Hope is an essential and powerful element in our lives. It is like a beautiful bird with feathers that finds its place within our souls. This bird of hope continuously sings its tunes, melodies that are wordless yet carry profound meaning. It has an unwavering spirit and never ceases its song. "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all." It gives us the strength to face challenges, to persevere through difficult times, and to look forward to a better future. No matter what obstacles come our way, hope remains, providing us with a glimmer of light in the darkness. It is the driving force that keeps us going, that makes us believe that there is always a possibility for something good to happen. Hope is truly a remarkable and precious thing.

When I think of Emily, I rarely think of a writer, a poet, or an artist. Most of the time, I rely on her as if she were a person, a dear person, a child to console.

In my mind, Emily is a child who needs a hug and at the same time knows how to hug me in times of need.

When I'm not feeling well, when I feel that no one can understand me, Emily is here with me: she knows how I feel, she can unite her pain with mine. Sharing her wounds makes them less felt.

I know I'm exaggerating. First of all, I'm not a poet and I don't remotely have the greatness to feel like this little woman.

What I'm trying to say is that, beyond her poetry, Emily is for me a reference point, a memory, something to come back to.

Open the collection at a random point, read two lines, and find oneself. It makes me feel loved.

Emily is my spirit poet. We would have been great friends.

Her poems cover an incredibly wide range of topics, which is truly amazing. They alternate between being heart-rendingly beautiful, melancholic, sexy, wistful, just plain adorable, and sometimes, strangely, all of those at once. For example, there are adorable poems about bees and birds on adventures. There are also excellent war retrospect poems that make you think deeply. And her melancholically metal poems about death are simply outstanding. Queer as heck love poems? She has those too. And poems that describe mental illness with perfect accuracy? Most definitely. Emily has the talent to turn a phone book into a moving piece of poetry with her rhyming skills.

Obviously, I didn't enjoy every single one of her 1,775 poems. Based on the poems I marked as FAVORITES and those that I didn't mark but were sort of favorites, I only ended up loving or liking about 25-30% of them. However, those 500 or so poems spoke volumes to me and were so powerful that I couldn't give this collection anything less than five stars. They touched my heart and soul in ways that few other works of literature have.

Emily Dickinson left an extensive collection of poetry. There were 900 poems hand-sewn together in 60 small packets. Her sister Lavinia discovered this treasure trove after Emily's death. The poems were untitled and mostly undated. Lavinia recognized the literary value and sought help to get them published.

Early editors, like her brother's mistress Mabel Loomis Tood, tried to make the poetry more palatable to modern tastes by editing some of Dickinson's idiosyncratic works. However, the edition edited by Thomas H. Johnson restores the original poems, erasing those early changes and offering the "only authoritative paperback collection of all of Emily Dickinson's poetry."

After a brief and helpful biography of the Amherst genius, Johnson arranges and numbers the poetry by the estimated date of composition. This gives readers an insight into the events that might have been happening in Dickinson's life at the time of writing.

The book can be read from front to back, but I also enjoyed randomly opening "The Complete Poems" and delving into whatever poems emerged. Once immersed in Dickinson's genius, I felt like a fish leaping from the black depth to catch a transcendent truth. The spirit of the poetess and her artistic grace move fluidly through the pages, always present and sometimes prescient.

If you want to get to know Emily Dickinson personally, "The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson" offers an open gate to her garden. You may not catch her, but you'll smell the rosemary as she passes. And if you look closely, you might see Dickinson's essence in a single flower, as in this poem:

"The Grace - Myself - might not obtain -
Confer upon My flower -
Refracted but a Countenance -
For I - inhabit Her -"
(Emily Dickinson poem #707, circa 1863, 1st published in 1935)

What can I say?

Emily Dickinson's poetry is truly the most stunning and haunting that I have ever had the privilege of reading.

I had only read a few of her poems initially, but was so captivated that I decided to take on the task of reading her complete works.

The experience has been nothing short of incredible.

As I read poem after poem, it almost feels as if she had an uncanny understanding of the emotions associated with mortality, perhaps better than anyone alive today.

And the way she is able to convey those complex and profound emotions with just words is truly remarkable.

Wow, it's almost impossible to put into words just how powerful and moving her poetry is.

It makes you stop and think, and really appreciate the beauty and mystery of life and death.

Each poem is like a little gem, waiting to be discovered and explored.

I can't wait to continue delving into her works and uncovering more of her hidden treasures.

Emily Dickinson's poetic works could be defined as a garden. Her poems are a song to life, death, and transformation, and they invite us to contemplate nature as a mirror of the soul.

"Nobody knows this little rose. It could have been a pilgrim if I hadn't picked it from the paths and offered it to you. Only one bee will miss it, only one butterfly, hurrying after a long journey to rest in its lap. Only one bird will wonder where it is. Only one breeze will sigh. Oh, little rose, how easy it is for someone like you to die!"

Emily Dickinson's poetry is like a hidden garden, filled with beautiful and profound thoughts. Her words have the power to touch our hearts and make us think about the mysteries of life and death. Through her poems, we can see the world from a different perspective and discover the beauty that lies within nature and within ourselves.

Running upwards of 1,700 poems, there's simply no conceivable way that I could read each and every one of them.

I ultimately settled for perhaps half of them. That's not to imply that I'm not extremely tempted to read all of them. However, Dickinson is one of those remarkable poets who, after the first 200 or so poems, begin to seem a little bit stale.

It's best to take a break and come back to her works later.

Don't misunderstand me. Her innovative poetics is almost shockingly profound. So much so that people use words like 'profundity' or claim that she, who had no powers of prescience as far as her biographers are aware, 'anticipated modernity', whatever that might truly mean.

In my opinion, that really means nothing. We don't need to pigeonhole her in such a way. I believe she was far beyond that. And she still is.

Her poetry is almost intoxicating - staccato, broken, weird, and refusing to conform. In short, it is truly wonderful.

I truly feel as if I have delved into a vast world of poetry, far more than what my Goodreads account indicates. It seems that there are countless poems that I have encountered, each leaving an indelible mark on my heart and mind. The beauty and power of the written word in poetry have always had a profound impact on me. I can recall those moments when I was completely immersed in the rhythm and imagery of a poem, losing myself in its essence. Yet, for some reason, my Goodreads account fails to capture the full extent of my poetic journey. It makes me wonder if there are other ways to accurately document and remember all the wonderful poems I have read. Perhaps I should start keeping a personal journal dedicated solely to my thoughts and reflections on the poetry I encounter. That way, I can have a more comprehensive record of my literary adventures.

Full disclosure: When I was younger, I only knew a few of the poems, and those were in the dashless, bastardized versions. I didn't love them back then.

However, I've since come to realize how truly extraordinary, exhilarating, beguiling, strange, and yes, sometimes still baffling yet alive these poems are. I am now rereading them, a few pages each morning, and I'm still deeply in love with the work.

Interestingly, for me, the poems are x times more interesting than the legend of the white dress-wearing, quite possibly queer recluse spinster.

Oddly enough, I've encountered more than one seasoned poetry reader or writer who, when Dickinson is discussed, exclaims almost boastfully, "I hate her!" My judgmental theory is that anyone who hates Emily Dickinson simply hasn't read enough of her work and may actually just not have a true appreciation for poems in general.

It seems that some people are quick to dismiss her without truly delving into the depth and beauty of her poetry. But for those of us who have taken the time to explore her words, we are rewarded with a world of profound emotions and unique perspectives.

I felt a sneeze - as big as God

Form in - back of - my Nose

Yet being - without - a Handkerchief

I Panicked quite - and froze

Sneeze I must - yet sneeze - must not

Dilemma - made - me grieve

Happy then - a single Bee

Saw me - use - my sleeve

Well all right, I did not read every one of the 25,678 but certainly a fair number. You know when she died they found she'd stuffed poems everywhere in her house. Up the chimney, down her knickers, tied in little "packets" onto her dogs' hindquarters. Someone cut a slice of a loaf of bread to make a sandwich and another 25 poems fell out. I think Emily would have made a great drug mule if she'd have lived another 120 years. Although she may have found a serious conflict between her intense religious convictions and the large amount of cash she would have made, not to mention the radical change of lifestyle.

There's - a certain - slant of - light

On - winter afternoons

That makes - you feel - high

Like - those - small - mushrooms

I put - a poem - in my pants

Then sitting - by an Eternal Lake

My poem - seemed - to speak aloud

"Lay off - the Battenburg - cake"

This is a beautiful collection of poems, the first one I have read by Emily Dickinson.

Through a characteristic language and a particular punctuation, one is drawn into a writing that touches on many themes, revealing emotions and impressions, and is capable of captivating you.

The many metaphors and images used, also thanks to short and effective sentences, have struck me in their immediacy and have seemed so revealing of the meaning they want to convey as if they were tailor-made for this.

It has been a great encounter, as the first encounter with the author, and surely it has encouraged me to deepen it.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—

That perches in the soul—

And sings the tune without the words—

And never stops—at all—

Hope is like a beautiful bird that dwells within our souls. It has feathers that seem to shine with a gentle light. It continuously sings a melody that doesn't rely on words but rather touches our hearts in a profound way. It doesn't matter what the circumstances are, this bird of hope never ceases its song.

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—

And sore must be the storm—

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm—

Even in the midst of a strong gale, the song of hope is heard and it brings a sense of sweetness. The storm would have to be extremely fierce to silence this little bird that has brought warmth and comfort to so many people. It withstands the harshest of conditions and still manages to keep its spirit alive.

I've heard it in the chillest land—

And on the strangest Sea—

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb—of Me.

I have experienced the presence of hope in the coldest and most desolate lands, as well as on the strangest of seas. No matter how extreme the situation, hope has never once asked for anything in return from me. It is a constant companion, always there to lift my spirits and give me the strength to carry on.