by Emily Dickinson
I heard a Fly buzz -- when I died --
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air --
Between the Heaves of Storm --
The Eyes around -- had wrung them dry --
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset -- when the King
Be witnessed -- in the Room --
I willed my Keepsakes -- Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable -- and then it was
There interposed a Fly --
With Blue -- uncertain stumbling Buzz --
Between the light -- and me --
And then the Windows failed -- and then
I could not see to see --
This is the poem that inspired one of my Grand Canyon haiku. My favorite lines of this poem are "The Stillness in the Room / Was like the Stillness in the Air/ Between the Heaves of Storm". Very evocative phrase - brings these wonderful images to mind. I realize this is a depressing poem at first glance; much of Dickinson's work is depressing. But it's also veyr beautiful, and, whether she intended it that way or not, there is an insightful message beneath it - the important things in a person, in life, and how trivialities can get in the way and blingd us - or, in their own way, become important in their own right.
I just really like this one.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Hunger Pangs
Today is dragging slowly by.
The whole week's dragged its feet.
And I sit staring, naught to do,
Sitting, waiting just to eat.
The kitchen table's full, and I -
I like to eat alone.
Don't stare at me; don't watch me eat.
And please, don't take that tone.
I'm not so hungry, come to think.
I'm willing just to wait.
But everyone says, "Come and eat."
And I say, "Keep your eyes on your own plate!"
It's been a while since I've thought
Of things mundane and not.
I think I'll sit and contemplate,
All alone, in just this spot.
I think you're supposed to focus more on meaning than rhyme. My concern is always rythm over most other components of a poem. And I've been feeling Seussian/Wordsworthian recently - for like the last month or so - so rhyme is important.
Oh, and I should probably go eat lunch. You think that contributes to the subject matter?
The whole week's dragged its feet.
And I sit staring, naught to do,
Sitting, waiting just to eat.
The kitchen table's full, and I -
I like to eat alone.
Don't stare at me; don't watch me eat.
And please, don't take that tone.
I'm not so hungry, come to think.
I'm willing just to wait.
But everyone says, "Come and eat."
And I say, "Keep your eyes on your own plate!"
It's been a while since I've thought
Of things mundane and not.
I think I'll sit and contemplate,
All alone, in just this spot.
I think you're supposed to focus more on meaning than rhyme. My concern is always rythm over most other components of a poem. And I've been feeling Seussian/Wordsworthian recently - for like the last month or so - so rhyme is important.
Oh, and I should probably go eat lunch. You think that contributes to the subject matter?
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