9
September 2024
In his potted biography of Emily Dickinson,
Michael Schmidt suggests that she saw how the women of her generation were
‘snared in the strict geometries of the social web and decided that for her the
freedom of an elected solitude – not of a spinster only but of a recluse – was
possible, even necessary.’
Two things can be said with certainty. Firstly,
she did withdraw from the world – gradually at first and then completely.
Secondly, she did undergo a personal disturbance which she graphically
described as ‘a terror’.
‘I had a terror since September,’ she wrote in
a letter to the publisher, Thomas Higginson. ‘I could tell no-one and so I sang
as a boy does by burying ground because I am afraid.’ The consequences were
extraordinary. Within a year, she had written three hundred poems and within that
six year period, one thousand!
We need not be a Chamber – to be
Haunted –
One need not be a House –
The Brain has corridors –
surpassing
Material Place! (670)
Her poems do not reveal her secret. However,
the revelation is tantalisingly close. It’s what energises the verse and
enables her to reflect profoundly not only on her own experience but on that
experience shared by all - our mortal humanity.
‘This is my letter to the world that never
wrote to me.’ she says. ‘The soul has bandaged moments.’ she begins. ‘I fear me
this – is Loneliness - /The Maker of the soul / Its Caverns and its Corridors /
Illuminate – or seal – ‘ And she leaves us hanging over the precipice. Which is
it to be for you and me?
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