Sorry about the title. Deb and I kid a little about the subject of this post. I think I have been accused by her of conducting several small affairs in my life, but do not get all that worked up. I have always liked Emily Dickinson. For that matter I have a couple of other early American poets who for some reason have reached out over the years and touched me. Now you say how can this be. I mean all outside appearance would dictate the need for me to show the "man" side of life. I must confess however, that there is another side that has for many years delighted in the thought and artistry of people who know how to communicate ideas and thoughts. Of these people Emily Dickinson ranks at the top of my list. Allow me to post a few examples:
Upon the death of my grandfathers our family traveled back to Pella, Iowa to help the family make the arrangements for the funerals. Each of them passed quite suddenly when I was quite young. These being the first exposures I had encountered with the event of death, I was struck by the feelings in the homes as we first entered. I think for all of us we may remember similar events. For me the poem by Emily Dickinson best describes these feelings.
The Bustle in a House:
The bustle in a house
the morning after death
is the solemnest of industries
enacted upon earth-
The sweeping up the heart
and putting love away
We shall not want to see
Until eternity-
Some years later Deb and I faced the short life of our first two infant children (reflected in earlier postings.) Again the same poets words came to me. I recall going down the street from the hospital. I sat in a coffee shop and recalled these words.
My life closed twice before its close;
It remains to see
If immortality unveil
A third event to me
So huge so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
Some of you know we did have a third event. I now know why I took the time to think about these poems. They somehow brought to me some definition in my moments of sorrow. Nothing really helps all that much in those type of times but for me it helped a little to have some words that went with the feelings. (I did have to look these up to get them right as I did not have all that good of accuracy in what I remembered. Turns out I had a few of the lines mixed up but the thoughts have kind of stayed with me.)
On a lighter note, I now think of the political environment and the self proclamation of all of the candidates who now claim to be the solution to all of our problems. (Same Poet)
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!
You see, Emily was a poet who wrote in a cryptic style. (to the point) She was somewhat of a recluse and used a few words to present what I feel are the striking moments of our human emotions. The words of people who have this talent go forward through the ages and they never really lose their relevance and their meaning. Abraham Lincoln could at times also lay claim to this talent as witnessed in some of his famous speeches and writings.
I have never been quite sure why some things have reached me through all these years. I can only say that certain moments in life have jumped off of the page for me. I have never had all that many girlfriends. In fact for me Deb has been the only one. I suppose that right now the events of life reach me in way that I find some solace in recalling a few writings that have touched me over the years. They are important to me even though I know that not everyone will be able to relate. Allow me to relay them at this time even though I know that for some some poems do not find way inside for everybody.
At the risk of boring you let me share a few more.
How Happy is the Little Stone
How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And doesn't care about careers,
And exigencies never fears; (exigencies = needs and requirements)
Whose coat is of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.
I have one or two more. For those of you that choose to keep the sabbath at home let me give you this.
Some keep the sabbath going to church;
I keep it staying at home,
With a bobolink for a chorister,
And an orchid for a dome.
Some keep the the Sabbath in surplice, (white catholic garments worn by priest)
I just wear my wings;
And instead of tolling the bell for church,
Our little sexton sings,
God preaches -a noted clergyman-
And the sermon is never long;
And instead of getting to heaven at last,
I'm going all along!
I post this in the simple hope that the words of a person who was a true artist will somehow find you in a moment in which you can find some meaning. I must admit that recent times have brought me to the spot of needing to explore some of these thoughts. Let me close with this.
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can stop one life from aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
It is with these thoughts I wish to correspond some feelings I have in these times. I think the world could learn something if they spent some time exploring some of these writings. They have for sure found me and had some meaning in a time that deserves the artistry of words that flow through the ages.
Until next time ........... Enjoy with me one of my other girlfriends.
Stan the Man
