Monday, June 6, 2011

Emily Dickinson

She has such startling imagery -- duh -- but what I am stunned by are how I can feel her meaning rather than explain it. For instance, the last two stanzas of XLVII that my helpful edition has entitled "The Snake" states this:

"Several of nature's people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality;

But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tigher breathing,
And zero at the bone."

Zero at the bone? What does that mean exactly? I can't say but I understand. She bypasses the brain and goes straight to the viscera. Or something like that.

Reading her is like being splashed with aftershave (not that I do but maybe I should), like those 1960's aftershave commercials: Slap!! "Thanks, I needed that."

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