I completed it, and this is what they felt afterwards. Dickinson, my poem, fdnsdnsd.

I have this intense desire to bury her.

Right there, within the fractures of my heart.

Oh, wouldn't she just love to be engraved.

Into one young and fragile heart.

(I bet she would.)

I have an unwavering love for this queen of poetry. She is a strange and introverted woman who exclusively dons white clothes and pens poems about death and immortality. Her gothic vibes are simply enchanting, and the beauty of her words is beyond compare.

It was a couple of years ago that I truly fell head over heels in love with her. This current reading marks my third reread of her works. Interestingly, some of the selected poems in this edition are different from those I've read in previous editions and translations. As a result, I've discovered several new favorite poems by her.

I can't help but feel that if we could somehow know each other, we would definitely get along swimmingly. Her poetry speaks to my soul on a profound level, and I am completely smitten. I love her poetry with all my heart and will continue to explore and cherish her works for years to come.

Beautiful Meditations on Nature, Love, and Death: A Springtime Delight

Spring is a season that brings with it a sense of renewal and rebirth. It is a time when nature awakens from its slumber, and the world is filled with vibrant colors and sweet scents. It is also a time for beautiful meditations on nature, love, and death.

Meditating on nature in the spring can be a truly enchanting experience. The sight of blooming flowers, the sound of chirping birds, and the feel of a gentle breeze can all help to calm the mind and soothe the soul. We can take a walk in the park, sit by a lake, or simply gaze out of the window and let the beauty of nature wash over us.

Love is another theme that is often associated with spring. The arrival of warmer weather and longer days seems to bring out the best in people, and we find ourselves more open to love and connection. We can meditate on the love we have for others, the love we receive, and the love that exists within us.

Finally, death is an inevitable part of life, and it is also a topic that can be explored through meditation in the spring. As we witness the cycle of life and death in nature, we can reflect on our own mortality and find comfort in the knowledge that everything has its season. We can meditate on the meaning of life and death, and find peace in the acceptance of both.

In conclusion, the spring is a perfect time for beautiful meditations on nature, love, and death. By taking the time to slow down, connect with nature, and explore these profound themes, we can gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us.

Selected Poems, Emily Dickinson

First Reading Date: July 27, 2010

Title: The Rustle of Unopened Buds: Poems of Emily Dickinson; Translators: Mohammadreza Akhout, Hamid Farazandeh; Publication Details: Tehran, Agah, 2009, in 178 and 102 pages, ISBN: 9789644162947; Persian-English; From the Selected Poems of Emily Dickinson - 19th Century

This collection of selected poems by Emily Dickinson offers a wonderful glimpse into the mind and heart of this renowned American poet. The translations by Mohammadreza Akhout and Hamid Farazandeh bring her works to life in the Persian language, allowing a new audience to appreciate her unique style and profound insights. With 178 pages dedicated to the Persian translations and 102 pages of the original English text, readers can compare and contrast the two versions. Published by Agah in Tehran in 2009, this book is a valuable addition to any poetry lover's library. The ISBN 9789644162947 makes it easily identifiable and accessible. Whether you are a fan of Emily Dickinson or simply interested in exploring the beauty of poetry, this collection is sure to delight and inspire.

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**"Strange Tales and Musings"**

Because I could not stop for Cops
They kindly Stopped for Me
The Roadblocks covered all three lanes
Perfect Symmetry

This first stanza presents a rather odd encounter with the police. The unexpected nature of the cops stopping the narrator, despite the narrator's inability or unwillingness to stop on their own, creates a sense of mystery. The description of the roadblocks covering all three lanes in perfect symmetry adds an element of order and precision to the otherwise chaotic situation.


A narrow Fellow - in the grass
With one eyed – snake – and smile
You may have met him – did you not
The local – paedo – phile


Here, a strange character is introduced. The image of a narrow fellow in the grass with a one-eyed snake and a smile is both creepy and captivating. The mention of a "local paedo-phile" gives a disturbing twist to the description, making the reader wonder about the nature of this character and what encounters one might have with him.


I heard a Boy-Band - when I died
The Radio - was on
And rushing so - to switch it Off
And catching - my left Thumb


This stanza takes us into the afterlife, where the narrator hears a boy-band when they die. The immediate reaction to rush and switch off the radio, only to catch their left thumb, adds a touch of absurdity and a sense of the unexpected. The idea of a boy-band playing in the afterlife is both humorous and thought-provoking.


Hope is a thing with feathers
That perches in my Bowl
And pecks up all my Cereal
Until it's drowned in milk


In this stanza, hope is personified as a thing with feathers that perches in the narrator's bowl and pecks up all their cereal until it's drowned in milk. The image is both charming and a little bit sad, as hope seems to consume everything in the narrator's life.


When the Landlord turned - the drunken Bee
Out of - the Foxglove's door,
They arrested him - for being \\"twee\\"
And broke his - fingers four


The final stanza presents a rather strange and comical scene. The landlord turning out a drunken bee from the foxglove's door and then being arrested for being "twee" and having his fingers broken adds a touch of absurdity and a sense of the unexpected. The whole scene is like a strange dream or a surrealist painting.

2016: I truly adored this.

I have a profound love for short poems, and Emily - yes, we're on a first name basis - is the undisputed queen of the short form.

In this collection of 100 poems, I was completely enamored with more than half of them.

I'm fairly certain that Emily and I would have hit it off splendidly, especially ten years ago when I was a goth and was penning poetry on a daily basis!

2020: I have an intense love for the themes that Dickinson delves into, such as nature, death, grief, and thought.

I also greatly appreciate the concise length of the poems and their relatively uncomplicated language.

It provides me with just the right amount to analyze in a relaxed manner.

It's as if Dickinson's words are like little treasures waiting to be discovered and understood.

Her ability to convey deep emotions and complex ideas in such a succinct way is truly remarkable.

Each poem is like a tiny window into her unique perspective on the world.

I find myself constantly coming back to her work, eager to explore more of her literary genius.

Şiir okumayı özlediğinizi hissettirecek bir eser.

This work will make you feel the longing for reading poetry.

It has the power to transport you to a world where words dance and emotions soar.

The beautiful verses within this piece will touch your heart and stir your soul.

As you read, you will find yourself immersed in a sea of vivid imagery and profound thoughts.

It is a literary gem that will leave you with a sense of wonder and a renewed appreciation for the art of poetry.

Whether you are a seasoned poetry lover or just beginning to explore this wonderful genre, this work is sure to captivate you and make you long for more.

So, pick up this book and let the magic of poetry wash over you.

It dropped so low in my regard.

I heard it hit the ground,

And go to pieces on the stones

At bottom of my mind.

It was a strange sensation as something seemed to lose its value in my eyes. I could almost hear the sound of it hitting the ground and shattering into pieces on the stones deep within my mind.

Consider me dazzled, kept. I am content. It is a very slow holiday week and dread may be lifting. Democracy might still matter and there are vaccines on the horizons. My copy is handsome, a delight to hold. Into such I burrowed (and did so bold).

I find myself in a state of being dazzled and content. This holiday week is passing slowly, but perhaps the dread is starting to lift. There is hope for democracy and vaccines are on the way. My copy of something (maybe a book) is beautiful and a joy to hold. I have plunged into it with boldness.

There is no Frigate like a Book

To take us Lands away

Nor any Coursers like a Page

Of prancing Poetry –

This Traverse may the poorest take

Without oppress of Toll –

How frugal is the Chariot

That bears a Human soul.

Books are truly remarkable. They are like frigates that can transport us to faraway lands, and pages of poetry are like prancing coursers. Even the poorest can take this journey without the burden of a toll. The chariot that carries the human soul is so frugal.

We revere our gratitude later in the week in this country. It is a tradition. We also celebrate what might pass for gluttony to demonstrate our celestial favor. As to these poems I am likewise guilty. I crammed them into my maw and reread with abandon. Does the natural world experience relish? There might be a philosophical discord in imagining how the feral savor? I don't believe the appellation is necessarily exclusive. The blithe reader will find much to contemplate here, despite the avian and apiarian excess.

In this country, we will express our gratitude later in the week as it is a tradition. We also celebrate with what could be considered gluttony to show our favor from the heavens. I am just as guilty when it comes to these poems. I devoured them and reread them without restraint. Does the natural world experience relish? There may be a philosophical debate about how the wild creatures savor things. I don't think the term is necessarily exclusive. The lighthearted reader will find a lot to think about here, despite the abundance of avian and apiarian references.

This miniature book is a precious collection that contains 65 carefully selected poems written by Emily Dickinson between the years 1858 and 1865. Emily, an educated American woman hailing from Amherst, Massachusetts, led an eccentric and reclusive life. Despite authoring a remarkable 1,175 poems, she only anonymously published less than a dozen during her lifetime. It was only upon her death that the true body of her work was discovered.

The themes explored in this selection are profound and diverse. There is a deep sense of time, with reflections on life, her surroundings, and the inevitable presence of sorrow. The spirit is also a recurring theme, as is the recurrent pondering of nature and mortality. Occasional references to God and the afterlife add another layer of depth, while a pervading undercurrent of proto-existentialism can be felt throughout.

Here are a few of the poems for your review. In one, she writes, "It makes no difference abroad / The seasons--fit--the same-- / The Mornings blossom into Noons-- / And split their Pods of Flame--". Another poem begins, "If all the Souls that stand create-- / I have elected--One-- / When Sense from Spirit--files away-- / And Subterfuge--is done--". And who could forget the famous lines, "There is no frigate like a Book / To take us Lands away / Nor any Coursers like a Page / Of prancing Poetry--". These poems are just a taste of the beauty and depth that can be found within the pages of this miniature book.

The first book that I have taken so long to read voluntarily, because I wanted to savor it little by little and give each word the importance and weight that it deserved

The Forgotten Grave

After a hundred years,
nobody knows the place.
Agony that enacted there
is motionless as peace.

Weeds triumphant ranged,
strangers strolled and spelled
at the lone orthography
of the elder dead.

Winds of summer fields
recollect the way.
Instinct picking up the key
dropped by memory.

This is my first Emily Dickinson book. What I thought to be a tranquil reading soon became a complex and dense experience. Before long, I could see why she was one of the most important poets of the nineteenth century.

Surely her life was not in vain. In this book, we are presented with poems about Life, Love, Nature, and Time and Eternity. In every one of these four parts, outstanding poems can be found, showing us Dickinson's emotional range and brilliance while talking about these topics. The first one is amazing, even though my favorite is the last one. Her works about time passage, death, grief, and eternity are absolutely fantastic. Summing it up, an excellent reading!!

I meant to find her when I came;
Death had the same design.
But the success was his, it seems,
And the discomfit mine.

I meant to tell her how I longed
For just this single time.
But Death had told her so the first,
And she had hearkened him.

To wander now is my abode;
To rest, - to rest would be
A privilege of hurricane
To memory and me.