Emily, every single one of your poems is like a beautiful dream! It's truly remarkable. Your mind is so extraordinary and brilliant that I simply don't feel worthy to write anything about you. Your poems possess a certain magic that is simply captivating. I have adored each and every one of them with all my heart. They touch my soul and transport me to another world. I would highly recommend your poems to anyone who has a love for literature and a desire to be inspired. You are a true genius, Emily, and your work will surely stand the test of time.

I read Emily's complete works early this year, but unfortunately, I didn't mark it. I know that I'll come back to her some year in the future, with a more focused mind.
Emily was truly a dear friend this year. She helped me out in many ways, and I'm so grateful for her kind and silent companionship. Thank you, dear Emily. I send you all my love and gratitude. I hope you receive them, no matter where you are in this world.

Dying! Dying in the night!
Won't somebody bring the light
So I can see which way to go
Into the everlasting snow?


Water, is taught by thirst.
Land - by the oceans passed
Transport - by throe -
Peace - by its battles told -
Love, by memorial mold -
Birds, by snow


Going - to - Her!
Happy - Letter! Tell Her -
Tell Her - the page I never wrote!
Tell Her, I only said - the Syntax -
And left the Verb and the Pronoun - out!
Tell Her just how the fingers - hurried -
Then - how they - stammered - slow - slow -
And then - you wished you had eyes - in your pages -
So you could see - what moved - them - so -
Tell Her - it wasn’t a practised writer -
You guessed -
From the way the sentence - toiled -
You could hear the Bodice - tug - behind you -
As if it held but the might of a child!
You almost pitied - it - you - it worked so -
Tell Her - No - you may quibble - there -
For it would split Her Heart - to know it -
And then - you and I - were silenter!
Tell Her - Day - finished - before we - finished -
And the old Clock kept neighing - “Day”!
And you - got sleepy - and begged to be ended -
What could - it hinder so - to say?
Tell Her - just how she sealed - you - Cautious!
But - if she ask “where you are hid” - until the evening -
Ah! Be bashful!
Gesture Coquette -
And shake your Head!

Emily Dickinson's poems had a profound impact on me, convincing me at a young age of 9 or 10 to pursue a career as a writer. I first discovered her works through the outdated American textbooks that my mother retrieved from the school library collection.

On the sweltering Saturday and Sunday afternoons, when the heat made it impossible to play outdoors and children were compelled to take afternoon naps, I would find myself engrossed in reading her poems. I vividly imagined the woman behind the words, the one with whom I shared such similar thoughts.

To this day, my favorite poem of hers remains:

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

I was well aware that she never achieved fame during her lifetime, and that wasn't something she actively sought. However, her poems reassured me that there was something more I needed to do, a place elsewhere I had to be. Just like everything in life, including our physical state, was only temporary.

So, I grew up with anticipation, longing for the day when I would have the courage to express my thoughts and feelings through writing. I dreamed of being able to say, "This is my letter to the world who never wrote to me... ;)"

I am not a poems girly by nature. In fact, this whole experience of exploring poems was just an experiment for me.

At the beginning, I wasn't sure what to expect. I thought it might be a bit boring or too complex for me to understand. However, as I delved into it, I was pleasantly surprised.

To my surprise, I did really like some poems in it. There were certain lines and stanzas that just spoke to me, that made my heart race and my mind wander.

These poems had a power and beauty that I hadn't anticipated. They were able to convey emotions and ideas in a way that words alone couldn't.

Now, I find myself looking forward to reading more poems, to uncovering their hidden meanings and enjoying their unique charm. It turns out that this experiment has opened up a whole new world for me, a world of poetry that I am eager to explore further.

If, like me, you’ve become mildly obsessed with the wild and transcendent Dickinson on Apple, then you probably have already grasped just how large the idea of fame looms over Emily’s life.

The show isn't historically accurate, but that's precisely what helps it shine so brightly, in my opinion. It serves as an excellent introduction to her poems.

Take "Fame is a bee," for example. This poem, among others, delves into the complexity of fame. It's a theme that I seem to be addicted to in my own work as well.

Fame is often seen as a desirable thing, something that many people strive for. But as Dickinson shows in her poem, it has its drawbacks. The bee, which represents fame, has a sting. It can bring pain and disappointment along with the glory.

In my own writing, I explore the idea of fame from different angles. I wonder what it means to be famous, what the costs are, and whether it's really worth it.

Overall, the idea of fame is a fascinating one, and Dickinson's poems offer a unique perspective on it. I'm glad that the show has introduced me to her work and inspired me to think more deeply about this theme.

Crescendo de trovão até findar,
The thunder builds up with a crescendo until it ends.
Depois o esboroar-se, grandioso,
After that, it explodes magnificently.
Quando o Tudo criado era escondido
When all that was created was hidden away.
Isto – a Poesia -
This - Poetry -

Ou o Amor - os dois vêm coevos -
Or Love - the two come together simultaneously.
Ambos, nenhum provamos -
Both, we have not proved either one.
Um qualquer experimentamos e morremos -
We experiment with one and then we die.
Ninguém vê Deus e vive –
No one sees God and lives -

Emily Dickinson
This poem by Emily Dickinson seems to explore the profound and mysterious nature of poetry and love. The imagery of the thunder building up and exploding creates a sense of power and drama. The idea that all creation was hidden away adds an element of mystery. Poetry and love are presented as coeval, yet both remain unproven. The thought that we experiment with one and then die is a poignant reminder of the brevity of life. And the final line, "No one sees God and lives," further emphasizes the mystery and unknowability of the divine.

Poems I marked to reread hold a special allure.

In Book I. Life, there are many gems. "I'm nobody! Who are you?" (288) makes one question identity. "If I can stop one heart from breaking" (919) shows the power of kindness. "A wounded deer leaps highest" (165) is a profound observation.

"Hope is the thing with feathers" (XXXIII) gives a beautiful image of hope. "I had no time to hate" (XXIII) reflects a positive attitude. "My life closed twice" (CVII) speaks of life's closures and new beginnings.

Book II. Love has its own set of emotions. "Heart, we will forget him!" (XXVI) shows the struggle to move on. "Have you got a brook in your little heart" (XXVII) is a charming thought.

In Book IV. Time and Eternity, "Each that we lose takes part of us" (VIII) makes us think about loss. "THE CHARIOT" (XXVII) and "FAREWELL" (CXLI) deal with the passage of time and leaving.

These poems offer a rich tapestry of human experience and emotions, waiting to be explored and understood.

Bring me the sunset in a cup...

Emily Dickinson's poems are not only beautifully written but also cunningly meaningful. They are profound meditations on various aspects of life such as love, God, nature, life, and death.

Her words have the power to touch the deepest recesses of our souls and make us reflect on the world around us.

Take, for example, the poem that begins with "If I can stop one heart from breaking." In these simple yet powerful lines, Dickinson expresses her desire to make a difference in the lives of others.

She believes that if she can ease the pain of just one person, or help a fainting robin return to its nest, then her life will not have been in vain.

This shows her compassion and her understanding of the importance of kindness and helping others.

Overall, Emily Dickinson's poems are a treasure trove of wisdom and inspiration that continue to touch the hearts of readers around the world.

I cannot accurately express the depth of my fondness for this woman. I have always had a special affection for LGBT writers, perhaps because I myself belong to this community. And for me, Emily Dickinson stands at the very top, along with the likes of Oscar Wilde. Her mind was truly beautiful, and her writing is of a timeless nature.

It is an absolute tragedy that in the era in which she lived, she could not freely explore the love that she so clearly longed for.

She was a masterful letter writer, a brilliant poet, and an iconic woman. I do not feel as deeply and passionately connected to any other literary figure as I do with Dickinson.

If heaven is real (and although I highly doubt it, let's just assume for a moment), and one can truly see or do anything they wish, then I sincerely hope that I will have the opportunity to meet her there.

Her works have had a profound impact on me, and I long to have the chance to engage with her, to understand her thoughts and feelings even more deeply.

She is a literary giant, and her legacy will continue to inspire generations to come.

This is my letter to the world,

That has never bothered to write back to me.

The news is simple, as told by Nature,

With a tender and majestic charm.

Her message has been entrusted

To hands that remain unseen by my eyes.

For the love of her, my dear fellow countrymen,

Please judge me with a tender heart!

This letter is my attempt to reach out to the world,

To share the beauty and wonder that Nature has shown me.

Though the world may be silent,

I hope my words will find their way into the hearts of those who read them.

Let us all cherish the message of Nature,

And treat each other with kindness and tenderness.

My Becoming-a-Genius Project, Part 24!

The Background:
I've decided to become a genius. To achieve this, I'm working through the collected stories of various authors, reading and reviewing 1 story every day until I get bored, lose every follower, or am struck down by a vengeful deity. I firmly believe that when I finish this, I will transcend all known limits of humanity and become the most insufferable person in history.

However, this particular project is 700 pages worth of poems - 1,775 of them, to be exact - and they're not divided in any way. I'm not sure how to approach this, but I have no other options as I've run out of all my other short story collections. Let's see what happens, I guess.

Project 24 is The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. I initially planned to read 50 poems a day, which would take me 36 days to finish. But realistically, I knew I might drop it down to 25 a day. I'm not going to rate these together as I've grouped them arbitrarily, but I will share my favorite of each day on my Instagram story.

As I progress through the poems, I find that the collection is like a prank on me. I keep expecting poems about sad girls, death, or heartbreak, and then in the last line, they reveal themselves to be about sailing. There are also a lot of roses and daisies, which I like as a girl who reads poetry and loves flowers.
I take breaks from the project for vacations and other reasons, but I always come back to it. Sometimes I read 25 poems a day, sometimes 50, and sometimes I just pick up the book when I feel like it. I share my favorites along the way, and I find that some days are better than others.
Overall, this project was ridiculous and took me 3 months. I often thought I would never finish, but I'm glad I did. I'm not a poetry girl, but I now love Emily Dickinson. The highs and lows of reading her collected works mean taking the good with the bad and a lot of mediocre, but there are also poems about summer, bees, flowers, death, grief, word definitions, goof-off roasts, and very, very gay love poems. What more could you ask for? I rate this project a 4.

The poetry of Emily Dickinson is a rich tapestry of profound thoughts and vivid imagery. Each poem offers a unique perspective on life, death, love, and the human experience. In her works, we find that night is described as the morning's canvas, with death being a rapt attention to immortality. The sunset is personified as a guest, and the relationship between joy and pain is explored in a keen and quivering ratio. Dickinson's use of symbolism is evident in her description of the sea as a possible lover, God, or longing for death. Her poems also touch on themes such as slavery, the power of nature, and the search for meaning and identity. Overall, Emily Dickinson's poetry is a testament to her remarkable talent and her ability to capture the essence of the human condition in a few short lines.

*Still in progress*

Favourite lines/poems:




Poems 1–100




(7)


Night is the morning's Canvas
Larceny — legacy —
Death, but our rapt attention
To Immortality.




notes: We 'die' every night and 'reborn' every morning




(15)


The Guest is gold and crimson
An Opal guest and gray —
Of Ermine is his doublet —
His Capuchin gay —

He reaches town at nightfall —
He stops at every door —
Who looks for him at morning
I pray him too — explore
The Lark's pure territory —
Or the Lapwing's shore!




notes: Personification of the Sunset/Death




Poems 100–200




(125)


For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the Ecstasy.

For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears.




notes: Describes the relationship of joy and pain




(162)


My River runs to thee.
Blue sea, wilt thou welcome me?
My river awaits reply.
Oh! Sea, look graciously.

I'll fetch thee brooks
From spotted nooks.
Say, sea,
Take me!




notes: Emily, as the River, asks the Sea to take her in. The Sea could be interpreted as a lover/God/longing for death.




(179)


If I could bribe them by a Rose
I'd bring them every flower that grows
From Amherst to Cashmere!
I would not stop for night, or storm —
Or frost, or death, or anyone —
My business were so dear!




notes: Is about the willingness to do everything in your power to achieve something. The rest of the poem leaves open what that exactly is, but it could be inclusion by people she loves/getting her poetry published/getting into Heaven.




(183)


I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometimes
In a Cathedral Aisle,
And understood no word it said
Yet held my breath, the while

And risen up and gone away,
A more Berdardine Girl
Yet know not what was done to me
In that old Hallowed Aisle.




notes: Religious sites have a mesmerizing effect on people




Poems 200–300




(233)


The Lamp burns sure — within —
Tho' Serfs — supply the Oil —
It matters not the busy Wick —
At her phosphoric toil!

The Slave — forgets — to fill —
The Lamp — burns golden — on —
Unconscious that the oil is out —
As that the Slave — is gone.




notes: 1. The disconnection between the inner flame and the body 2. Critique of slavery (1861–1865. American Civil War)




(253)


You see I cannot see — your lifetime —
I must guess —
How many times it ache for me — today — Confess
How many times for my far sake
The brave eyes film — But I guess guessing hurts —
Mine — get so dim'

Too vague — the face —
My own — so patient — covers —
Too far — the strength —
My timidness enfolds —
Haunting the Heart —
Like her translated faces —
Teasing the want —
It — only — can suffice'




notes: film: \\"become covered with a thin layer of something\\"




(258)


There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons —
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes —

Heavenly Hurt it gives us —
We can find no scar,
But Internal Difference —
Where the Meanings, are —

None may teach it — Any —
‘Tis the Seal Despair —
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air —

When it comes, the Landscape listens —
Shadows — hold their breath —
When it goes, ‘tis like the Distance
On the look of Death —




notes: Unusual symbolism of light – carries a negative meaning




(280)


I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading — treading — till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through —

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum —
Kept beating — beating — till I thought
My mind was going numb —

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space — began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here —

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down —
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing — then —




notes: I'm losing my mind over this one... And yes, pun intended, it's all an allegory for losing your mind.




(281)


'Tis so appalling — it exhilarates —
So over Horror, it half Captivates —
The Soul stares after it, secure —
A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more —




notes: Now we're really getting into her gothic poetry, and the first line is a paradox: so horrifying it was captivating.




(288)


\\"I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one's name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!\\"




notes: \\"In essence, it is a poem in praise of quiet, individual contemplation—the kind represented by Dickinson and her poetry itself.\\" (from LitChart)




(292)


If your Nerve, deny you —
Go above your Nerve —
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve —

That's a steady posture —
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms —




notes: That's how you send your anxiety to hell in a poetic way, I guess.




Poems 300–400




(301)


I reason, Earth is short —
And Anguish — absolute —
And many hurt,
But, what of that?

I reason, we could die —
The best Vitality
Cannot excel Decay,
But, what of that?




notes: She really said, we're going to suffer no matter what and die no matter what, but oh well.




(311)


It sifts from Leaden Sieves —
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road —
(...)
Then stills it’s Artisans — like Ghosts —
Denying they have been —




notes: Who needs Christmas songs, when Emily Dickinson describes snow as Alabaster Wool, snow clouds as Leaden Sieves and the snow covered world as Ghosts — Denying they have been?




(314)


Fainter Leaves — to Further Seasons —
Dumbly testify —
We — who have the Souls —
Die oftener — Not so vitally —




notes: Compares the unconscious nature with the pain and suffering that comes from human consciousness.




(315)


He fumbles at your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on —
He stuns you by degrees —
Prepares your brittle Nature
For the Ethereal Blow
By fainter Hammers — further heard —
Then nearer — Then so slow —
Your Breath has time to straighten —
Your Brain — to bubble Cool —
Deals — One — imperial Thunderbolt —
That scalps your naked Soul —




notes: God/a deity playing with the soul as a pianist plays on a piano.




(351)


I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there —
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler —

I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner's name —
For doubt, that I should know the sound —




notes: She describes a state where she's disconnected from her body.




(371)


When Plato — was a Certainty —
And Sophocles — a Man —

When Sappho — was a living Girl —
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante — deified —
Facts Centuries before

He traverses — familiar —
As One should come to Town —
And tell you all your Dreams — were true —
He lived — where Dreams were born —




notes: The first stanza gives away that \\"he\\" is an antique book.


deified: \\"personified as a deity\\"




(383)


Exhiliration — is within —
There can no Outer Wine
So royally intoxicate
As that diviner Brand

The Soul achieves — Herself —
To drink — or set away
For Visitor — Or Sacrament —




notes: Describes a state of euphoria that doesn't come from an external source, like wine, but from the soul.




(390)


It's coming — the postponeless Creature —
It gains the Block — and now — it gains the Door —
Chooses its latch, from all the other fastenings —
Enters — with a \\"You know me — Sir\\"?




notes: Emily Dickinson's death metaphors are always iconic. Who's knocking on your door? The postponeless Creature, well you sure cannot postpone Death. And the Door is a gateway to death.




Poems 400–500




(410)


And Something's odd – within –
That person that I was –
And this One – do not feel the same –
Could it be Madness – this?




notes: Same theme as in I felt a Funeral, in my Brain




(419)


We grow accustomed to the Dark —
When Light is put away —
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye —

A Moment — We Uncertain step
For newness of the night —
Then — fit our Vision to the Dark —
And meet the Road — erect —

And so of larger — Darknesses —
Those Evenings of the Brain —
When not a Moon disclose a sign —
Or Star — come out — within —

The Bravest — grope a little —
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead —
But as they learn to see —

Either the Darkness alters —
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight —
And Life steps almost straight.




notes: Compares the eye's adaptability to dark with the mind's adaptability to difficulties




(425)


Good Morning — Midnight —
I'm coming Home —
Day — got tired of Me —
How could I — of Him?

Sunshine was a sweet place —
I liked to stay —
But Morn — didn't want me — now —
So — Goodnight — Day!

I can look — can't I —
When the East is Red?
The Hills — have a way — then —
That puts the Heart — abroad —

You — are not so fair — Midnight —
I chose — Day —
But — please take a little Girl —
He turned away!




notes: Probably about death but in an innocent style




(434)


However, dear,
Forever might be short, I thought to show —
And so I pieced it, with a flower, now.




notes: It may be a Sue poem...




(446)


I showed her Heights she never saw —
\\"Would'st Climb,\\" I said?
She said — \\"Not so\\" —
\\"With me — \\" I said — With me?
I showed her Secrets — Morning's Nest —
The Rope the Nights were put across —
And now — \\"Would'st have me for a Guest?\\"
She could not find her Yes —
And then, I brake my life — And Lo,
A Light, for her, did solemn glow,
The larger, as her face withdrew —
And could she, further, \\"No\\"?




notes: It's definitely a Sue poem.




(463)


I live with Him — I see His face —
I go no more away
For Visitor — or Sundown —
Death