Emily Dickinson

I was introduced to poetry, as best as I can recall, by Mrs. McCormick in fourth grade. I don’t think that I ever said thank you for that either, but I do now. One of the many poems in my gray-capped memory is from Emily Dickinson. Its title is “I’m Nobody! Who are you?”, and, with fond memory of Mrs. M., it goes like this:

I’m Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there’s a pair of us! Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one’s name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!

In my world view, Emily Dickinson is speaking to the humility that we should all have as only little, albeit biologically puzzling, bits of a vast Nature, earthly and Universal. The poem is of a piece with Renée Bergland’s new book: “Natural Magic: Emily Dickinson, Charles Darwin, and the Dawn of Modern Science” (2024). I spoke of the book last time in a prose context. It is chock full of such good reading that I here speak of it in another perspective, the poetry of Emily Dickinson.

Dickinson is of hope, so this too from her, entitled “’Hope’ is the thing with feathers.”

“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 kept 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.

There is a lot to know from reading about Emily Dickinson, even more than a century removed from her time. And you need not be a practiced reader of poetry. She is melodic to the ear, and clear. Worthy of being coupled with another giant, Charles Darwin, in Bergland’s “Natural Magic.” I highly recommend it, again.