makes about the soul’s choices illuminate this poem’s celebration of individuality, and those claims offer a subtle critique of societal pressures. This important theme can be found in a number of Dickinson’s poems. The poet continued to create speakers who share her love of privacy.
The Soul selects her own Society –
The Soul selects her own Society – Then – shuts the Door – To her divine Majority – Present no more –
Unmoved – she notes the Chariots – pausing – At her low Gate – Unmoved – an Emperor be kneeling Upon her Mat –
I’ve known her – from an ample nation – Choose One – Then – close the Valves of her attention – Like Stone –
Commentary on “The Soul selects her own Society”
Emily Dickinson’s “The Soul selects her own Society” stands as the emblematic poem for not only the poet’s entire oeuvre but also for her life choice of isolation as well. She continued to create speakers, whose voices remain strong and unique. Her elliptical, minimalist expressions demonstrate an economy of language use seldom experienced to such a high degree.
First Stanza: The Soul’s Decision
The Soul selects her own Society – Then – shuts the Door – To her divine Majority – Present no more –
The first stanza establishes the soul’s autonomy and power as the target of the poem. Dickinson’s speaker is personifying the soul as a feminine being, a choice that comports with her frequent portrayal of the self as an introspective consciousness.
The verb “selects” remains essential in distinguishing a deliberate act of choice. Unlike passive acceptance or arbitrary selection, the soul’s decision to choose its “Society” reflects a profound exercise of individual agency and strength.
The capitalization of “Soul” and “Society” ennobles these terms, attesting to spiritual and metaphysical power. “Society” indicates a selected group of companions that the soul deems worthy of its attention.
The second line, “Then – shuts the Door,” introduces an intense metaphor of exclusion. The act of shutting the door symbolizes the rejection of all that lies outside the soul’s chosen circle.
This exclusionary image invokes both physical and psychological barriers, making clear that the soul’s decision is not merely a preference but instead remains a absolute act of isolation.
The door, a boundary between the inner and outer worlds, becomes an instrument of both inclusion and exclusion, emphasizing the soul’s desire for control over its environment.
The phrase “divine Majority” in the third line refers to a spiritual unity, such as a divine assembly representing the will of a Higher Power, and the soul accepts that “Majority” and its divinity as evidence of its own affirmative judgment.
The “divine Majority” also includes tangentially certain members of the broader societal collective–family and friends–on the earth plane, implying that the soul dismisses the opinions or expectations of the masses but accepts willingly and graciously all those who understand and respect the choices of the speaker.
The adjective “divine” imbues this majority with a sacred quality that it must possess, if the speaker is to sanction it. The final line, “Present no more,” reinforces the irrevocability of this decision. The soul’s chosen society is now its sole focus, and all others are rendered absent, both physically and metaphysically.
Interestingly, the word “present” can be interpreted as either an adjective or a verb, but either interpretation results in the same meaning of the phrase in this context. As a verb, it is a command, “Offer no more suggestions for my perusal.” As an adjective, the speaker is making the simple statement that other than her chosen “divine Majority,” no further admittance is allowed; her group remains complete.
Dickinson’s use of her liberal spray of dashes throughout the stanza creates a spacing rhythm, mirroring the deliberate and measured nature of the soul’s actions. These pauses invite readers or listeners to linger on each phrase, reflecting the weight of the soul’s choices.
The stanza’s brevity and syntactic compression further enhance its impact, distilling complex ideas into a few carefully chosen words. By framing the soul’s selection as both an act of inclusion and exclusion, the speaker has set the stage for the poem’s expression of individualism and its consequences.
Second Stanza: Resisting External Influence
Unmoved – she notes the Chariots – pausing – At her low Gate – Unmoved – an Emperor be kneeling Upon her Mat –
The second stanza shifts its focus from it affirmative declaration to the soul’s unwavering stance in the face of external temptations, reinforcing the theme of absolute individual sovereignty.
The repetition of “Unmoved” at the beginning of the first and third lines serves as a rhetorical anchor, emphasizing the soul’s emotional detachment and unchanging resolve.
This word choice suggests not only indifference but also a deliberate refusal to be swayed by external grandeur or authority. The soul’s ability to remain “unmoved” underscores its inner strength, positioning it as a self-sustaining entity invulnerable to worldly, earthly allure.
The imagery of “Chariots – pausing – / At her low Gate” heralds a scene of pomp and power, seeking entry. Chariots, often associated with military might or royal processions, symbolize societal prestige and influence.
This chariots pausing at the soul’s “low Gate” creates a striking contrast between the grandeur of the material world-at-large and the humility of the soul’s inner mystical domain.
The adjective “low” suggests simplicity and humility—qualities that perfectly align with Dickinson’s speakers’ recurring portrayal of the self as unpretentious yet profoundly self-aware. The gate, like the door in the first stanza, functions as a boundary, reinforcing the soul’s control over who may enter its realm.
The second image of “an Emperor be kneeling / Upon her Mat” magnifies this contrast. The emperor, a figure of supreme authority, is portrayed in a position of supplication—”kneeling” on the soul’s humble mat.
This inversion of power dynamics is astonishing: the soul—humble, modest, and tranquil—commands the respect of even the most powerful figures. The mat, a simple household item, further emphasizes the soul’s unassuming nature, yet its presence in this context elevates it to a symbol of the soul’s complete sovereignty.
The emperor’s kneeling suggests not only deference but also a recognition of the soul’s authority, which transcends all worldly hierarchies. Dickinson’s traditional, abundant splash of dashes in this stanza furthers the pauses, mirroring the soul’s contemplative resistance. Each dash invites the reader to pause and consider the significance of the soul’s indifference to such potent symbols of power.
The stanza’s structure, with its parallel clauses beginning with “Unmoved,” reinforces the soul’s consistency and resolve. By juxtaposing the soul’s simplicity with the grandeur of chariots and emperors, the speaker celebrates the power of inner conviction over external splendor, a theme that resonates with the Dickinsonian broader critique of societal conformity.
Third Stanza: The Final Choice
I’ve known her – from an ample nation – Choose One – Then – close the Valves of her attention – Like Stone –
The third stanza shifts to a personal perspective, as the speaker reveals intimate knowledge of the soul’s behavior with the phrase “I’ve known her.” This shift to the first person opens up her deep familiarity, confirming the speaker’s own experience as one who often chooses solitude over societal engagement.
The phrase “from an ample nation” implies a vast array of potential companions, whether individuals, ideas, or influences. The word “ample” denotes abundance, yet the soul’s choice is singular and exclusive, as it selects only “One.” This act of choosing remains both deliberate as well as reductive, narrowing the soul’s focus to a single entity or ideal.
The metaphor of closing “the Valves of her attention” is particularly salient. The term “Valves” introduces a mechanical image, indicating a controlled and deliberate mechanism for regulating attention. Unlike the organic imagery of doors or gates, valves imply precision and finality, as if the soul is sealing off its consciousness with mechanical efficacy.
The simile, “Like Stone,” further emphasizes this irrevocability, vouchsafing an unyielding, determined state. Stone is nearly immutable and enduring, indicating that the soul’s decision is permanent and secure against change. This image also carries a sense of weight and stillness, contrasting with the dynamic imagery of chariots and emperors in the previous stanza.
The stanza’s brevity enhances its impact, as each line dramatically builds toward the final, evocative image of stone. The dashes keep their rhythm punctuating the lines, creating the important pauses that reflect the gravity of the soul’s withdrawal.
By framing the soul’s choice as selective—inclusive as well as exclusive—the speaker emphasizes the result of such individual autonomy: the soul expresses its sovereignty, and the less important connection with the broader world is exposed and laid to rest.
A Resolute Act of Agency
Emily Dickinson’s “The Soul selects her own Society” is a masterful exploration of individuality, autonomy, and the consequences of deliberate isolation. Through its three quatrains, the poem traces the soul’s journey from selection to rejection to final withdrawal, each stage completed by a resolute act of agency.
The first stanza establishes the soul’s sovereignty through its careful selection of companions, while the second illustrates its resistance to external temptations, and the third underscores the finality of its withdrawal.
Dickinson’s use of vivid imagery–doors, gates, chariots, emperors, valves, and stone–creates a rich tapestry of meaning, inviting readers to contemplate the power and cost of personal choice. The poem’s formal elements, including its concise structure, halting rhythm, and strategic use of dashes, enhance its thematic depth.
The dashes, in particular, serve as a stylistic hallmark, creating pauses that mirror the soul’s contemplative resolve and invite readers to engage with the text on a deeper level.
The capitalization of key terms, such as “Soul,” “Society,” and “Majority,” imbues them with metaphysical significance, elevating the poem’s exploration of individuality to a universal plane.
Contextually, the poem reflects Dickinson’s own life as a poet who chose solitude over societal engagement. Living in Amherst, Massachusetts, Dickinson maintained a reclusive lifestyle, corresponding with a select few while withdrawing from public life. This personal context informs the poem’s celebration of inner conviction, as well as its acknowledgment of the isolation that such conviction entails.
Philosophically, the poem aligns with transcendentalist ideas of self-reliance, as espoused by contemporaries like Ralph Waldo Emerson, though Dickinson’s perspective is more introspective and less optimistic about the individual’s connection to the broader world.
Ultimately, “The Soul selects her own Society” is a testament to Dickinson’s ability to distill complex ideas into concise, evocative verse. The poem invites readers to reflect on the nature of choice, the value of autonomy, and the delicate balance between connection and solitude.
By portraying the soul as a sovereign entity capable of shaping its own destiny, Dickinson’s speaker has affirmed the power of individuality while acknowledging the profound solitude that accompanies such freedom.
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 “A Bird came down the Walk”
Emily Dickinson’s “A Bird came down the Walk” using clever plays on words offers a keen observation, reminding listeners and readers of images which they can likely recognize.
Introduction with Text of “A Bird came down the Walk”
Emily Dickinson’s “A Bird came down the Walk” is one of the poet’s many fun poems loaded with clever word plays—a technique that creates a drama based on keen observation.
The little drama functions to remind readers and listeners of images stored in memory and scenes that they have also experienced in their lifetimes. In other words, the little fun poem is performing the primary function of any genuine poem. This Dickinson poem (#328 in Thomas H. Johnson’s Complete Poems) is one of the poet’s most anthologized poems.
The poem displays in five quatrains, employing a loose rime scheme in which the second and fourth lines sound out in either perfect (saw-raw) or slant (around-Head) rimes. Thomas H. Johnson’s Complete Poems offers the version that most closely represents the Dickinson manuscript, in which the line is “That hurried all around.”
Some editors have tried to improve or correct the poet’s rime scheme by changing “around” to “abroad.” The notion is that “abroad” is a better rime with “head” than “around.” But, as is nearly always the case, the poet’s subtle meanings are lost with these unfortunate editorial “corrections.”
For example, “abroad” suggests a much farther distance than “around.” The bird simply moved its head in such a way as to glimpse its immediate surroundings. The bird did not attempt to look searching into areas as far from it as in another country, as the term “abroad” suggests.
A Bird came down the Walk
A Bird came down the Walk – He did not know I saw – He bit an Angleworm in halves And ate the fellow, raw,
And then he drank a Dew From a convenient Grass – And then hopped sidewise to the Wall To let a Beetle pass –
He glanced with rapid eyes That hurried all around – They looked like frightened Beads, I thought – He stirred his Velvet Head
Like one in danger, Cautious, I offered him a Crumb And he unrolled his feathers And rowed him softer home –
Than Oars divide the Ocean, Too silver for a seam – Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon Leap, plashless as they swim.
Reading
Commentary on “A Bird came down the Walk”
Emily Dickinson’s poem “A Bird came down the Walk” is one of the poet’s many fun poems filled with entertaining plays on words. The little drama originates from the poet’s keen observation, and it functions as do all genuine poems to engage the reader’s own lived experience.
First Quatrain: Human Eyes Observe a Bird
A Bird came down the Walk – He did not know I saw – He bit an Angleworm in halves And ate the fellow, raw,
In the first quatrain, the speaker states simply that “A Bird came down the Walk.” Then she reports what happened next after assuring her audience that the bird remained unaware that it was being closely observed by a pair of inquisitive human eyes.
The bird grasps a worm, clips the worm in two pieces, and then swallows the unlucky creature. The bird does not bother to cook the worm—just gobbles it up “raw.” Dickinson seems to enjoy inserting some fun into her poems, and this one put on displays her sense of hilarity.
Second Quatrain: Clever and Playful Use of Terms
And then he drank a Dew From a convenient Grass – And then hopped sidewise to the Wall To let a Beetle pass –
The speaker then continues to report to her audience what she sees next: the bird sips some water from a blade of grass and then jumps out of the way so a beetle could crawl by. The poet must have enjoyed the cleverness of saying that the bird “drank a Dew / From a convenient Grass.”
The term “grass” clearly will remind the reader of the term “glass” from which the human beings are accustomed to drinking. While having the bird take a sip of the dew off a piece of grass is perfectly natural, it is equally convenient that the words so seemingly accidentally align with human experience.
After imbibing his sip of dew, the polite avian steps aside allowing another creature of nature to continue on with his journey. The speaker is portraying little acts of civility a she describes the antics of nature which she has so keenly observed.
Third Quatrain: Fidgeting, Frightened Eyes
He glanced with rapid eyes That hurried all around – They looked like frightened Beads, I thought – He stirred his Velvet Head
The speaker then reports the details regarding the eyes of the bird. This report seems to suggest the speaker was quite close to the bird. She was able to detect that his eyes moved quickly as they glimpsed “all around.” She also noticed that they resembled “frightened Beads.”
The absurdity of beads having the sensibility to become frightened simply strikes the consciousness as an appropriate use of exaggeration. No one would be confused and think that the speaker actually believes beads can experience emotion—especially since the speaker employs a simile and then inserts the claim “I thought.”
Also, it is likely that somewhere in the reader’s memory is the same sight—having seen a bird’s rapid eye movement. Thus, in this poem, the poet’s dramatic re-creation gives the reader back that image stored in memory. The observation, the image, the memory, and the experience all coming to support the fact that the claim is absolutely accurate.
It is, in fact, a perfectly accurate observation: those little black avian eyes “looked like frightened Beads.” And then the bird’s head begins to move: “He stirred his Velvet Head.”
Fourth Quatrain: Fear of Feeding
Like one in danger, Cautious, I offered him a Crumb And he unrolled his feathers And rowed him softer home –
The speaker understands exactly why the bird seemed suddenly to experience frightened eyes. And the bird begins to move his head because he has become fearful that the speaker has approached so close to the bird—close enough to attempt to bestow on him a morsel of food. The speaker says she offered him “a Crumb.”
Immediately after she offers him a bit of food, he does not stick around to accept that crumb—he flies off. The speaker then dramatizes that avian exit: “he unrolled his feathers / And rowed him softer home.”
Fifth Quatrain: Seamless Rowing
Than Oars divide the Ocean, Too silver for a seam – Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon Leap, plashless as they swim.
In the final quatrain, the speaker fashions her vitally important re-creation of the velvety smoothness of the bird’s flight. At the end of the fourth quatrain, the speaker had begun a comparison, stating that “he rowed him softer home.
She then continues and concludes that comparison in the first line of the final quatrain with “Than oars divide the Ocean.” The bird’s flight through the air remains invisible, as one does not see the air parting as the bird’s wings cut through it.
Thus, the bird flight is much softer in sight and sound than when one rows a boat through water using oars. The bird’s “rowing” was “Too silver for a seam.” And not only was it softer and seamless compared to rowing a boat on water, the bird’s flight was even smoother than the flight of butterflies jumping into the rivers of “Noon” swimming and splashing about.
The line “off Banks of Noon” likely encouraged another smile of satisfaction to poet’s face as she swam around in her own drama of cleverness. After all, she had created those immortal images that will reawaken the dormant memories in readers and listeners years and years hence.
Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – This daguerrotype circa 1847 at age 17 is likely the only authentic, extant image of the poet.
Emily Dickinson’s “It did not surprise me”
In Emily Dickinson’s “It did not surprise me,” the speaker has created a bird metaphor as she begins to muse on the unlikely event that she may lose her intuitive ability to perceive beyond sense awareness.
Introduction with Text of “It did not surprise me”
With a similar motivational purpose of her riddle-poem “I have a Bird in spring,” Emily Dickinson’s speaker in “It did not surprise me” employs a bird metaphor to contemplate the notion that her special intuitive ability to perceive events, ideas, and entities beyond sense awareness might abandon her.
The bird metaphor remains a useful poetic device for Emily Dickinson‘s speakers as they bestow flight on their ability to create poetic dramas. Also, similar to her riddle-poem “I have a Bird in spring” in this little drama, the speaker is unveiling the metaphorical bird as a mystical muse, as the speaker ruminates on the idea that if that little birdling were to fly away from her, she would become heartbroken.
However, unlike the riddle aspect in “I have a Bird in spring,” the poet allows her speaker to report first as if she is merely describing a literal bird. The speaker then moves into a questioning format which shines a light on the possibility that her muse might just up and fly off as any real bird might do.
The speaker is obliged, however, to leave the issue without answering it, because she will keep that question as long as she continues in her mission of poetry creation. Ultimately, no creative artist can ever know in advance, if or when inspiration will vanish and possibly never return.
Despite temporary flights into the clairvoyance of certain noumena, as long as the poet remains earth bound, she remains dependent to a certain extent on ordinary sense awareness.
It did not surprise me
It did not surprise me – So I said – or thought – She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot,
Traverse broader forests – Build in gayer boughs, Breathe in Ear more modern God’s old fashioned vows –
This was but a Birdling – What and if it be One within my bosom Had departed me?
This was but a story – What and if indeed There were just such coffin In the heart instead?
Reading of “It did not surprise me”
Commentary on “It did not surprise me”
Dickinson’s speaker metaphorically likens her muse—which she knows is bound to her mystical insight—to a bird, as she contemplates the possibility of losing the blessing provided by her innate, God-given talent and mystical ability.
First Stanza: A Thought Awakening
It did not surprise me – So I said – or thought – She will stir her pinions And the nest forgot,
The speaker begins her soliloquy by admitting that her lack of “surprise” at some event has been prompted by the thought of a bird stirring and flying off from its nest. Between her opening statement and the bird’s first movement, the speaker asserts that upon realizing her lack of surprise, she spoke out but then changed her claim to the fact that she merely thought about the coming event without actually giving it voice.
The final two lines of the stanza express the possibility of an activity as she states that this particular bird will start fluttering its wings, readying itself for flight and then fly off from its nest. Such an avian forsaking its nest will then likely not even recall that it had ever stayed there.
That status is simply the essential nature of natural creatures, as well as specific metaphorical birds that may be likened to the muse. If this style of muse abandons its target permanently, it will likely not recall that it had ever inspired any such soul.
Interestingly, Dickinson has her speaker employ the past tense “forgot” but clearly the actual meaning is present tense “forget.” She possibly employed the past tense because it stands in as a closer rime to “thought.”
However, a different interpretation of the meaning may call for the term “forgot” to be understood as the shortened form of the past participle, as in the nest will be “forgotten.” Through her widespread employment of minimalism and ellipsis, the poet has her speaker leave out “nest will be,” requiring the phrase to be understood and, therefore, supplied by the reader’s mind.
Second Stanza: Ranging to New Territories
Traverse broader forests – Build in gayer boughs, Breathe in Ear more modern God’s old fashioned vows –
After rousing its pinions and flying from its nest, this bird will roam in new territories or through “broader forests.” It may reconstruct a new nest in a place deemed happier for its circumstances, that is, “gayer boughs.” The bird will listen to fresh sounds, as it enjoys the many blessings of its Divine Creator, Who has promised to guard and guide all of His creatures.
At this point, the bird has taken on only a few metaphorical qualities. The message could thus be that of merely dramatizing what any young bird might do, after awakening to the marvelous reality of possessing the delicious ability to fly and range wide from its original location.
Third Stanza: Bird in the Heart
This was but a Birdling – What and if it be One within my bosom Had departed me?
The speaker now admits that the little flying creature she has been describing was, in actuality, a simple little bird, or “Birdling.” But then she changes her focus to the “One” that lives in her heart, asking the basic question—what if my little bird-muse leaves me?
In her poem “I have a Bird in spring,” the poet also had her speaker describe her mystical muse as a bird. That poem also plays out as one of her numerous riddle-poems, as she seems to be describing some impossible entity that can fly from her but then return to her and bring her gifts from beyond the sea.
That special metaphorical bird has the power to calm her in times of stress. Similar to “I have a Bird in spring,” which is one of her most profound poems, this one, “It did not surprise me,” remains on the exact same consistent plane of mystical perception.
Unquestionably, the natural creature known as a “bird” as a metaphorical vehicle for the soul (muse or mystically creative spirit) remains quite appropriate, as poet Paul Laurence Dunbar has also demonstrated in his classic masterpiece “Sympathy.”
Fourth Stanza: A Intriguing Inquiry
This was but a story – What and if indeed There were just such coffin In the heart instead?
The speaker offers another admission that up to this point she has been merely speculating about her bird/muse flying off from its nest in her heart/mind/soul. She crafts another inquiry, repeating the curious phrase “[w]hat and if” before her question.
This poignant question employs the term “coffin” indicating the drastic and deadly situation that would exist in her mind/heart/soul, if her bird/muse did actually fly off from her to explore more extensive forests and build nests on more joyful boughs. The speaker affirms her belief that such a loss to her heart and mind would materialize that “coffin,” if such an event ever transpired.
Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – This daguerrotype circa 1847 at age 17 is likely the only authentic, extant image of the poet.
Emily Dickinson’s “There is another sky”
Emily Dickinson’s “There is another sky” reveals the speaker’s confidence in her creation of a world of beauty that will exist in perpetuity. She is envisioning a world beyond the physical level of existence, where permanence prevails in things of beauty.
Introduction with Text of “There is another sky”
Emily Dickinson’s “There is another sky” is an American-Innovative sonnet. Each line is short, featuring only 3 to 5 metric feet, and with Dickinson’s characteristic slant or near rime; the rime scheme plays out roughly, ABCBCDECFCGHIH.
This American-Innovative sonnet thematically sections itself into two quatrains and a sestet, making it a gentle melding of the English (Shakespeare) and Italian (Petrarchan) sonnets. The speaker of the poem is previewing her intention to establish a world where the pairs of opposites do not obstruct the lives of the inhabitants.
Such beloved features and qualities of life, such as beauty, peace, harmony, balance, and love will hold sway uninterrupted by pesky things like change and disfigurement in her newly created “garden.” On a second note, she is also inviting her brother to enter her new garden that exists under a different sky so that he too may enjoy the divinely fragranced atmosphere of her new creation.
On the literal level, the poet is creating a speaker who is announcing her audacious plan to create a brand new world with her poetry. It will be such a special place so other-worldly that nothing unpleasant that exists in earthly reality will exist there.
Because everything she creates will be based on her imagination and intuition, she can fashion her “garden” to grow anything she finds feasible. That she anticipates no arrival of “frost,’ she can guarantee that flowers will not “fade.” Also leaves will be able to remain “ever green.”
Posing as a invitation, Dickinson’s little drama serves as a clever ruse to persuade her brother to come and experience her poetry. By promising him a whole new, different world, she no doubt hopes he will be more likely to take her up on her offer.
There is another sky
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin, Never mind silent fields – Here is a little forest, Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum: Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!
Reading of “There is another sky”
Commentary on “There is another sky”
Emily Dickinson’s “There is another sky” reveals an attitude dramatized in the Shakespeare sonnets: the poet’s confidence in her creation of a world of beauty that will last forever.
The poem is a literal invitation from the poet to her brother Austin to read her poetry, where she is erecting a new place to exist, a beautiful garden free of the decay that literal gardens must undergo.
First Quatrain: Physical Sky vs Metaphysical Sky
There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there;
In the first quatrain, the speaker begins by alerting readers that in addition to the “sky” and “sunshine” that already experience on the earthly level, there exist a different sky and a different sunshine.
The other sky about which the speaker is declaiming is always “serene and fair. Thus, no thunder storms or dark clouds intrude into this new sky’s space. The beauty and calmness of a clear blue sky offer an inviting and intriguing possibility.
The speaker then announces the existence of “another sunshine.” But this sunshine seems to have the magic and delicious power to shining even through the darkness. This claim is the first flag that the speaker will be referring to a mystical or metaphysical place that only the soul can perceive.
Behind the darkness of closed eyes, the only “sunshine” or light that can be seen is that of the spiritual eye. Although the speaker cannot guarantee that her entire audience will be able to see such “sunshine,” she is sure that on a mental level they can imagine such a heavenly place.
Second Quatrain: No Fading in the Metaphysical Universe
Never mind faded forests, Austin, Never mind silent fields – Here is a little forest, Whose leaf is ever green;
The speaker then directly addresses someone, admonishing him to pay no attention to “faded forests.” She then the addresses the individual by name, “Austin. ” Austin is the name of Dickinson’s brother. She then admonishes Austin to ignore the “silent fields.”
The reason that Austin should ignore those faded forests and silent fields is that in this place to which she is inviting him, the “little forest” presents leaves that remain perpetually green. And the fields will remain perpetually filled with fruitful crops, never having to lie fallow.
While dropping hints throughout, he speaker remains illusive regarding the whereabouts of this place where the sky, the sun, forests and fields, and leaves all behave differently from that of the physical universe that humanity must experience on the earthly plane.
Sestet: Invitation to the Metaphysical Garden
Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum: Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!
The speaker now offers some further description of this new place with a new sky and new sun; she then states that that place is “a brighter garden.” As earthly gardens are bright, mystical or metaphysical gardens remain even brighter.
In the metaphysical garden, there is never a fear of “frost” that kills earthly plants with its sting. Flowers will not fade because of frost or from simply aging. The magic of her garden will guarantee that the beauty of the flowers will bloom forth in perpetuity.
Because of the ability of the flowers to remain “unfading,” bees will always be able to partake of their nectar any time they choose. Thus, the speaker avers that she can “hear the bright bee hum.”
The bright bee is, no doubt, brighter than the ordinary, earthly, literal bee. And because of the permanence of her newly created metaphysical garden, she can listen to the pleasant hum any time she wishes.
In the final couplet, the speaker sets forth the clear invitation to her brother, virtually begging him to come into her garden. She employs the archaic expression “[p]rithee” (conflation of “pray thee”) to emphasize her desire that he take her up on her offer to visit her “garden.”
On the literal level, the poet has created a speaker who extends an invitation to the poet’s brother to read her poems. She has offered an alluring set of reasons to try to capture the brother’s imagination and interest.
And to her other readers, the poet has created a speaker to extend that same invitation, as she hopes the notion of a new, permanent, created world will capture their imaginations also.
Dickinson Riddles
Emily Dickinson’s American-Innovative sonnet “There is another sky” is one of the poet’s many riddles. Her speaker never states directly that the garden is her poetry, but still, she is inviting her brother in to read her poems.
The speaker continues to imply throughout the sonnet that she has constructed a whole new world, where things can live unmolested by the irritants that exist on the physical plane of life. The sky can remain “serene and fair”—no storms, tornadoes, hurricanes, heavy rainstorms that frighten and damage.
And the sunshine can present itself even through the darkness. Forests never fade and die out, and the fields remain always bursting with life; they never lie fallow or turn to dust as on the real, earthy plane—that literal world.
The trees can enjoy wearing green leaves and never have to drop them after they turn all brown or rusty. The speaker is privy to all these utopian-sounding acts because she has created it.
And like the master writer of the Shakespeare sonnets, Dickinson’s speaker knows that she has fashioned out of crude, earthly nature an art that will provide pleasure in perpetuity to the minds and hearts of those who have the ability to imagine and intuit along with her.
This speaker further demonstrates a certain level of cheek and courage by inviting her own brother into her creation. While she no doubt quietly wonders if he will be as impressed as she is, she shows a certain level of confidence by offering such an invitation.
Full Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – This daguerrotype circa 1847 at age 17 is likely the only authentic, extant image 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“Like Brooms of Steel”
Emily Dickinson’s “Like Brooms of Steel” features the riddle-like metaphoric usage that the poet so often employs. She playfully turns the natural elements of snow and wind into brooms made of steel and allows them to sweep the streets, while the coldness draws stillness through the landscape.
Like Brooms of Steel
Like Brooms of Steel The Snow and Wind Had swept the Winter Street – The House was hooked The Sun sent out Faint Deputies of Heat — Where rode the Bird The Silence tied His ample — plodding Steed The Apple in the Cellar snug Was all the one that played.
Commentary on “Like Brooms of Steel”
For Emily Dickinson the seasons offered ample opportunities for verse creation, and her love for all of the seasons is quite evident in her poems. However, her poetic dramas become especially deep and profound in her winter poems.
First Movement: The Nature of Things in Winter
Like Brooms of Steel The Snow and Wind Had swept the Winter Street —
The speaker has been observing and musing on the nature of things in winter. She finally speaks and makes the remarkable claim that the “Winter Street” looks as if it has been swept by “Brooms of Steel.” The “Snow and Wind” are the agencies that have behaved like those hard, industrial brooms. In Dickinson’s time were decidedly absent those big plows we have today that come rumbling down the streets, county roads, and interstates.
But those simple natural elements of snow and wind have moved the snow down the street in such a way that it looks as if it has been swept with a broom. And not just a straw broom would do, but it had to be a steel broom, an anomaly even in Dickinson’s century.
Second Movement: House as Big Warm Rug
The House was hooked The Sun sent out Faint Deputies of Heat –
The speaker then remarks about “the House,” which looked as if it had been, “hooked.” She is referring to the process of creating a rug with a loom that employs a hook. The house is like a big warm rug as “The Sun sent out / Faint Deputies of Heat.” Of course, the sun will always be sending out heat, but this speaker looks upon those dribbles of warmth as mere “Deputies.” They are sent in place of the sheriff, who will not appear until summer, or late spring at the most.
Third Movement: A Tree Steed
Where rode the Bird The Silence tied His ample – plodding Steed
The speaker then spies a bird, who seems to have ridden in on a “plodding Steed.” But the steed has been stilled by “silence”—denoting that the steed was indeed a tall tree. The tree is silenced by fall having blown away all of his leaves. He no longer rustles in the wind, but he does serve as a useful vehicle for both bird and poet.
Fourth Movement: Silent, Frozen
The Apple in the Cellar snug Was all the one that played.
The winter scene is filled with things that are still, silent, frozen in place by those agents of cold. The still bird sits in the still tree, silent, waiting in the frozen atmosphere. The musing speaker detects both silence and stillness and makes them vibrant with an inner, spiritual movement.
Yet, the speaker has to confess that the only real movement, things that might be said to have “played” that cold day, belongs to the “Apple in the Cellar.” The apple is “snug,” wrapped in tissue paper, preserved for the long winter months.
Or perhaps even some apple wine is “snug” in its bottle, and might even be a better candidate for playing. But they differ greatly from those outdoor creatures; those apples possess a level of warmth that allows them to play, although the irony of such playing might intrigue and tickle the fancy of the musing mind that deigns to contemplate the icy bitterness of winter.
Misplaced Line Alters Meaning
A number of sites that offer this poem—for example, bartleby.com—misplace the line, “The Apple in the Cellar snug,” relocating it after “Faint Deputies of Heat.”
This alteration changes the meaning of the poem: Dickinson’s poem makes it clear that it is the “apple” that is the only one who played. While it might seem more sensible to say a horse played instead of an apple, that is not what the original poem states. And, in actuality, the apple does, in fact, do some moving as it will begin to decay even though it is securely wrapped for winter and stored in the cellar.
The problem is, however, that the speaker has said that silence has “tied” or stilled the steed; he is not moving, which means that the bird is not moving. So to claim that the steed is playing gives motion to the bird, which the speaker claims is still.
The only thing that makes sense is that the speaker is exaggerating the stillness by saying that the snug apple is playing. The irony of a playing apple does not contradict the stillness that the speaker is painting, while the playing steed would violate and confuse that meaning.
Full 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 “Nature – the Gentlest Mother is”
In a unique mystical voice, Emily Dickinson’s speaker is dramatizing a number of the many ways in which Mother Nature takes care of her children. Dickinson’s keep observation and knowledge of science allowed her the ability to skillfully create her little dramas about her surroundings.
Introduction with Text of “Nature – the Gentlest Mother is”
Emily Dickinson’s love of nature was deep and abiding. Along with her intense study of and research in the sciences, she observed her surroundings keenly and those activities bestowed on her the ability to render into art her amazingly beautiful and accurate statements regarding how nature functions.
Dickinson discovered the careful nurturing as well as the softly discipling forces of nature, and she observed those qualities in both the animal and plant kingdoms. Those natural qualities motivated a deep affection for the workings of all of God’s creation.
This poem contrasts greatly with her riddle-poems, for it states explicitly the target of her observation—nature. After he clear statement of focus, she demonstrates how keen were her powers of observation and then how skillful she was in transforming those observations into art.
Nature – the Gentlest Mother is
Nature – the Gentlest Mother is, Impatient of no Child – The feeblest – or the waywardest – Her Admonition mild –
In Forest – and the Hill – By Traveller – be heard – Restraining Rampant Squirrel – Or too impetuous Bird –
How fair Her Conversation – A Summer Afternoon – Her Household – Her Assembly – And when the Sun go down –
Her Voice among the Aisles Incite the timid prayer Of the minutest Cricket – The most unworthy Flower –
When all the Children sleep – She turns as long away As will suffice to light Her lamps – Then bending from the Sky –
With infinite Affection – And infiniter Care – Her Golden finger on Her lip – Wills Silence – Everywhere –
Commentary on “Nature – the Gentlest Mother is”
Emily Dickinson’s speaker is employing her unique mystical voice as she dramatizes a catalogue of the myriad ways in which Mother Nature nurtures the beings under her care. She has determined that the Mother that mothers nature uses the softest touch, thus earning the title of “Gentlest Mother.”
First Stanza: The Mothering from Mother Nature
Nature – the Gentlest Mother is, Impatient of no Child – The feeblest – or the waywardest – Her Admonition mild –
The speaker in Emily Dickinson’s “Nature – the Gentlest Mother is“ assigns to Mother Nature the superb quality of “Gentlest Mother.”
The speaker is also reporting to her audience that this gentlest of mothers has abundant patience in dealing with her charges.
Mother Nature, this gentlest mother, guides in an even tempered way those who are the weakest. And she addresses and corrects in a “mild” manner those who are the most recalcitrant.
Second Stanza: Disciplining Methods
In Forest – and the Hill – By Traveller – be heard – Restraining Rampant Squirrel – Or too impetuous Bird
As Mother Nature’s human progeny moves over the hills and go riding through the woodlands, they are apt to hear that Gentlest Mother as she restrains an excited “Squirrel,” or as she tones down a very tempestuous bird.
The speaker expresses the natural behavior of animals in terms of the disciplining methods used by the “Gentlest Mother.”
Animal behavior quite often requires that a higher force guide them in their impetuousness. And thus the gentlest mother deals with them as they require. In her tenderness, they are permitted to flourish and to grow. In their life span, they remain in the embrace of the mother’s caring, tender arms.
Third Stanza: Measured Ways
How fair Her Conversation – A Summer Afternoon – Her Household – Her Assembly – And when the Sun go down –
The speaker observes that this gentlest mother’s discussions with her charges always remains completely balanced.
The speaker relates how on a beautifully peaceful summer afternoon this perfect mother maintained her “Household,” while gathering together all the fine qualities of her very being, and those of her little family.
The speaker then commences her next idea in this stanza but leaves it conclusion in the fourth stanza. The skillful placement of this statement permits the action taken in “And when the Sun do down” to become finalized; then, she moves on the remainder of the thought.
Fourth Stanza: Bringing Forth Prayer
Her Voice among the Aisles Incite the timid prayer Of the minutest Cricket – The most unworthy Flower –
The speaker places this gentlest Mother “among the Aisles” from where she can bring forth from the attendees their “timid prayer.”
In an earlier poem, the poet has reported that her “church” remains where the creatures of nature abide; they luckily appear nearby her home which serves her as her cloister:
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church – I keep it, staying at Home – With a Bobolink for a Chorister – And an Orchard, for a Dome
Therefore, in this fourth stanza of “Nature – the Gentlest Mother is,” her speaker can assert that this gentlest Mother may be found bringing forth a prayer from the smallest “Cricket” and “The most unworthy Flower.”
Naturally, the human notion of “unworthy” cannot be not applied to the evaluation by this gentlest mother, because she accepts all prayers equally. She applies the same level of justice to all of her children.
Fifth Stanza: Dousing the Lights for Sleep
When all the Children sleep – She turns as long away As will suffice to light Her lamps – Then bending from the Sky –
As the day progresses to its end—”when all the Children sleep”—this gentlest mother quietly moves to put one her lamps. And of course those lamps are the moon and stars.
Here again in this stanza, the speaker begins an idea, but then again puts off its conclusion to the next stanza.
The speaker has begun the thought of the mother “bending” from her perch in the heavens. She thus travels very far to light her lamps, and then she must return to her children.
Sixth Stanza: Hushing for Slumber
With infinite Affection – And infiniter Care – Her Golden finger on Her lip – Wills Silence – Everywhere –
It is with great affection and tender care that this gentlest mother moves her “Golden finger” to her lips, signaling for “silence.” Night is now embracing her children who are spread far and wide.
The mother now calls for silence so that her charges may peacefully slumber. The mother bestows on them a great stillness that is night time, so that they may rest from the day’s activities. And so that they they recharge for the coming events of the coming day.
Taking his place among luminaries such as Dickinson and Whitman, Frost has remained one of the most widely anthologized American poets of all time. His poems are more complex than simple nature pieces; many are “tricky—very tricky,” as he once quipped about “The Road Not Taken.”
Robert Frost has earned his reputation as one of America’s most beloved poets. The poet holds the honor of being the first American poet to deliver his poems to the assembled celebrants at the 1961 inauguration of the 35th president of the United States of America, John F. Kennedy.
Early Life
Robert Frost’s father, William Prescott Frost, Jr., was a journalist, residing in San Fransisco, California, when Robert Lee Frost was born on March 26, 1874. Robert’s mother, Isabelle, was an immigrant from Scotland.
The young Frost spent the first eleven years of his childhood in San Fransisco. After his father died of tuberculosis, Robert’s mother relocated the family, including his sister, Jeanie, to Lawrence, Massachusetts, where they lived with Robert’s paternal grandparents.
In 1892, Robert graduated from Lawrence High School, where he and Elinor White, his future wife, served as co-valedictorians.
Robert then made his first attempt to attend college at Dartmouth College, but after only a few months, he left school and returned to Lawrence, where he began working a series of part-time jobs [1].
Marriage and Children
Elinor White, who had been Robert’s high school sweetheart, was attending St. Lawrence University when Robert proposed to her. She turned him down because she wanted to complete her college education before she married.
Robert then moved to Virginia, and then after he returned to Lawrence, again he proposed to Elinor, who had now completed her college education. The couple married on December 19, 1895. They produced six children.
Their son, Eliot, was born in 1896 but died in 1900 of cholera; their daughter, Lesley, lived from 1899 to 1983. Their son, Carol, born in in 1902 but committed suicide in 1940.
Their daughter, Irma, 1903 to 1967, battled schizophrenia for which she was confined in a mental hospital. Daughter, Marjorie, born 1905 died of puerperal fever after giving birth. Their sixth child, Elinor Bettina, who was born in 1907, died one day after her birth.
Only Lesley and Irma survived their father. Mrs. Frost suffered heart issues for most of her life. She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1937 but the following year died of heart failure [2].
Farming and Writing
Robert then again attempted to attend college. In 1897, he enrolled in Harvard University, but because of health problems, he was forced to leave school again. He rejoined his wife in Lawrence. Their second child Lesley was born in 1899.
The family then relocated to a New Hampshire farm that Robert’s grandparents had procured for him. Robert’s farming phase thus began as he strove to farm the land while continuing his writing. The Frost’s farming endeavors continued to result in unsuccessful fits and starts. Frost became well adjusted to rustic life, despite his lack of success as a farmer.
On November 8, 1894, in The Independent, a New York newspaper, Frost’s first poem “My Butterfly” appeared in print. The next dozen years proved to be a difficult period in the poet’s personal life yet a fertile one for his writing. The poet’s writing life was launched in a impressive fashion, and the rural, rustic influence on his poems would set a tone and style for all of his works.
Nevertheless, despite the popularity of his individually published poems, such “The Tuft of Flowers” and “The Trial by Existence,” he could not secure a publisher for his collections of works [3].
Moving to England
In 1912, Frost sold the New Hampshire farm and relocated his family to England. Because of his failure to find a publisher in the US for his collections of poems, he decided to try his luck across the pond.
That moved turned out to be life-line for the young poet and his career. At age 38 in England, Frost found a publisher for his collection A Boy’s Will and soon after for his collection North of Boston.
In addition to securing publishers for his two books, the American poet became acquainted with Ezra Pound and Edward Thomas, two important contemporary poets. Pound and Thomas reviewed favorably Frost’s two book, and thus Frost’s career as a poet was launched.
Frost’s friendship with Edward Thomas became especially important, and Frost has revealed that the long walks taken by the two poet/friends had influenced his writing in a wonderfully constructive manner.
Frost has given credit to Thomas for one of his most famous poems, “The Road Not Taken,” which was influenced by Thomas’ attitude toward the fact of not being able to take two different paths on their long walks.
Returning to America
After World War 1 began in Europe, the Frosts moved back to the United States. Their brief stay in England had sparked useful results for the poet’s reputation, for even in his native country, he was becoming well known and loved.
American Publisher Henry Holt republished Frost’s earlier collections, and then published the poet’s third collection, Mountain Interval, which had been written while Frost was still living in England.
Frost began to experience the pleasing situation of having the same journals, such as The Atlantic, solicit his work, even though they had rejected those same works only a few years earlier.
In 1915, the Frosts purchased a farm, located in Franconia, New Hampshire. Their traveling days had come to and end, and Frost continued his writing career. Frost also taught intermittently at a number of colleges, including Dartmouth, University of Michigan, and especially Amherst College, where he served regularly from 1916 until 1938.
Amherst’s primary library is now the Robert Frost Library, in honor of the long-time educator and poet. Frost also spent most of his summers teaching English at Middlebury College in Vermont.
Frost never completed a university degree, but over his lifetime, he accumulated more than forty honorary degrees. Frost won the Pulitzer Prize four times for his books, New Hampshire, Collected Poems, A Further Range, and A Witness Tree.
Frost labeled himself a “lone wolf” in the world of poetry because he did not follow any current literary movements. His only motivation was to express the human condition in a world of duality.
Frost did not pretend to explain that condition; he sought solely to create his little dramas to reveal the nature of the emotional life in the mind and heart of a human being [4].
First American Inaugural Poet
Robert Frost had intended to star his occasional piece “Dedication” as a preface to the poem that the President-Elect John F. Kennedy had requested for his 1961 inauguration.
But the sun rendered Frost’s reading impossible, so he dropped “Dedication” but continued on to recite “The Gift Outright” from memory.
Introduction with Text of “Dedication”
On January 20, 1961, Robert Frost became the first American poet to deliver a poem at a presidential inauguration. He recited his poem “The Gift Outright” at the swearing in of John F. Kennedy as the 35th president of the United States of America. Frost had also written a new poem to preface his recitation of “The Gift Outright,” but he did not have time to commit his new piece to memory.
At the inauguration, Frost began to read the new piece, but he was unable to see clearly his copy of the poem because of the bright sunlight bouncing off the snow; he managed to stumble through the first 23 lines of the new poem [5]. But then he switched to reciting “The Gift Outright,” which he had by memory.
While Frost’s “Dedication” offers some useful and important historical features, it does reveal some of the fawning exaggeration that occasional poems [6] are often wont to suffer.
Dedication
Summoning artists to participate In the august occasions of the state Seems something artists ought to celebrate. Today is for my cause a day of days. And his be poetry’s old-fashioned praise Who was the first to think of such a thing. This verse that in acknowledgement I bring Goes back to the beginning of the end Of what had been for centuries the trend; A turning point in modern history. Colonial had been the thing to be As long as the great issue was to see What country’d be the one to dominate By character, by tongue, by native trait, The new world Christopher Columbus found. The French, the Spanish, and the Dutch were downed And counted out. Heroic deeds were done. Elizabeth the First and England won. Now came on a new order of the ages That in the Latin of our founding sages (Is it not written on the dollar bill We carry in our purse and pocket still?) God nodded his approval of as good So much those heroes knew and understood, I mean the great four, Washington, John Adams, Jefferson, and Madison So much they saw as consecrated seers They must have seen ahead what not appears, They would bring empires down about our ears And by the example of our Declaration Make everybody want to be a nation. And this is no aristocratic joke At the expense of negligible folk. We see how seriously the races swarm In their attempts at sovereignty and form. They are our wards we think to some extent For the time being and with their consent, To teach them how Democracy is meant. “New order of the ages” did they say? If it looks none too orderly today, ‘Tis a confusion it was ours to start So in it have to take courageous part. No one of honest feeling would approve A ruler who pretended not to love A turbulence he had the better of. Everyone knows the glory of the twain Who gave America the aeroplane To ride the whirlwind and the hurricane. Some poor fool has been saying in his heart Glory is out of date in life and art. Our venture in revolution and outlawry Has justified itself in freedom’s story Right down to now in glory upon glory. Come fresh from an election like the last, The greatest vote a people ever cast, So close yet sure to be abided by, It is no miracle our mood is high. Courage is in the air in bracing whiffs Better than all the stalemate an’s and ifs. There was the book of profile tales declaring For the emboldened politicians daring To break with followers when in the wrong, A healthy independence of the throng, A democratic form of right divine To rule first answerable to high design. There is a call to life a little sterner, And braver for the earner, learner, yearner. Less criticism of the field and court And more preoccupation with the sport. It makes the prophet in us all presage The glory of a next Augustan age Of a power leading from its strength and pride, Of young ambition eager to be tried, Firm in our free beliefs without dismay, In any game the nations want to play. A golden age of poetry and power Of which this noonday’s the beginning hour.
Commentary on “Dedication”
Robert Frost’s poem “The Gift Outright” remains the poem remembered for the inauguration of John F. Kennedy, and it also happens to be a much stronger poem than “Dedication.”
Frost once remarked [7] about his poem “The Gift Outright” that is was “a history of the United States in a dozen lines of blank verse.”
First Movement: Invocation to Artists
Summoning artists to participate In the august occasions of the state Seems something artists ought to celebrate. Today is for my cause a day of days. And his be poetry’s old-fashioned praise Who was the first to think of such a thing. This verse that in acknowledgement I bring Goes back to the beginning of the end Of what had been for centuries the trend; A turning point in modern history.
The speaker seems to be postponing his task of making this inauguration a grand and glorious event by remarking the efficacy and appropriateness of artists contributing to such an occasion. He likens his current effort to past glories of “poetry’s old-fashioned praise” of remarking that certain occasions are bound to point to historical trends.
The speaker’s claims remain rather vague and noncommittal but still leave open the possibility that things will become clearer and more specific as he continues to offer his gems of wisdom.
He claims that what he is doing, bringing verse to event, is as old as the beginning. But that beginning is then sparked by the “beginning of the end”; thus, the speaker is covering himself in case he may be proven wrong.
Second Movement: The Forming of a Nation
Colonial had been the thing to be As long as the great issue was to see What country’d be the one to dominate By character, by tongue, by native trait, The new world Christopher Columbus found. The French, the Spanish, and the Dutch were downed And counted out. Heroic deeds were done. Elizabeth the First and England won.
The speaker then draws an interesting picture of “colonial” America. He contends that the many nations that have found their progeny on the new shores were battling for dominance, putting forth the question: would France, Spain, or Holland take the lead in heading the American nation?
But then he answers the question by declaring England the winner, as “Elizabeth the First and England won.” Thus, the speaker provides answers to this question of whose characteristics, language, and traits would prevail: America would not adopt French or Spanish or Dutch as its native language; it would be English whose tongue the New World would speak.
Also, one can imagine the “native traits” including English style clothing, manners, and food. The other nations, while welcome, would take their place as an accompanying position.
Third Movement: Tribute to the Founding
Now came on a new order of the ages That in the Latin of our founding sages (Is it not written on the dollar bill We carry in our purse and pocket still?) God nodded his approval of as good So much those heroes knew and understood, I mean the great four, Washington, John Adams, Jefferson, and Madison So much they saw as consecrated seers They must have seen ahead what not appears, They would bring empires down about our ears And by the example of our Declaration Make everybody want to be a nation.
While this movement contains a number of historically accurate statements, it remains rather awkward in its structural execution. The parenthetical—”(Is it not written on the dollar bill / We carry in our purse and pocket still?)”— followed by the line,”God nodded his approval of as good” render their substance less impactful.
That “Latin of our founding sages” refers to “E Pluribus Unum,” (Out of the many, One) and loses it heft when placed as a parenthetical. Robert Frost was a somewhat religious agnostic. That he would claim that God was nodding approval of anything seems a bit out of character sparking a question of sincerity.
Because of Frost’s wholly secular take on the historical founding of a nation— despite the fact that one of the founding principles for founding this nation was religious—the questionable sincerity issue continues to present itself.
This issue is especially evident since the poem is an occasional poems specifically written to celebrate a politician in his ascendency to political office. The tribute to “Washington, / John Adams, Jefferson, and Madison,” whom the speaker designates “as consecrated seers” remains a wholly accurate statement.
And the final two lines appropriately celebrate the document the “Declaration of Independence” which along with the U. S. Constitution remain two of the most important texts ever to exist. The existence of those documents remains important both to the American nation and the world, making “everybody want to be a nation.”
Fourth Movement: Pursuing Life, Liberty, and Happiness
And this is no aristocratic joke At the expense of negligible folk. We see how seriously the races swarm In their attempts at sovereignty and form. They are our wards we think to some extent For the time being and with their consent, To teach them how Democracy is meant. “New order of the ages” did they say? If it looks none too orderly today, ‘Tis a confusion it was ours to start So in it have to take courageous part. No one of honest feeling would approve A ruler who pretended not to love A turbulence he had the better of.
The speaker then engages the issue of immigration to this newly formed nation. It makes perfect sense that folks from all over the world would desire to emigrate from totalitarian, freedom-squelching dictators in their own nations. And it remains quite sensible that they would want to relocate to this new land.
This new land from the beginning embraces freedom and individual responsibility while promising such in those documents delineating the basic human rights of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
The speaker denigrates the notion that only the aristocrats were appreciated and allowed to flourish in this new land. New immigrants may become our “ward,” but that status is only temporary and “with their consent.” In other words, new immigrants can become citizens of our new land of freedom because that new land represents the “[n]ew order of the ages.”
Fifth Movement: A Courageous Nation
Everyone knows the glory of the twain Who gave America the aeroplane To ride the whirlwind and the hurricane. Some poor fool has been saying in his heart Glory is out of date in life and art. Our venture in revolution and outlawry Has justified itself in freedom’s story Right down to now in glory upon glory. Come fresh from an election like the last, The greatest vote a people ever cast, So close yet sure to be abided by, It is no miracle our mood is high. Courage is in the air in bracing whiffs Better than all the stalemate an’s and ifs.
The speaker then focuses on the very specific event of the Wright Brothers (“the twain”) and their new invention “the aeroplane.” He then asserts that such feats have put the lie to the “poor fool” who thinks that there is no longer any “glory” in “life and art.” He insists that the American adventure story in “revolution and outlawry” has been gloriously vindicated and “justified [ ] in freedom’s story.”
The speaker then offers his take of how this recent election, whose result he is now celebrating, played out. He deems it the “greatest vote a people ever cast”—an obvious exaggeration. Yet, while the election was “close,” it will be “abided by.” The citizenry’s mood is “high,” and that fact is “no miracle.” He then asserts that such a situation arises out of the courage of the nation.
Sixth Movement: The Curse of the Inaugural Poem
There was the book of profile tales declaring For the emboldened politicians daring To break with followers when in the wrong, A healthy independence of the throng, A democratic form of right divine To rule first answerable to high design. There is a call to life a little sterner, And braver for the earner, learner, yearner. Less criticism of the field and court And more preoccupation with the sport. It makes the prophet in us all presage The glory of a next Augustan age Of a power leading from its strength and pride, Of young ambition eager to be tried, Firm in our free beliefs without dismay, In any game the nations want to play. A golden age of poetry and power Of which this noonday’s the beginning hour.
In the opening line of this final movement, the speaker alludes to John F. Kennedy’s book, Profiles in Courage—”book of profile tales.” Of course, the inaugural poet in his inaugural poem had to focus on the subject of this occasion, the new president of the United States, whom he is celebrating with his poem.
But then he becomes overly solicitous in his following remarks claiming that this president was a politician who can “break with followers when in the wrong.” The speaker furthers his fawning remarks by suggesting that this administration would be a “democratic form of right divine / To rule first answerable to high design.” This statement boarders on toadying flattery.
Then the puffery in the movement continues with the prediction of a “next Augustan age,” until the final unfortunate lines, “A golden age of poetry and power / Of which this noonday’s the beginning hour.”
Of course, hindsight now confirms that no “golden age” ever resulted for politics or poetry. And this president was assassinated before the completion of his first term in office.
While Frost’s “Dedication” offers some useful commentary, it still fails as a genuine poem. Even as an occasional poem in it final movement, it engages overzealously in exaggerated flattery.
One is reminded that fortunately, this piece did not see the light of day, as Frost was unable to read it as he intended. The poet was spared the drubbing he no doubt would have received had the sunlight not conspired to keep that piece in the dark.
Robert Frost’s “The Gift Outright”
Robert Frost’s “The Gift Outright” became the first inaugural poem, after President-Elect John F. Kennedy asked the famous poet to read at his swearing in ceremony—the first time a poet had read a poem at a presidential inauguration.
Introduction with Text of “The Gift Outright”
On January 20, 1961, John F. Kennedy was inaugurated the 35th president of the United States of America. For the inauguration ceremony, Kennedy had invited America’s most famous poet, Robert Frost, to write and read a poem. Frost rejected the notion of writing an occasional poem, and so Kennedy asked him to read “The Gift Outright.” Frost then agreed.
Kennedy then had one more favor to ask of the aging poet. He asked Frost the change the final line of the poem from “Such as she was, such as she would become” to “Such as she was, such as she will become.”
Kennedy felt that the revision reflected more optimism than Frost’s original. Frost did not like the idea, but he relented for the young president’s sake. Frost did, nevertheless, write a poem especially for the occasion titled “Dedication,” which he intended to read as a preface to “The Gift Outright.”
At the inauguration, Frost attempted to read his occasional poem, but because of the bright sunlight bouncing off the snow, his aging eyes could not see the poem well enough to read it. He then continued to recite “The Gift Outright.”
Regarding the changing of the final line: instead of merely reading the line with the revision Kennedy had requested, Frost stated,
Such as she was, such as she would become, has become, and I – and for this occasion let me change that to –what she will become. (my emphasis added)
Thus, the poet remained faithful to his own vision, while satisfying the presidential request. Robert Frost’s poem, “The Gift Outright,” offers a brief history of the USA, which has just elected and was in the process of inaugurating its 35th president.
The speaker of Frost’s poem, without becoming chauvinistically patriotic, manages to offer a positive view of the country’s struggle for existence, a struggle that can be deemed a gift that the Founding Fathers gave to themselves and the world.
To the question—“Well, Doctor, what have we got—a Republic or a Monarchy?”—regarding the product created by the Constitutional conveners during their meetings from May 25 to September 17, 1787, in Philadelphia, Founder Benjamin Franklin responded, “A Republic, if you can keep it” [8].
The US Constitution became a gift that has kept on giving in the best possible way. It replaced the old, weak Articles of Confederation and kept the nation in tact even during a bloody Civil War, nearly a century later.
The speaker in Frost’s poem offers a brief overview of the American struggle for existence, and he describes that struggle resulting in a Constitution as a gift the Founders gave themselves and to all the generations to follow.
The Gift Outright
The land was ours before we were the land’s. She was our land more than a hundred years Before we were her people. She was ours In Massachusetts, in Virginia, But we were England’s, still colonials, Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed. Something we were withholding made us weak Until we found out that it was ourselves We were withholding from our land of living, And forthwith found salvation in surrender. Such as we were we gave ourselves outright (The deed of gift was many deeds of war) To the land vaguely realizing westward, But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced, Such as she was, such as she would become.
Robert Frost Reading “The Gift Outright”
At Inauguration
Commentary on “The Gift Outright”
Robert Frost’s inaugural poem offers a glimpse into the history of the country that has just elected its 35th president.
First Movement: The Nature of Possession
The land was ours before we were the land’s. She was our land more than a hundred years Before we were her people. She was ours In Massachusetts, in Virginia, But we were England’s, still colonials, Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
The first movement begins by offering a brief reference to the history of the country over which the new government official would now preside. The speaker asserts that the men and women who had settled on the land, which they later called the United States of America, had begun their experiment in freedom living on the land which would later become their nation, and they would then become its citizens.
Instead of merely residing as a loosely held-together band of individuals, they would become a united citizenry with a name and government shared in common. The official birthdate of the United States of America is July 4, 1776; with the Declaration of Independence, the new country took its place among the nations of the world.
And the speaker correctly states that the land belonged to the people “more than a hundred years” before Americans became citizens of the country. He then mentions two important early colonies, Massachusetts and Virginia, which would become states (commonwealths) after the new land was no longer a possession of England.
Second Movement: The Gift of Law and Order
Something we were withholding made us weak Until we found out that it was ourselves We were withholding from our land of living, And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
During the period from 1776 to 1887, the country struggled to found a government that would work to protect individual freedom and at the same time provide a legal order that would make living in a free land possible. An important first step was the Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union [9], the first constitution written in 1777, which was not ratified until 1781.
The Articles failed to provide enough structure for the growing nation, and by 1787, it was deemed that a new, stronger document was needed to keep the country functioning and united. Thus, the Constitutional Convention of 1787 [10] was convened to rewrite the Articles.
Instead of merely writing them, however, the Founding Fathers scrapped the old document and composed a new U.S. Constitution, which has remained the founding set of laws guiding America since it was finally ratified June 21, 1788 [11].
The speaker describes America’s early struggle for self governance as “something we were withholding,” and that struggle “made us weak.” But finally, we found “salvation in surrender,” that is, the Founding Fathers surrendered to a document that provided legitimate order but at the same time offered the greatest possible scope for individual freedom.
Third Movement: The Gift of Freedom
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright (The deed of gift was many deeds of war) To the land vaguely realizing westward, But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced, Such as she was, such as she would become.
The speaker describes the early turbulent history of his country as a time of “many deeds of war,” which would include the war [12] the early Americans had to fight against England—its mother country—to secure the independence that it had declared and demanded.
But the young nation wholeheartedly gave itself that “gift” of existence and freedom by continuing its struggle and continuing to grow by expanding “westward.” The people of this nation struggled on through many hardships “unstoried, artless, unenhanced” to become the great nation that now—at the time of the poet’s recitation—has elected its 35th president.
Sources
[1] Editors. “Robert Frost.” Poetry Foundation. Accessed March 26, 2023.
Gerard Manley Hopkins – National Portrait Gallery, London
Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life”
The speaker in Gerard Manley Hopkins’ sonnet “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life” explores the sense of spiritual, national, and personal estrangement during years in Ireland. Written with the same intensity that characterizes Hopkins’ work, the poem dramatizes exile as both an external condition and an inward trial.
In the octave, the speaker is focusing on separation from family and his country England, and in the sestet, he turns inward to the silence imposed by his vocation, leaving him isolated yet faithful.
Introduction and Text of “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life”
Father Gerard Manley Hopkins, who was a Jesuit priest as well as a poet, wrote many of his most profound poems during periods of emotional strain and vocational doubt. He wrote “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life” in 1889 during his final years in Ireland; he created a speaker in the poem who is reflecting an acute sense of displacement—geographical, familial, and spiritual.
Although Father Hopkins remained consistently obedient to his religious calling, he often felt alienated from England, misunderstood by authority, and silenced as a poet. This sonnet, however, reveals not rebellion but suffering endured with disciplined faith, unveiling exile as a severe trial for spiritual testing.
As the first of the six “terrible sonnets,” “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life” remains distinctive because its sense of despair is aimed less at abstract spiritual terror and more at everyday human loss—failed relationships, missed vocations, and social estrangement.
However, like the others, it offers little comfort and speaks in a raw, urgent voice. It is unusual in how little it turns to nature or directly to Christ. Instead, it keeps its focus on the speaker’s painful isolation from family, community, and any sense of being useful as a priest.
To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life
To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life Among strangers. Father and mother dear, Brothers and sisters are in Christ not near And he my peace my parting, sword and strife. England, whose honour O all my heart woos, wife To my creating thought, would neither hear Me, were I pleading, plead nor do I: I wear- y of idle a being but by where wars are rife.
I am in Ireland now; now I am at a thírd Remove. Not but in all removes I can Kind love both give and get. Only what word Wisest my heart breeds dark heaven’s baffling ban Bars or hell’s spell thwarts. This to hoard unheard, Heard unheeded, leaves me a lonely began.
Reading
Commentary on “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life”
Father Hopkins’ sonnet is a meditation on exile and silence. The octave emphasizes outward separation—from family, country, and recognition—while the sestet deepens the conflict by revealing an inward blockage: the poet’s inability to speak or be heard.
Octave: “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life”
To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life Among strangers. Father and mother dear, Brothers and sisters are in Christ not near And he my peace my parting, sword and strife. England, whose honour O all my heart woos, wife To my creating thought, would neither hear Me, were I pleading, plead nor do I: I wear- y of idle a being but by where wars are rife.
The speaker open the octave with a stark declaration: “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life.” The phrasing is deliberate and emphatic, with “lot” and “life” placed side by side to suggest that estrangement is not incidental but foundational. The speaker does not merely feel like a stranger; seeming a stranger has become the defining pattern of his existence. The verb “lies” suggests fate or destiny, implying that this condition is imposed rather than chosen.
The repetition of “stranger” in the second line—“Among strangers”—reinforces the sense of isolation. The speaker is not simply alone; he is surrounded by others from whom he feels fundamentally divided. This alienation is then specified in personal terms: separation from “Father and mother dear” and from “Brothers and sisters.”
These lines resonate deeply, as Hopkins had consciously embraced a religious vocation at the cost of ordinary familial intimacy. Yet the phrase “are in Christ not near” reveals a crucial nuance. The separation is not merely geographical or emotional but mediated through faith. His family exists “in Christ,” but spiritual unity does not erase physical absence.
Line four intensifies the tension through paradox: “And he my peace my parting, sword and strife.” The “he” here refers unmistakably to Christ, echoing Christ’s own words in the Gospel that he came not to bring peace but a sword.
Christ is simultaneously the speaker’s source of peace and the cause of painful division. This line crystallizes the poem’s central conflict: obedience to God has fractured his earthly attachments.
England emerges next as a figure of longing and betrayal. The speaker personifies the nation as a beloved woman: “England, whose honour O all my heart woos, wife / To my creating thought.” England is not merely homeland; it is the imaginative and cultural source of his poetry.
The speaker’s “creating thought” is bound to England’s landscape, language, and traditions. Yet this beloved “wife” refuses to listen. England “would neither hear / Me, were I pleading.” The rejection is imagined even before the plea is made.
Significantly, the speaker then states, “plead nor do I.” Either Pride, humility, or exhaustion restrains him from petitioning for recognition or return. The enjambment underscores weariness: “I wear- / y of idle a being but by where wars are rife.” The broken word “weary” visually enacts fatigue.
The speaker feels useless, idle, unless he is placed where conflict exists. The “wars” here may be literal—cultural and political unrest in Ireland—or spiritual, referring to inner trials. Either way, the octave closes with a man who sees struggle as the only justification for his continued existence.
Throughout the octave, the speaker’s syntax becomes knotted and his clauses have become compressed. This density mirrors his emotional burden. There is no lyric ease, no pastoral consolation. Instead, the octave establishes exile as a lived reality—accepted but not softened.
Sestet: “I am in Ireland now; now I am at a thírd”
I am in Ireland now; now I am at a thírd Remove. Not but in all removes I can Kind love both give and get. Only what word Wisest my heart breeds dark heaven’s baffling ban Bars or hell’s spell thwarts. This to hoard unheard, Heard unheeded, leaves me a lonely began.
The sestet shifts from the general condition of estrangement to a precise location: “I am in Ireland now.” The repetition of “now” emphasizes immediacy and finality. Ireland is not a temporary assignment but a present, enduring state.
The speaker then deepens the sense of displacement by calling this “a thírd / Remove.” The word “remove” suggests not travel but distance layered upon distance—England removed from family, and Ireland removed yet again from England.
(Note the acute accent mark over the “i” in third: Hopkins often placed accent marks to indicate a stress that might be passed over in a quick reading. He wanted to assure that his sprung rhythm received its full impact.)
The speaker then immediately qualifies this isolation: “Not but in all removes I can / Kind love both give and get.” Despite exile, he affirms the possibility of charity. This assertion is a theologically critical.
Love is not extinguished by displacement; grace operates even in separation. The line resists self-pity and aligns the speaker’s world view with Jesuit discipline, which demands adaptability and service wherever one is sent.
However, the speaker’s deepest anguish follows: “Only what word / Wisest my heart breeds dark heaven’s baffling ban / Bars or hell’s spell thwarts.” Here the speaker turns inward, focusing not on where he is but on what he cannot do. His “wisest” words—his poetry—are blocked.
Heaven itself seems to be imposing a “ban,” a prohibition that frustrates expression. The phrase “dark heaven” is especially striking. Heaven, normally associated with clarity and illumination, becomes obscure and baffling. The alternative force is equally terrifying: “hell’s spell.” Whether divine silence or demonic interference, the result is the same—his words are thwarted.
This line reveals one of the most painful aspects of the poet’s late life: the sense that his poetic gift, given by God, is simultaneously withheld by God. Silence becomes both command and punishment.
The final couplet intensifies the tragedy: “This to hoard unheard, / Heard unheeded, leaves me a lonely began.” The speaker is forced to “hoard” his words, storing them without release. Even when heard, they are “unheeded.”
The repetition emphasizes futility. The phrase “a lonely began” is deliberately and strangely ungrammatical. “Began” suggests something unfinished, a life or vocation that never reached fulfillment. The speaker is not calling himself a failure, but he is implying that he feel incomplete.
Yet even here, the speaker sees despair as part of his discipline. He is not accusing God; he is only lamenting his lot. The speaker conclude his revelation with witness not rebellion. The speaker is recording his condition faithfully; he trusts that meaning may lie well beyond his own understanding. Although the loneliness is real, he can bear it through obedience.
In the sestet, then, exile becomes interiorized. The outer fact of Ireland gives way to the inner trial of silence. The speaker’s greatest suffering is not being far from England but being cut off from utterance.
For this speaker, this wound is the deepest. Yet the very existence of the poem contradicts the ban it describes. In writing this sonnet, the poet speaks from within silence, transforming isolation into testimony.
Taken together, the octave and sestet reveal a soul suspended between fidelity and desolation. “To seem the stranger lies my lot, my life” is not a cry for rescue but a record of endurance.
The speaker/poet accepts exile as part of his vocation, even when it costs him voice, recognition, and comfort. The sonnet stands as one of his most austere achievements—a poem that does not resolve suffering but sanctifies it through truthful speech.
Gerard Manley Hopkins – National Portrait Gallery, London
Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Pied Beauty”
Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Pied Beauty” is an eleven-line curtal sonnet, dedicated to honoring and praising God for the special beauty of His creation. Father Hopkins coined the term “curtal” to label his eleven-line sonnets.
Introduction and Text of “Pied Beauty”
The speaker in Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem/hymn “Pied Beauty” offers a tribute to the Creator for all things natural and human inspired, with special emphasis on things that are multi-colored, dotted, striped, or patterned in ingenious ways. The poem employs Father Hopkins’ famed sprung rhythm and unique rime scheme: ABCABCDBCDC.
The poem is an eleven-line sonnet called a curtal, a term which Father Hopkins coined to describe the form he employed in certain of his poems, including “Pied Beauty.” While the speaker emphasizes beauty by contrasting things that are widely touted as unpleasant yet possess a certain aura of unique loveliness, he ultimately is affirming that God has made all of creation to reflect various styles of beauty.
Thus, the speaker begins by giving all “glory” to God for all these created things, and he concludes by insisting that God be praised for giving humankind these many patterned objects of beauty.
God and beauty are being weighed in special terms as the speaker creates in his hymn a drama of oppositional tension that results in the creation of balance and harmony. Through appreciation and praise of God for His gifts, humankind learns that balance and harmony in order to complete life’s goals and purposes.
Pied Beauty
Glory be to God for dappled things – For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings; Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough; And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him.
Recitation of “Pied Beauty”
Commentary on “Pied Beauty”
Father Hopkins’ poem remarkably enlists several synonyms for the important title term “pied.” Those synonyms are dappled, couple-colour, brinded (archaic form of brindled), stipple, and freckled. All of those terms refer to multi-color or dotted patterns that so often appear in nature, that this observant human heart finds divinely inspired.
The poem is, therefore, a hymn honoring the Supreme Creator of all that exists. The piece offers gratitude that the Heavenly Father-Creator has fashioned His world to provide delight for His children.
First Movement: A Pattern of Gratitude
Glory be to God for dappled things –
The speaker begins by glorifying Creator-God for having effected His world to include objects that are multi-spotted and multi-colored. While the speaker undoubtedly offers God all glory to everything in creation, he also glorifies his Creator for not only things but also events. The act of creation remains of particular interest.
The speaker appears to be concentrating on a certain style and pattern that the Almighty has chosen to bestow on certain of His creatures and things. And this devout speaker remains most appreciative of those patterns. Thus, the glory, the honor, and the achievement of God have infused this speaker’s heart and mind to express gratitude.
Second Movement: Examples of All Things Dappled
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings; Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough; And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
The speaker then offers examples of those “dappled” things for which he is offering glory to God. He appreciates the sky that ofttimes appears as multi-colored as a spotted bovine. The speaker is thankful also for the patterns that are dotted over the bodies of “trout that swim.” These stippling patterns resemble small mole-like roses as they decorate the skin of those fish.
This observant, devout speaker also adores the beauty of fallen chestnuts that resemble freshly set-ablaze fire coals on a grate or in a stove. He also uses the “finches’ wings” to exemplify his appreciation for things “dappled.” The wings of finches are often layered strips. The speaker then widens his example to include even the “[l]andscape” or the farmers’ fields that the farmer has “plotted and pieced” in order to plough and “fold” or allow to lie “fallow.”
He finds those patterns to be offering the glory that all “dappled” things offer; thus, he honors them by mentioning them as an example. In fact, every commercial endeavor deserves a nod along with the instruments, their tools, which he refers to as “gear,” “tackle,” and “trim.”
Third Movement: The Spice of Variety
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
In the second stanza, beginning with the third movement, the speaker shifts from simple spotted, multi-colored things to everything remaining that runs against expectation, or that is original and unique, or things that seem simple, and things that appear odd.
Because creation seems to offer an infinite number of styles, patterns, and ways of being, the speaker now wishes to praise God and glorify the Divine Maker by recognizing the Creator’s penchant for variety.
If the old adage “variety is the spice of life” possesses any truth, then certainly the Heavenly Father-God is responsible for the creation of those spices. This speaker thus widens his scope for gratitude.
Fourth Movement: Things That Change
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
The speaker then offers further elucidation for the other components that make up his glossary of things that deserve attention and appreciation because of their having been offered to humankind by the Ultimate Reality, the Supreme Creator of the cosmos.
So the speaker reports that all things, beings, creatures that possess the quality of fickleness or changeability belong to his list of things that honor and give glory to God. Even “freckled” things, of which no one can define the origin, belong to this category.
Those “fickle” and “freckled” things all have several qualities in common; thus, they may exist and behave with speed or move measuredly. They may possess the opposite flavors of sweetness or sourness. Some may also reflect light blazingly while others remain muted and subdued.
Regardless of the unique qualities, they are all part of the Blessèd Creator’s offerings to His children for their pleasure or for their edification or to light whatever pathway they are destined to follow.
Fifth Movement: That Which Does not Change
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him.
The speaker then concludes with a command—”Praise him.” In the beginning, he made it clear that he was offering all glory to God for the things He has given through creation. Now he offers his stern command, but before that command, he offers the reason that such praise is due Him.
The Father of all this beauty continues, and although He Himself is “past change” or without the necessity to change Himself, He continues to offer through creation a beauty that is many faceted, multi-colored, multi-stippled, and brindled. And all things remain on a spectrum that humankind cannot duplicate but is surely obligated to honor, appreciate, and glorify in the name of Father God.
Langston Hughes’ “Harlem” examines the potential effects of having to postpone dreams or goals. The result of such delay may present itself in numerous ways, and the speaker explores them in this poem through colorful imagery in five dramatic similes and one explosive metaphor.
Introduction with Text of “Harlem”
The title of Langston Hughes’ “Harlem” may be considered somewhat ironic. The Harlem Renaissance became a colorful, vibrant period of flourishing in literary, musical, visual, and other forms of art. Several civil rights activists, including the excellent poet/activist James Weldon Johnson, were active contributors to this flourishing movement.
The irony, however, rests in that fact that many dreams, especially of black American artists, were being realized as never before, yet, the poem engages in speculation about the events that may transpire if dreams are postponed, remaining unrealized.
Still, on the other hand, systemic racism in America was not eliminated until enactment of the Civil Right Act of 1964. Thus Hughes’ speaker was quite timely in speculation that much of the black population was still being subjected to unfavorable conditions, including having to postpone certain dreams of equality of opportunity.
Because this poem’s speaker makes no mention of anything referring to race or ethnicity, the poem’s “dream” could be any desired goal held by any member of any race or ethnic group.
The message of this poem can be applied to any “dream” or “goal” that would have to be postponed, especially if postponed by coercion or unfair competition. The poem’s universal message is what makes it a great poem.
This poem appears in Langston Hughes’ 1951 collection, Montage of a Dream Deferred. The theme of the poem explores the mental and emotional states that the human mind might undergo if forced to postpose or abandon one’s heartfelt dreams and life goals. The poem primarily employs similes but concludes with one explosive metaphor to convey its impact.
The speaker opens the poem questioning what happens when a dream has to be postponed. He moves on to make four further inquiries; he then provides a suggestion and finally concludes with a shocking, explosive question. The inquiries that employ the use of similes turn out to be rhetorical questions; answers to these questions are actually featured within the questions themselves.
This strategy leaves no doubt about the answers to those questions. They are yes/no questions, and the obvious answer is yes in all cases. As “yes or no” questions, they require no further elaboration. The speaker’s point of view on the issue is quite clear: he holds the notion that a dream postponed indefinitely can result in all sorts of damage, including death.
The similes— “like a raisin in the sun,” “like a sore,” “like rotten meat,” “like a syrupy sweet,” “like a heavy load”—form the questioning pattern, with the final simile, however, expressed as a suggestion. Then the metaphor in the conclusion bursts forth with, “or does it explode?“—the most volatile question of all—therefore it receives added italic emphasis.
No one wants to postpone a dream, that is, a goal, regardless of whether it is to buy a new phone or start that new career. But what happens to that dream if it does have to be put off for any reason? Maybe it just languishes in the back of the mind or maybe it causes the individual to behave in a destructive manner.
In roughly 50 words, the speaker has explored a human phenomenon that most, if not all human beings, have experienced in their time on earth. The degree of intensity to which each dream deferred has been subjected is the main theme of the poem. With colorful imagery presented through rhetorical questions, the speaker has created a memorable drama, focusing on a universal human condition.
Harlem
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Commentary on “Harlem”
Langston Hughes’ poem features several perfect rimes in “sun-run,” “meat-sweet,” “load-explode.” The poem employs images: “raisin in the sun,” “fester like a sore,” “stink like rotten meat.” Even the metaphor that contains no noun suggests the subliminal vision of an exploding bomb which includes all the five senses for which the imagery is employed.
First Movement: The Delaying
What happens to a dream deferred?
Most mature, well-adjusted, thinking human beings entertain dreams and goals that they strive to achieve. This poem full of questions begins with a question seeking to know what events might occur after a dream has been postponed: what might such a delay cause the dreamer to do?
Although it surely must be assumed that the “dream” referred to in this poem is one vital to human nature and dignity, such as the desire for individual freedom, personal security, and individual achievement, in reality, it does not matter what the dream is, because each person reacts differently to different circumstances.
Some human minds and hearts are more patient than others. What may set off a volatile reaction from one person may be well tolerated by another. Still, dreams and goals are so important to the life of the dreamer that they occupy the dreamer’s attention in the consciousness much of the time during the day and possibly even in sleep.
It is, therefore, little wonder that if the dreamer hits a roadblock that stalls his/her continuing on the path to fulfillment of a goal, s/he may become disturbed. The speaker in the poem is exploring a range of possible outcomes that may be experienced by differing personalities.
Second Movement: The Drying Up
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
After a dream or goal is allowed to “dry up like a raisin in the sun,” that dream or goal will lose its value. A raisin is a sweet, nutritious food but left out in the sun, it will harden and lose its flavor as well as its nutritional value. The life’s goal of a human being performs a vital role in making that person a successful, contributing member to the culture and society of the human race.
However, if an individual is put off over and over again, admonished that s/he simply has to wait for society’s laws and attitudes to change before s/he can start a business, or become a doctor, lawyer, teacher, or artist, that individual is likely to wither away or “dry up,” particularly emotionally and mentally.
The speaker wishes to place into the consciousness of society that the notion of delaying the dreams of individuals will become an impediment to progress. Talent and ingenuity require nurturing. not being postponed.
Desire to flourish must be encouraged, not kept in the dark of indifference. The drying up of human talent and energy is a waste of human capital; thus the slogan “a mind is a terrible thing to waste” offers a useful claim as well as a clever advertisement for colleges.
The waste of that mind not only affects the individual, but it also affects the entire community and eventually the whole of society. If a country continues to denigrate its native talent, that country is bound to fail.
Third Movement: The Festering
Or fester like a sore— And then run?
The speaker then considers another issue that might arise from a delayed dream; instead of drying up, maybe it will run like a sore that has festered and become all pus infused. We all want our sores to dry up; we do not want them to fester and continue to run.
Restless dissatisfaction might occur if a dream festers and runs. The innocent dreamer might transform into a criminal, perpetrating criminal offenses against whom or what s/he believes to be standing in the way of his/her dreams. Again, the whole of society is lessened by such behavior.
Fourth Movement: The Stinking
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Rotten meat gives off a definite, unpleasant odor. A dream allowed to lie untended in the mind might decay and give off the stench of unfulfilled desires. The unpleasant odor comes from the dead dream, just as the stink spreads from rotten animal flesh.
The “rotten meat” simile is particularly powerful. The stench of decayed flesh remains nearly unbearable to the human nostrils. The speaker has grown particularly suspicious that deferred dreams can ever produce anything resembling a pleasant outcome.
Fifth Movement: The Crusting Over
Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet?
The dried accumulation that forms on syrup or honey bottles left unused for quite some time presents as an unpleasant crust. It is the lack of use has caused that unpleasant accumulation.
The contents of the bottle will become unusable if left long enough, and so it becomes with dreams. Elderly folks often complain that they failed to pursue certain dreams when they were young, and now those dreams have become a bitter memory, a crusty accumulation at the top their bottle of life. The crusted over dreams may present themselves as emotions of hatred, doubt, anger, and despair.
Sixth Movement: The Sagging
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
This stanza does not pose a question; it offers a suggestion that perhaps the postponed dream just bends because of the “heavy load” of deferral. The dreamer has become lazy and lethargic, even clumsy, as s/he trudges along under the heavy load that has become a mighty burden.
The dream continues to weigh heavily on the mind of the dreamer who keeps on wondering what s/he might have accomplished, if given the opportunity. Thus from carrying the burden of doubt, the dreamer may become depressed even lacking the ability to be at all productive.
Seventh Movement: The Exploding
Or does it explode?
All of the possibilities heretofore mentioned in the similes and in the sagging heavy load suggestion of suffering a dream deferred are deficient, shoddy, even possibly life-threatening. While negative in their description, all of the earlier questions imply a certain level of tolerance.
The deferral of those dreams referred to in the similes have affected mostly the dreamer. But the question metaphorically expressed in the final line becomes literally and definitely explosively life-threatening, not only to the dreamer but to his/her surroundings.
The speaker asks, “does it explode?” Bombs explode—as well as anything in a container in which pressure has built up to the point that the container is no longer capable of expanding to accommodate that pressure. If the dreamers no longer harbor a shred of hope for their dreams, they may become such a container under pressure. They may figuratively become a human bomb by employing a destructive device that can maim and kill others in the person’s vicinity.
Miserable dreamers full of despair, grief, and hopelessness may engage in any number of dangerous, life-threatening acts, as they try to hold responsible those they consider to blame for their inability to realize their dreams and life goals.
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