Discuss a poem per week

[sandandfoam]

I'd love to discuss a poem per week here on RF.
I've been wanting to immerse myself a little in Emily Dickenson so if no-one objects I'd like to start with an obvious one of hers

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

I'd like to hear any opinion you might have

 

[Sunstone]

The poem contains beautiful language, but I find the emotions don't work for me. The whole notion of eternal life is scary and unappealing. In my opinion, she does one thing -- and only one thing -- to alleviate one's fear of weary, meaningless, hopeless boredom multiplied by eternal life. And that is she says the centuries go past faster than the day she died. But perhaps her intention here is to scare the bedickens out of us. In that case, she has done it.

 

[methylatedghosts]

"To me at least, poetry - like love - implies a magical approach to life, quite different from the presently accepted rational way of looking at the world. That is, poetry brings out lifes little nuances. It delights in forming correspondences between events that seem quite seperate to the intellectually-tuned consciousness alone, and reveals undercurrents of usually-concealed actions that we quite ignore when we're most concerned about thinking rationally. Actually, that kind of vision contains its own spontaneous rationality, and often supplies us with answers more satisfying than purely intellectual ones."

 

[sandandfoam]

The poem contains beautiful language, but I find the emotions don't work for me. The whole notion of eternal life is scary and unappealing. In my opinion, she does one thing -- and only one thing -- to alleviate one's fear of weary, meaningless, hopeless boredom multiplied by eternal life. And that is she says the centuries go past faster than the day she died. But perhaps her intention here is to scare the bedickens out of us. In that case, she has done it.

Thanks for the excellent reply Mr Sunstone!
I accept that the emotions in the poms don't work for you. However if you'd indulge me I'd love to chew them over nonetheless.

I'm not sure she wants to scare us?

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;

Why couldn't she stop? I think it is interesting that she uses 'couldn't' and not 'wouldn't'. I think that she infers compulsion in life and am taken by her portrayal of death as kindly.

I think there's something gentle about death conveyed in the opening lines. I'm interested in your view on my take.

 

[sandandfoam]

"To me at least, poetry - like love - implies a magical approach to life, quite different from the presently accepted rational way of looking at the world. That is, poetry brings out lifes little nuances. It delights in forming correspondences between events that seem quite seperate to the intellectually-tuned consciousness alone, and reveals undercurrents of usually-concealed actions that we quite ignore when we're most concerned about thinking rationally. Actually, that kind of vision contains its own spontaneous rationality, and often supplies us with answers more satisfying than purely intellectual ones."

I like that a lot.

 

[monta]

I still can't read Emily Dickinson without humming ''The Yellow Rose of Texas'' Damn you internet!

 

[monta]

Are you Soundings or Signs btw

 

[sandandfoam]

Are you Soundings or Signs btw

Soundings
How about you?

 

[sandandfoam]

I still can't read Emily Dickinson without humming ''The Yellow Rose of Texas'' Damn you internet!

ROFL
Damn you Monta now I've got the worm too!! AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

[methylatedghosts]

I like that a lot.

That's a quote from Jane Roberts/Seth, talking about poetry.

What magicians we all are,
turning darkness into light,
transforming invisible atoms
into the dazzling theater
of the world,
pulling objects,
(people as well
as rabbits)
out of secret
microscopic closets,
turning winter into summer,
making a palmful of moments
disappear through time's trap door.

We learned the methods
so long ago
that they're unconscious,
and we've hypnotized ourselves
into believing
that we're the audience,
so I wonder where we served
our apprenticeship.
Under what master magicians did we learn
to form reality
so smoothly that we forgot to tell ourselves
the secret?

--Jane Roberts

 

[methylatedghosts]

What is the horse's heads reference? I don't understand that bit.

 

[monta]

Soundings
How about you?

Soundings.ftw

 

[Autodidact]

I still can't read Emily Dickinson without humming ''The Yellow Rose of Texas'' Damn you internet!

Thank you for ruining my life. In return, I will do the same for you by pointing out that Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" can be sung to the tune of Hernando's Hideaway. You are welcome.

 

[Autodidact]

I like the first two lines:

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;

It has that nice, light, almost comic backwards type of feel that I like, in referring to Death as "kind," and acknowledging that he comes without our seeking him, but ironically sort of pretending we would want him to.

 

[monta]

Thank you for ruining my life. In return, I will do the same for you by pointing out that Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" can be sung to the tune of Hernando's Hideaway. You are welcome.

lol I've never heard of that song and intend to go to no lengths to enlighten myself on the subject.

But if it makes you feel any better I just lost the game.

 

[Autodidact]

I just lost the game and I hate you. Should we play Mornington Crescent now?

 

[sandandfoam]

I like the first two lines:


It has that nice, light, almost comic backwards type of feel that I like, in referring to Death as "kind," and acknowledging that he comes without our seeking him, but ironically sort of pretending we would want him to.

I agree.
Do you think that the poem as a whole has a relaxed feel to it?

 

[Autodidact]

I agree.
Do you think that the poem as a whole has a relaxed feel to it?

Maybe a better word would be stately? It has a calm sort of slow cadence that contrasts with the subject.

 

[Autodidact]

I just lost the game. I cannot visit this thread any more. It's Monta's fault.

 

[monta]

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

It always reminds me of a nightmare. No a specific nightmare but the ones you have where something horrible is happening and everyone is accepting it as normal and you arrive at places without having traveled there, I think there is a strong sense of dread and mounting hysteria that is being repressed and only partially masked by formality, for me the last verse reads as completely frantic.