Masters of Poetry - Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson, August Nemo

• Publisher: Tacet Books
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9783969698419
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: American Poetry
• Index: Literature

Welcome to the Masters of Poetry book series, a selection of the best works by noteworthy authors. Literary critic August Nemo selects the most important writings of each author. A selection based on the author's novels, short stories, letters, essays and biographical texts. Thus providing the reader with an overview of the author's life and work. This edition is dedicated to the American poet Emily Dickinson. Emily Dickinson was a reclusive American poet. Unrecognized in her own time, Dickinson is known posthumously for her innovative use of form and syntax. She is known for her poignant and compressed verse, which profoundly influenced the direction of 20th-century poetry. This book contains the following writings: Biografical: Critical and biographical comentaries by Thomas Wentworth Higginson and Mabel Loomis Todd.Poetry: Over 50 selected poems, including Success is counted sweetest, I'm nobody! Who are you?, and Hope is the thing with feathers.If you appreciate good literature, be sure to check out the other Tacet Books titles!

Selected works

Success is counted sweetest

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of victory

As he defeated – dying –
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

I'm nobody! Who are you?

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody too?
Then there’s a pair of us! – don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know!

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring Bog!

“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.

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -

There’s a certain Slant of light

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons –
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes –

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
We can find no scar,
But internal difference –
Where the Meanings, are –

None may teach it – Any –
'Tis the seal Despair –
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air –

When it comes, the Landscape listens –
Shadows – hold their breath –
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death –

Wild Nights – Wild Nights!

Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -
Ah - the Sea!
Might I but moor - tonight -
In thee!

This is my letter to the World

This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me–
The simple News that Nature told–
With tender Majesty

Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see–
For love of Her– Sweet– countrymen–
Judge tenderly– of Me

I dwell in Possibility

I dwell in Possibility–
A fairer House than Prose–
More numerous of Windows–
Superior– for Doors–

Of Chambers as the Cedars–
Impregnable of Eye–
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky–

Of Visitors– the fairest–
For Occupation– This–
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise–

I heard a Fly buzz– when I died

I heard a Fly buzz– when I died–
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm–

The Eyes around– had wrung them dry–
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset– when ...

Table of contents

• The Author
• Selected works
• Letters
• Emily Dickinson’s Black Cake Recipe
• About the Publisher
• Colophon