Seventy Two

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Friends, herewith the second last poem in the Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. I’ve made a bit of headway lately and with mixed joy and regret have finished it. Right to the end, she sparkled. A number of poems are dated with a question mark, while the latest is 1886. This one is dated 1870, but is marvellous regardless.

1774

Too happy Time dissolves itself
And leaves no remnant by-
“Tis Anguish not a Feather hath
Or too much weight to fly -

To me, this poem wonderfully distills the sense in which life is precious, but cannot be preserved by holding tightly to the past. Rather, the lightness of the feather is the living present. Or, in response I say:

It is impossible
For Ms Dickinson
To sit high enough
On a Pedestal
Lest she slip,
Or lose her breath,
Or oxygen,
Or orientation,
Or stumble,
Or sway,
Or flit,
Or flee,
Or fall,
And need the earth
No,
She is better in
her alabaster chamber

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For those who are interested print and eBook copies of my first collection are now available under the title ‘51 Poems’. Print at Booktopia and Amazon, or eBook on Apple Books. There are eBook versions on the Booktopia and Amazon pages as well, whichever may suit you. You can also read the complete (and favourable) review of this book on independent book review!

My second collection, ‘Yes, I’m going to write myself well’ is also now available in Print at Booktopia or Apple Books. The complete and positive book review is here on independent book review. Do go ahead and indulge yourself.

My novella Wondering is also available in Hardcover - if you were over the edge, what would you think of on the way?

I also do photography here if you like a bit more colour.