Image: The Old Homestead by Ron W. G. The image is a painting by my sweet husband, Ron, who relied on a photo taken by my sister, Carlene Craig, who still lives there. The old homestead is the place where I grew up—a place of beauty that holds many memories of a young girl growing up in the turbulent times of the 50s and 60s.
Welcome to My Original Poems
My literary focus remains primarily on poetry and songwriting, but as a life-long creative writer, I have also dabbled in many other forms: short stories, flash fiction, memoir.
I also compose literary and expository essays, focusing on a variety of topics including history and politics—even some science/medical issues, especially those that remain controversial.
This room in my literary home provides links to my original poems.
Literary art—somewhat like science—is never truly settled or complete; thus I will be continuing to add—and even to revise— material from time to time.
As a poet, I take the art of poetry very seriously and thus I swear to the following oath:
As I, Linda Sue Grimes, engage in my career as a poet, I solemnly swear to remain faithful to the tenets of the following covenant to the best of my ability:
I will respect and study the significant artistic achievements of those poets who precede me, and I will humbly share my knowledge with those who seek my advice. I will dedicate myself to my craft using all my talent while avoiding those two evils of (1) effusiveness of self-indulgence and (2) pontification on degradation and nihilism.
I will remember that there is a science to poetry as well as an art, and that spirituality, peace, and love always eclipse metaphors and similes. I will not bring shame to my art by pretending to knowledge I do not have, and I will not cut off the legs of colleagues that I may appear taller.
I will respect readers and ever be aware that not all readers are as well-versed in literary matters as I am. I will not take advantage of their ignorance by writing nonsense and then pretending it is the reader’s fault for not understanding my disingenuity. Regardless of the level of fame and fortune I reach, I will remain humble and grateful, not arrogant nor condescending.
I will remember that poetry requires revision and close attention; it does not just pour out of me onto the page, as if opening a vein and letting it drip. Writing poetry requires thinking as well as feeling.
I will continue to educate myself in areas other than poetry so that I may know a fair amount about history, geography, science, math, philosophy, foreign language, religion, economics, sociology, politics, and other fields of endeavor that result in bodies of knowledge.
I will remember that I am no better than prose writers, songwriters, musicians, or politicians; all human beings deserve respect as well as scrutiny as they perform their unique duties, whether artist or artisan.
I will not rewrite English translations of those who have already successfully translated and pretend that I too am a translator. I will not translate any poem that I cannot read and comprehend in the original.
Image: Emily Dickinson – Amherst College – Daguerrotype of the poet at age 17, circa 1847 – likely the only authentic, extant likeness of the poet
Life Sketch of Emily Dickinson
Dickinson lived a solitary life that in many ways paralleled that of a religious monastic. She passed her life in quiet contemplation, becoming addicted to creating little dramas resulting in her fascicles of 1775 poems, with subject matter ranging from flowers to the concept of immortality.
Nineteenth-Century American Poet
Emily Dickinson may be the most famous American poet of the nineteenth century. Her poems focus on a number of topics—some considered her “flood subjects”—including death, philosophy of life, immortality, riddles, birds, flowers, sunsets, people, and many others.
She fashioned little manuscripts—bundles of poems called “fascicles”—totaling 1775 poems, and enough letters to result in three published volumes [1]. Her active mind and mystical intuition [2] led her to pen some of the most brilliant poetry ever written, well-crafted and filled with insight into nature, humanity, and even scientific subjects.
Her poem “The Brain — is wider than the Sky” demonstrates a deep understanding of the nature of the human mind in its relationship to the Ultimate Reality (God). This poem dramatizes a spiritual truth: the human brain is the seat of ultimate wisdom.
In yoga philosophy, the highest center of consciousness is the “thousand-petaled lotus” in the brain. The lotus is the flower metaphorically representing the opening of the center of consciousness upon God-union, a state in which the human soul unites consciously with the Over-Soul (God).
In Autobiography of a Yogi, Paramahansa Yogananda, “Father of Yoga in the West,” explains,
The seventh center, the ‘thousand-petaled lotus’ in the brain, is the throne of the Infinite Consciousness. In the state of divine illumination, the yogi is said to perceive Brahma or God the Creator as Padmaja, ‘the One born of the lotus’. [3]
While it is not likely that Dickinson studied any form of yoga, nor that she was even acquainted with the Bhagavad Gita, which was just being introduced in America during her lifetime, her insight into certain concepts suggests that she possessed an extraordinary mental gift.
A contemporary of Dickinson’s, the philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson, had studied Eastern philosophy, including the Gita, and he had some knowledge of the Vedas. But Dickinson’s awareness came from pure intuition on her part.
A Cloistered Life
Emily Dickinson’s quiet, solitary life resembled in many ways that of a cloistered monastic; she has even been referred to as the “Nun of Amherst” [4]. Biographers have described her life as reclusive, even hermit-like. She employed her hours and minutes, studying scripture, becoming well-versed in Judeo-Christian biblical lore and concepts.
As a child and young adult, the poet had attended church with her parents and siblings. Later in her life, she chose to cloister herself, which resulted in the development of her mystical powers.
She paid her close attention to the details of nature including birds, flowers, and the transitioning of the seasons. She also observed closely the visitors to her family home, but as time wore on, she seldom met with them on a personal level.
During her monastic period of life, Dickinson engaged in the contemplation of important questions, such as the purpose of life, how human beings should live, and above all how they should worship.
Thus, Dickinson choose to live a reclusive life, avoiding social activities as much as possible. Her reclusiveness extended to her decision to “keep the sabbath” by staying home instead of attending church services.
Dickinson created a speaker who explores that decision in her poem, “Some keep the Sabbath going to Church”:
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 –
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice – I just wear my Wings – And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church, Our little Sexton – sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman – And the sermon is never long, So instead of getting to Heaven, at last – I’m going, all along.
Reading of “Some keep the Sabbath going to Church”
This poem celebrates and emphasizes the belief held by “the nun of Amherst” that merely by staying home and worshipping, she could go to heaven all along instead of waiting.
In this poem, the speaker renders God’s creations, not those of mankind’s, the instruments of worship—a bird serves the position of the choir director, and fruit trees serve as the roof of her church. As a worshiper, she wears her metaphorical “wings” instead of a church sanctioned garment.
And the most impressive part of this speaker’s “church service” is that God is doing the preaching, delivering short sermons, which offer the worshiper more time to meditate, instead of merely listening to the learned words delivered by the customary clergyman.
No Death for the Soul
Emily Dickinson became deeply interested in pursuing the knowledge about what happens to the human soul after death. Whenever she heard of a death, she was very eager to hear what the dying person said or did while in the process of dying—that is, while the soul is in the process of transitioning out of the physical encasement (body).
As Dickinson’s eight-year-old nephew Gilbert, son of her brother Austin, lay dying, she heard him utter words suggesting to her that the boy’s soul was a being escorted from its physical encasement by angels.
Dickinson’s study of death and dying led her to believe in the concept of immortality, a topic often referred to as her “flood subject.” Her poem “Because I could not stop for Death” represents her conclusion about dying.
The speaker in this little drama portrays death as a gentleman caller, arriving to escort a lady out for the evening; the journey symbolizes the idea that one’s life passes before one’s gaze during the process of dying.
But she quickly passes over the final cemetery scene, and the conflation of time seems like a dream, as the speaker reports that she is still riding with the “Horses’ Heads” “toward Eternity.”
Dickinson believed in immortality more certainly than most of the other conventionally religious members of her generation did. Her intense studies and contemplations surely led to meditation on the Creator (God). Her insights into life and immortality cannot be explained any other way.
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was born on December 10, 1830, in Amherst, Massachusetts, to Edward Dickinson and Emily Norcross Dickinson. Emily was the second child of three: her older brother Austin was born April 16, 1829, and her younger sister Lavinia was born February 28, 1833. The poet died on May 15, 1886.
The Dickinson New England heritage was strong, including her paternal grandfather, Samuel Dickinson, who was one of the founders of Amherst College.
Her father was a lawyer, who was elected to and served one term in the state legislature (1837-1839); later between 1852 and 1855, he served one term in the U.S. House of Representative as a representative of Massachusetts.
Education
Dickinson attended elementary school in a one room building until she was sent to Amherst Academy, which later became Amherst College. The school boasted the ability to offer college level courses in the sciences from astronomy to zoology.
The poet enjoyed her school years, and her poems testify to the skill with which she mastered the academic lessons.
After a seven year stint at Amherst Academy, she then entered Mount Holyoke Female Seminary in the fall of 1847, remaining at the seminary for only a year.
Much speculation abounds regarding the poet’s early departure from formal education—from the atmosphere of religiosity at the school to the simple fact that the seminary could offer nothing new or important for the sharp minded Dickinson to learn.
Dickinson was quite content to leave formal education in order to stay home. Likely her reclusiveness was beginning, and she felt deeply the need to control her own learning. She was convinced she had to ability to schedule her own life activities.
As a stay-at-home daughter in 19th-century New England, Dickinson was expected to tackle her share of domestic duties, including housework, likely to help prepare said daughters for handling their own homes after marriage.
It is likely that the poet quite early discerned that her life would not be the traditional one of a householder; she has even suggested as much in a letter to her friend Abiah Root: “God keep me from what they call households.”
Spiritual Reclusiveness
In her householder-in-training position, however, Dickinson especially disdained the rôle as host to the many guests visiting the family. Her father’s position in community service required his family to entertain often.
The poet/mystic found such entertaining mind-boggling, and all that time spent with others meant less time for her own creative, more rewarding, efforts. By this time in her life, she was surely discovering the joy of soul-discovery through her art.
Although many have speculated that Dickinson’s dismissal of and aversion to the prevailing religious metaphor suggested that she embraced atheism, quite the opposite is evident as her poems testify to her deep spiritual awareness that far exceeds the religious rhetoric of the period.
In fact, Dickinson was, no doubt, discovering that her intuition about all things spiritual demonstrated an sensitivity that far exceeded that of any of her family’s and compatriots’ abilities. Thus, her focus became her poetry—her main interest in life.
Emily Dickinson’s life of poetry remains the focus of many researchers, and much speculation still abounds regarding some of the most known facts about her.
For example, after the age of seventeen, even as she remained cloistered in her father’s home, rarely moving from the house beyond the front gate, she yet created some of the wisest, deepest poetry ever produced anywhere at any time.
Dickinson’s works, however, reflect a journey to understand the human heart and mind—not necessarily the worldly ways of humanity.
Regardless of Emily’s personal reasons for living nun-like, readers continue to find much to admire, enjoy, and appreciate about her poems. Though her poems often seem baffling upon first encounter, they reward those who stay with each poem and dig out the nuggets of wisdom.
The difficulty with Dickinson’s poems rests in her minimalism and her unconventional grammatical/technical style. Editors who have tried to regularize her unorthodox scribbling have, however, only managed to lose some of her nuanced meanings.
Publication
Only a handful of Dickinson’s poems appeared in print during her lifetime; it was only after her death that her sister Vinnie discovered the bundles of poems, called fascicles, in the poet’s room. A total of 1775 individual poems have since that time made their way to publication.
The first publications of her works to appear were gathered and edited by Mabel Loomis Todd, a supposed paramour of the poet’s brother Austin, and the editor Thomas Wentworth Higginson.
Unfortunately, Todd and Higginson altered Dickinson’s unique works to the point of changing the meanings of her poems. Even the regularization of her technical achievements with grammar and punctuation erased some of the high achievement that the poet had so creatively accomplished.
Readers can thank Thomas H. Johnson [5], who in the mid-1950s went to work at restoring the poet’s poems to their original—at least near— original forms.
Johnson’s valuable work restored Dickinson’s many dashes, spacings, and other grammar/mechanical features that earlier editors had “corrected” for the poet—corrections that actually resulted in the obliteration of the poetic achievement reached by Dickinson’s mystically brilliant talent.
Sources
[1] Richard B. Sewall. The Life of Emily Dickinson. Farrar, Straus, Giroux. New York. 1987. Print.
Image: Robert Frost in 1943. (Eric Schaal/The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images)
Robert Frost’s “Departmental”
The speaker of Frost’s oft-anthologized “Departmental” observes an ant on his picnic table and imagines a dramatic, little scenario of an ant funeral. The use of personification and the pathetic fallacy mixes a colorful drama suffused with human arrogance.
Introduction with Text of “Departmental”
In Robert Frost’s “Departmental,” the speaker muses and speculates about the thoroughly compartmentalized lives of the busy ants. He then creates a fascinating little drama, featuring the machinations of ants going through a funeral process.
The speaker speculates about the thought processes of the ant world. He seems to pass judgment on the lowly little fellows by insisting that their behavior represents a thoughtless kind of rote response.
By failing to account for the influence of instinct on species below the evolutionary level of homo sapiens, the speaker reveals a supercilious attitude that injects a kind of bitterness into the narrative.
While the speaker engages heavily in the pathetic fallacy, he does so with such aplomb that readers may come away from the piece without even noticing the sleight-of-hand that has been dealt them.
The interweaving of personification, comedy, and human arrogance give the piece a dramatic flare that entertains while at the same time gives a glimpse of ant behavior that would be so easily overlooked, if not looked at by one who has special powers of observation—as most poets do possess.
Departmental
An ant on the tablecloth Ran into a dormant moth Of many times his size. He showed not the least surprise. His business wasn’t with such. He gave it scarcely a touch, And was off on his duty run. Yet if he encountered one Of the hive’s enquiry squad Whose work is to find out God And the nature of time and space, He would put him onto the case. Ants are a curious race; One crossing with hurried tread The body of one of their dead Isn’t given a moment’s arrest- Seems not even impressed. But he no doubt reports to any With whom he crosses antennae, And they no doubt report To the higher-up at court. Then word goes forth in Formic: ‘Death’s come to Jerry McCormic, Our selfless forager Jerry. Will the special Janizary Whose office it is to bury The dead of the commissary Go bring him home to his people. Lay him in state on a sepal. Wrap him for shroud in a petal. Embalm him with ichor of nettle. This is the word of your Queen.’ And presently on the scene Appears a solemn mortician; And taking formal position, With feelers calmly atwiddle, Seizes the dead by the middle, And heaving him high in air, Carries him out of there. No one stands round to stare. It is nobody else’s affair It couldn’t be called ungentle But how thoroughly departmental.
Robert Frost reads “Departmental”
Commentary on “Departmental”
In this widely anthologized Frost poem the speaker observes an ant on his picnic table and concocts a dramatic, little scenario of an ant funeral. He seems to amuse himself with the rigidity of his own ideas about the functioning of nature.
The literary device known as personification is employed by subtle means in this piece. Human judgmental factors also enter into mix, making the poem a complex of entertainment along with a smattering of attention to scientific detail.
First Movement: An Ant’s Duty
An ant on the tablecloth Ran into a dormant moth Of many times his size. He showed not the least surprise. His business wasn’t with such.
The speaker observes an ant walking across a tablecloth; as he ambles forth, the ant happens upon a dead moth that is much larger than the ant. The ant is unperturbed by the dead moth, hardly even takes notice of it.
The speaker speculates that the ant was not surprised seeing the large moth and because the ant had business elsewhere, he hardly gave the creature a second thought. The ant, according the speaker’s musings, “was off on his duty run.”
Second Movement: Imagination Engaged
Yet if he encountered one Of the hive’s enquiry squad Whose work is to find out God And the nature of time and space, He would put him onto the case. Ants are a curious race; One crossing with hurried tread The body of one of their dead Isn’t given a moment’s arrest- Seems not even impressed.
The speaker now thoroughly engages his imagination and concocts a whole scenario in which the ant happens upon a fellow ant lying dead. Again, as with the dead moth, the ant would not be perturbed; he would “seem[ ] not even impressed.”
The speaker again seems to desire to find some human element in ants, and that notion causes him to look down his nose at the little creatures. He makes certain assertions based solely on the fact that he is an evolved homo sapiens, many levels above the little guys he is observing.
Third Movement: His Own Kind
But he no doubt reports to any With whom he crosses antennae, And they no doubt report To the higher-up at court.
However, with those of his own kind, a series of events will take place and without any doubt there will be a traditional set of events that must occur. The speaker is heavily invested at this point into anthropomorphizing these tiny bugs.
The speaker continues speculate about things he could not possibly know. But readers also must keep in mind that the little drama is entertainment not enlightenment. While the speaker may be revealing facts of details, he cannot be revealing any important truths about nature or nature’s Creator.
Fourth Movement: Ant Language
Then word goes forth in Formic: ‘Death’s come to Jerry McCormic, Our selfless forager Jerry. Will the special Janizary Whose office it is to bury The dead of the commissary Go bring him home to his people. Lay him in state on a sepal. Wrap him for shroud in a petal. Embalm him with ichor of nettle. This is the word of your Queen.’
The Latin word for ant is “formica”; thus the speaker cleverly claims that in the ant language of “Formic,” the death announcement is heralded: Jerry McCormic has died, he was a “selfless forager.”
Then orders are sent to the “special Janizary” to come retrieve the body, prepare it, “lay him in state on a sepal,” and bury it properly, according to ant procedure. This must be done because these orders come from “your Queen.” The colorful drama allows the speaker assume communications that are obviously relayed simply through instinct baked into formica behavior.
Fifth Movement: The Ant Drama Plays On
And presently on the scene Appears a solemn mortician; And taking formal position, With feelers calmly atwiddle, Seizes the dead by the middle, And heaving him high in air, Carries him out of there. No one stands round to stare. It is nobody else’s affair
The speaker’s imagination continues to develop the little ant drama. A “solemn mortician” appears and with a comic gesture takes up the body, lifts it high, and calmly bears it away from the scene.
The speaker reports that no one comes to mourn the victim or even show some curiosity, even though the speaker had earlier reports that “ants are a curious race.” The curiosity seems to be the lack of curiosity in certain affairs. Of course, no other ants come to gawk, because they all have their own duties to perform, and this burial “is nobody else’s affair.”
The nature of personification allows the creator of such narratives to engage any type of speculation that seems possible at the time. The process of “willing suspension of disbelief” remains a vital part of experiencing this kind of narrative, especially if any enjoyment is to be gleaned from it.
Sixth Movement: Labels That Fit
It couldn’t be called ungentle But how thoroughly departmental.
The speaker sums up his little speculative drama by asserting that the whole affair could not be considered “ungentle,” even though it might be labeled completely “departmental.”
The speaker appears to be captivated by the whole scene that he himself has concocted for the sake of his own dramatic entertainment. He must wonder in amazement at his commingling art and science in such a leisurely way.
The speaker’s attention to detail and facility with imagery have helped him concoct a fascinating bit of speculation, but his condescending air reflects a supercilious attitude that sours the ultimate effect of the piece.
Frostian Elitism
It would seem that a certain amount of sympathy and compassion for such lowly creatures would have seeped into the narrative of “Departmental”; instead, the speaker just runs with his holier-than-thou position.
The poet Robert Frost admitted to writing a “very tricky poem” with his “The Road Not Taken.” Not only did he write other tricky poems, but he also put on airs at time that belied his reputation as a humble, nature poet with a grandfatherly demeanor; he could also take the stance of an elite looking down his nose at his inferiors.
The rooms within my literary home include my library/music room where I compose and maintain my original writings in poetry, songs, literary fiction, expository essays, and poem commentaries.
My literary home also includes rooms of tribute and memorials to beautiful souls who have graced my life and influenced my penchant for literary studies.
In addition to literary works, I dabble in vegan/vegetarian cooking, so I dedicate my kitchen to holding and presenting the recipes that result from my adventures in the culinary arts.
Because I remain spiritual-minded, I dedicate a temple/sanctuary to that spiritual inclination. ~Maya Shedd’s Temple~ holds personal musings about subjects that influence my life, especially my spiritual journey.
Original Writings
The following rooms will remain works in progress, as I continue to add to them from time to time.
Image: The Whitewater River – Brookville, Indiana – Photo by Linda Sue Grimes
A Special Soul
One such room is an art gallery, featuring the paintings, as well as the prose renderings of the beautiful soul, Ron Grimes (Ron W. G., as he signs his paintings): Paintings and Prose. My sweet Ron has continued to bring out the poetry in my life for over half a century; our married life together began on March 10, 1973.
Also in my literary home, I dedicate another room—my kitchen—to the recipes that result from adventures in the experimental culinary arts.
I have been a vegetarian/vegan for most of my life, and thus I have found it necessary to revise or tweak most traditional recipes to accommodate my vegetarianism. So I am offering the results of that life journey.
My Temple Sanctuary
Finally, I have dedicated a sanctuary for meditation, prayer, and worship, “Maya Shedd’s Temple.” Before I rebuilt this lit site as Linda’s Literary Home, I maintained much of the construction here under the title “Maya Shedd’s Temple: Literary Home of Linda Sue Grimes.”
In the temple, I place all things spiritual. I begin with a brief memoir explaining by reasons for following my spiritual path.
The temple includes information aboutParamahansa Yogananda and commentaries on his poetic works, beginning with Songs of the Soul.
Guruji has explained that fallen humankind is under the spell of Maya or cosmic delusion. My goal is to lift that spell, thus “shed” the delusive veil of Maya: Maya Shedd.
Linda's Literary Home 