ED-LarryB

841.1864.Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning

Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning—
Lightning—lets away
Power to perceive His Process
With Vitality.

Maimed—was I—yet not by Venture—
Stone of stolid Boy—
Nor a Sportsman’s Peradventure—
Who mine Enemy?

Robbed—was I—intact to Bandit—
All my Mansion torn—
Sun—withdrawn to Recognition—
Furthest shining—done—

Yet was not the foe—of any—
Not the smallest Bird
In the nearest Orchard dwelling
Be of Me—afraid.

Most—I love the Cause that slew Me.
Often as I die
Its beloved Recognition
Holds a Sun on Me—

Best—at Setting—as is Nature’s—
Neither witnessed Rise
Till the infinite Aurora
In the other’s eyes.

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Here’s my biographical interpretation of ‘Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning—‘ (F841, 1861), stanza by stanza:

1. When Wadsworth arrived at my front door on that glorious late summer day in 1860 (F325,1862), I had not yet been struck by lightning. Lightning warns us of its power to kill.
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2. Nor had I been maimed by a stone a boy threw, nor by a sportsman’s rifle. I did not know I had an enemy.
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3. I was robbed that day. I was whole when Wadsworth came and, when he left, my Mansion’s veil was torn. The Sun vanished from my life, and I no longer enjoyed nature as I did before.
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4. Before he came, I was not the foe of any creature. Not even the smallest bird living in our orchard was afraid of me.
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5. And the strangest thing is that I still love Wadsworth, even though he seduced me. I die of shame each day that passes, but at the same time his recognition of me is the Sun of my life.
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6. Just as a sunset is most inspiring as the Sun sinks behind the horizon, the best part of our summer day was as he was leaving. Neither spoke, but we peered deep into each other’s eyes and saw an infinite sunrise.

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Let’s let ED tell her story of how this seduction happened, poem by poem:

F1.1850.Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!

Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.
The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,
No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.
The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown.
Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?
There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,
And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower—
And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum—
And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!

Obviously, I was a normal teenage girl of 19 (born December 10, 1830) when I wrote this poem for my clique of friends: “There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair, / And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!”. You can easily guess who “she of curling hair” is. My hair is a gorgeous curly auburn. The girls, former classmates of mine at Amherst Academy, were normal boy-crazy 19-20-year olds. Susan Gilbert and I had known each other since 1847 when Sue, a new orphan, moved to Amherst to live with her older sister and her husband.
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Susan was born 10 days after I was, on 20 December 1830. She is my sister-in-law, lifelong confidante, first love, and most significant literary muse. She lives 100 yards west, across a meadow, in a new house my father built as a wedding present for my brother, Austin, and Sue. They named their new home “The Evergreens”.
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Since 1850, I have sent Sue more than 250 poems. She is my main reader-editor, and she shares my intellectual and emotional life. I also sent her many intimate and passionate letters. We were lesbian partners until 1853 when Austin asked Sue to be his wife. We experienced many orgasms together during our love making and in ‘Title divine, is mine’ (F194, 1861) I called them “the swoon God gives us women”.

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194.1861.Title divine, is mine

Title divine, is mine.
The Wife without the Sign –
Acute Degree conferred on me –
Empress of Calvary –
Royal, all but the Crown –
Betrothed, without the Swoon
God gives us Women –
When You hold Garnet to Garnet –
Gold – to Gold –
Born – Bridalled – Shrouded –
In a Day –
Tri Victory –
“My Husband” – Women say –
Stroking the Melody –
Is this – the way –

For a year or two after Wadsworth’s 1860 visit I was on cloud nine. For example, in 1861 I composed ‘Title divine, is mine’ (F194). “Calvary Presbyterian” was the name of the church that he ministered in San Francisco, so I gave him the code name “Calvary” and imagined myself “Empress of Calvary”. I never used his real name in a poem or letter because of the harm it might cause his marriage and his career.

At the time, I felt that I was his wife except for the title of “Mrs.” I thought of myself as the royal Empress of Calvary, except for the crown. I also felt that our sexual consummation was a betrothal even though I did not experience an orgasm. He didn’t give me a garnet or gold ring, but I felt that I was born, bridled, and shrouded on that day, a tri-victory. Most women would call their spouse “My Husband” and love the sound of saying it, but I wonder if this is the way for me.

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325.1862.There came a Day—at Summer’s full

There came a Day—at Summer’s full,
Entirely for me—
I thought that such—were for the Saints—
Where Resurrections—be—

The Sun—as common—went abroad—
The flowers—accustomed—blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed—
That maketh all things new.

The time was scarce profaned—by speech—
The symbol of a word
Was needless—as at Sacrament—
The Wardrobe—of our Lord—

Each was to each—the sealed church,
Permitted to commune this—time—
Lest we too awkward show—
At “Supper of the Lamb.”

The Hours slid fast—as Hours will—
Clutched tight—by greedy hands—
So—faces on two Decks—look back—
Bound to opposing Lands—

And so when all the time had failed—
Without external sound—
Each—bound the other’s Crucifix—
We gave no other Bond—

Sufficient troth—that we shall rise—
Deposed—at length—the Grave—
To that new Marriage—
Justified—through Calvaries of Love!

In my letter to Wadsworth in spring 1958 (JL187, Master Letter 1), I told him “Each Sabbath on the Sea, makes me count the Sabbaths, till we meet on shore.” Finally, in late Summer 1860, he did come to visit me for an afternoon. He wasn’t stern like my father and seemed to care for me as a friend. It was a beautiful afternoon that I will always remember. I was deeply in love with him and even called him “Master”. That was the day he seduced me.

We walked together in our orchard, and when we were in a secluded spot, he suggested we sit down. There, “he seemed almost overpowered by a spasm of gloom. I said, “You are troubled”. Shivering as he spoke, “My Life is full of dark secrets,” he said. He never spoke of himself, and encroachment I know would have slain him.” (JL776 to James D. Clark, late 1882):

I felt sorrow for his pain and tried to sooth him. Little did I know that what he said was part of his plan was to gain my sympathy and trust. He told me that we could meet and marry in Heaven and I believed him (Stanza 7, F325, January 1882). He succeeded in seducing me, and that evening we parted silently, speaking only with love in our eyes. (Stanza 6, F841 above, 1864)

Or so I thought.

Now I think he took the train back to Philadelphia, satisfied that he had accomplished his mission. I suspect he had used those lines on many a troubled female who came to him for counselling. I also suspect that was the real reason he had to leave Philadelphia and move to San Francisco. He was a superstar minister and when his “secrets” became common knowledge, he had to leave town. Yet, despite knowing he took advantage of my naiveite, I still love him and will continue loving him until I die (JL766 to James D Clark, August 1882):

“In a intimacy of many years with the beloved Clergyman, I have never before spoken with one who knew him, and his Life was so shy and his tastes so unknown, that grief for him seems almost unshared. . . . He was my Shepherd from “Little Girl”hood and I cannot conjecture a world without him, so noble was he always – so fathomless – so gentle”.

James D. Clark was Wadsworth’s seminary roommate and close friend. Clark lived in Northampton, MA, only 12 miles SW of Amherst by train.

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840.1864.Love—is that later Thing than Death—

Love—is that later Thing than Death—
More previous—than Life—
Confirms it at its entrance—And
Usurps it—of itself—

Tastes Death—the first—to (prove) the sting
The Second—to its friend—
Disarms the little interval—
Deposits Him with God—

Then hovers—an inferior Guard—
Lest this Beloved Charge
Need—once in an Eternity—
A (lesser) than the Large—

My interpretation of F840:

1. 1. Love is our guardian angel, who exists before our birth and after our death. Love confirms our life at birth, takes control of our life while we live, and at death accompanies our spirit to Heaven.
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   2. Love tastes death first to prove the sting, then, during “the little interval” between life and afterlife, removes the sting for us. Finally, Love gives our spirit to God.
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   3. Love, our guardian angel, then hovers over our spirit in Heaven, in case our spirit needs a “lesser” friend than God.

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Coda:

For you and I have a guardian angel on high
With nothin’ to do
But to give to you and to give to me
Love forever true”.

“True Love,” written by Cole Porter for the 1956 musical film High Society.

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ED inserted four alternate words in the manuscript of this poem: Line 5 “pass, prove”; Line 11 “Miss”; and Line 12 “lesser”.

I prefer alternate words “prove” and “lesser” over the published “hand” and “smaller” and have used them in this post.

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Three notes about my interpretation of F840:

1. Stanza 1 tells us Love is “More previous—than Life” and “Confirms” itself “at Life’s “entrance”, that is, at birth. Nineteen years after ED composed this poem, she wrote her pen-friend, Maria Whitney:
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   “the angel begins in the morning in every human life” (L824, May 1883 ).
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   This excerpt from an 1883 letter suggests ED may have had a lifelong core belief that each person has a guardian angel watching over them before birth, during life, and after death.
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2. In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul said, “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” (1 Corinthians 15:55).
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3. EDLex defines “Death” as (1) “the process of spirit separating from the body” and (2) “the transition from this world to the world beyond”. In my interpretation of this poem, the “sting” of Death no longer happens when the spirit leaves the body, nor does it happen in the “grave” because the guardian angel removes the sting.

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The belief that each person has a guardian angel spans thousands of years, with roots in ancient Babylonian, Zoroastrian, and Greek traditions before being adopted into Judaism and early Christianity. It became a significant, widely accepted concept in Christianity by the early centuries AD, and was later formally solidified in Catholic theology.  (Google AI)

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ED needed a guardian angel and so she created one.

 

 

838.1864.Robbed by Death—but that was easy—

Robbed by Death—but that was easy—
To the failing Eye
I could hold the latest Glowing—
Robbed by Liberty

For Her Jugular Defences—
This, too, I endured—
Hint of Glory—it afforded—
For the Brave Beloved—

Fraud of Distance—Fraud of Danger,
Fraud of Death—to bear—
It is Bounty—to Suspense’s
Vague Calamity—

Staking our entire Possession
On a Hair’s result—
Then—seesawing—coolly—on it—
Trying if it split—

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

My biographical interpretation of F838:
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Stanza 1
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In March 1862, I [ED] lost my good friend Frazer Stern in the Battle of New Bern, NC. I had been worried sick about him. I wrote my 1863 poem, ‘A Dying Tiger — moaned for Drink’, about Frazer, who lived 10 minutes after a Confederate miniball hit him. He moaned for water and I imagined holding him as his eyes dimmed in death. He died defending freedom for (enjambed) . . .

Stanza 2

all men, both white and black. Though worried sick, I endured. He was patriotic and I hope his death affords him a hint glory.

Stanza 3

I had to tolerate my awful fear of Frazer’s distance, danger, and demise. His death is the only reward I get for fearing some vague catastrophe.
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Stanza 4
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I staked my close friendship with Frazer on fate’s decision whether he should live or die. Fate seesawed between the two, then chose death.

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If Lines 2-3 sound familiar, here are Lines 5-8 of ‘A Dying Tiger — moaned for Drink’ (F529), 1863:

“His Mighty [Eye]Balls — in death were thick —
But searching —
I could see A Vision on the Retina
Of Water — and of me”

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“Frazer Stearns was a close friend of Emily Dickinson and her brother Austin. His death in the Battle of New Bern in March 1862 deeply affected Dickinson, prompting her to write about him in letters and likely influencing her poetry.” (Google AI)

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ED Lexicon defines “Calamity” as: Catastrophe; devastation; tragedy; misery; misfortune; grievous trouble; destruction that causes distress; adverse events such as plagues, famines, earthquakes, or violent storms

ED Lexicon defines “Fraud” as: Deceit; deception; trick.

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If Lines 2-3 sound familiar, here’s Lines 5-8 of ‘A Dying Tiger — moaned for Drink’ (F529), 1863:

“His Mighty [Eye]Balls — in death were thick —
But searching —
I could see A Vision on the Retina
Of Water — and of me”

837.1864.I make His Crescent fill or lack—

I make His Crescent fill or lack—
His Nature is at Full
Or Quarter—as I signify—
His Tides—do I control—

He holds superior in the Sky
Or gropes, at my Command
Behind inferior Clouds—or round
A Mist’s slow Colonnade—

But since We hold a Mutual Disc—
And front a Mutual Day—
Which is the Despot, neither knows—
Nor Whose—the Tyranny—

 

Pronoun identities: “I” is the Sun and “He/Him” is the Moon.

If these identities are correct, this poem is unusual. I can’t remember a single other ED poem where “I” means anything but ED/Poet.

Here’s my interpretation of the poem, stanza by stanza:

1. I make the Moon’s crescent wax or wane. I command whether the Moon is full or quarter. I control the tides.
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2. I also command whether the Moon is superior in the night sky or struggles with clouds and mist that block his face from view.
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3. But since We have the same round face: a full Moon at night and a bright orb during the day, which of us is the despot, which creates the fear?

 

PS. “Day” must mean one 24-hour day because both Sun and Moon “face” it.

PPS. Adam’s explication of this poem on TPB is excellent, but it ends without explaining the last line: “Nor Whose—the Tyranny”. Does the Sun tyrannize the Moon, or the Moon tyrannize the Sun? Is one of them really a “Despot”?

 

 

 

836.1864.Color — Caste — Denomination —

Color — Caste — Denomination —
These — are Time’s Affair —
Death’s diviner Classifying
Does not know they are —

As in sleep — All Hue forgotten —
Tenets — put behind —
Death’s large—Democratic fingers
Rub away the Brand —

If Circassian — He is careless —
If He put away
Chrysalis of Blonde—or Umber —
Equal Butterfly —

They emerge from His Obscuring —
What Death — knows so well —
Our minuter intuitions —
Deem unplausible —

 

My interpretation of each stanza, ED speaking:

1. Color — Caste — Denomination —
   These — are Time’s Affair —
   Death’s diviner Classifying
   Does not know they are —

I believe a person’s skin color, social class, and religion don’t matter. They are determined by one’s parents and ancestors. After we die, death will decide our fate, and death doesn’t see these distinctions.

2. As in sleep — All Hue forgotten —
   Tenets — put behind —
   Death’s large—Democratic fingers
   Rub away the Brand —

I also believe that democratic death doesn’t care about skin color, social class, and religion. It erases these superficial distinctions.

3. If Circassian — He is careless —
   If He put away
   Chrysalis of Blonde—or Umber —
   Equal Butterfly — (enjambed with next line.

I believe death deals the same with butterflies, Death doesn’t care if they’re white or blond or dark brown. They emerge from their chrysalises as equals in death’s eyes.

4. They emerge from His Obscuring —
   What Death — knows so well —
   Our minuter intuitions —
   Deem unplausible —
   
   Our minute human classifications emerge from death’s denial as unplausible, a fact death knows so well.

 

836.1864.Color — Caste — Denomination —

Color — Caste — Denomination —
These — are Time’s Affair —
Death’s diviner Classifying
Does not know they are —

As in sleep — All Hue forgotten —
Tenets — put behind —
Death’s large—Democratic fingers
Rub away the Brand —
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If Circassian — He is careless —
If He put away
Chrysalis of Blonde—or Umber —
Equal Butterfly —
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They emerge from His Obscuring —
What Death — knows so well —
Our minuter intuitions —
Deem unplausible —
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In a genetic sense that ED could not know, not just humans share death, but every individual organism: plant, animal, bacterium, fungus, and even, in a sense, virus, with their single-stranded genetic code of RNA. Death’s “Democratic Fingers” end existence for every “individual” of every “species”.
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What we know now is that ED’s obsession with individual human “Death” was completely anthropocentric. What really matters is transmission of genetic code from each parent generation to its descendants. Genetic codes are “immortal” in a sense, but their “immortality” does not mean they stay the same; they change continually by natural selection and its consequence, evolution.

We organisms pass from existence to non-existence. Death of an individual organism doesn’t matter, so long as it leaves at least one copy of its DNA in the next generation. The only complete failure of a DNA or RNA molecule is extinction of its “species”. If we humans cause that extinction, we have committed a biocentric sin. Of course, we humans may intentionally cause extinction of a pathogen “species” like smallpox for our own anthropocentric benefit, but if we do we have intentionally committed a biocentric sin for a good reason.
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All of this is not to say that ED’s poems don’t matter. We love their rhythm and rhyme, their sound and sense. When we enjoy a poem, biology doesn’t matter. We can always learn biology later, when we aren’t reading ED’s poems.