The life and poems of Emily Dickinson

As a writer, at times I have suffered from discouragement. I believe this is true for all creative people. While I was aware of Emily Dickinson and her work that was found in drawers and other various places after her death, I had no idea that many artists (painters, poets, and authors) had their work discovered posthumously. William Blake, John Keats, Edgar Allen Poe, Vincent van Gogh, and Anne Frank are just a few that fall into that category. For the sake of this blog, I have chosen to focus on the Poet Emily Dickinson. Watch for future blogs to cover some other voices of the past.  

Emily’s Journey

Born in Amherst, Massachusetts on December 10, 1830, into a prominent family with strong ties to the community, evidence suggests that Dickinson lived a life of isolation. She never married and had a penchant for white clothing. Many of her friendships were made through the many letters that she penned. After studying at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she briefly attended the Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family's home in Amherst.  Many labeled her as an eccentric, and claimed that later in life she rarely left her bedroom. Her journey ended at the same place it began in Amherst, Massachusetts on May 15, 1886. According to her death certificate, she died from Bright’s disease with only 10 of her 1800 poems published.

Her sister, Lavinia, discovered hundreds of poems after Emily’s death. Some were found in drawers, and others scattered in various places. Impressed with her sister’s style and brilliance, Lavinia resolved to get her work published. It proved to be harder than she had imagined. There were several efforts along the way to publish some of her work. These efforts were riddled with drama, competition, twists and turns as well as heavy editing of Dickinson’s work. Publishers edited her poetry to fit into the box of poetic rules for the era. Dickinson’s poetry was as unique as her life, her work was unconventional in every aspect.

From Unknown to Acclaimed Poet

However, it was not until 1955, almost 70 years after her death, that a complete compilation of her work was published by literary scholar Thomas H. Johnson. Johnson knew that it was past time for the gift of her artistic expression to be presented to the world in unedited form through The Poems of Emily Dickinson. Returning to Dickinson’s original manuscripts rather than using other editors’ transcriptions, Johnson presented all the poems as Dickinson had written them. Johnson arranged the poems chronologically, carefully studying changes in the poet’s handwriting since she rarely dated her work. The Poems of Emily Dickinson allowed readers to study her development as a poet, initiating a tremendous surge in Dickinson research.

Home of Poet Emily Dickinson and now museum in Amherst, MA

Today, Emily Dickinson is acclaimed as one of the two leading 19th-century American poets, the other being Walt Whitman. Her poetry is still enjoyed and quoted even by non-poetry lovers around the world. A museum is named after her at her homestead in Amherst, MA. Because I could not stop for Death and Hope are some of her most popular poems, and my personal favorites. I suspect, and sincerely hope that Dickinson would be proud of the accolades that she continues to receive, and of her rightful recognition in the hall of fame of poets.

I envision Dickinson seated by a window as the well of her words poured onto her paper. Maybe she was struggling with hopelessness and wrote this beautiful poem from that perspective. Maybe she wanted to leave some nuggets for future generations to read and take hope, or maybe none of the above. At any rate, the following poem is one of her most popular poems, read and enjoy!

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—-

That perches in the soul—-

And sings the tune without the words—-

And never stops—at all—-

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—-

And sore must be the storm—-

That could abash the little Bird

That keeps so many warm—-

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—-

And on the strangest Sea—-

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb—of Me.

Footnotes: britannica.com; wikipedia.org; triviagenius.com; emilydickinsonmuseum.org