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Monday, May 06, 2013

Emily Dickinson

(click here for the Romanian version)

This world is not conclusion;
A sequel stands beyond,
Invisible, as music,
But positive, as sound.

After she passed away, the manuscripts were found, in her room: thousands of lines of poetry. None of the family had guessed her a poet. Today she is considered one of the great American poets, maybe the greatest.

How was she looking like? A schoolmate would remember, after many years, she was not a beauty, but she had great beauties. Her chestnut eyes were warm and mild, her hair, also chestnut, flowed over her shoulders. She was dressed in white, and she loved flowers.

Had she been in love, ever? Of course she had, only she knew very well how to hide the secret in her heart. The drafts of four letters: that's all that remained - beyond the conventional sentences there is love, that lives, and howls, and is so painful, for she restrained it so much. The man was belonging to the church, a minister, ten or fifteen years her elder, and he was married. His answers, if any, did not remain. She wrote hundreds of poems that year.

The man knew how to resist to the imperious call of love - he moved to another parish, far away from New England, some place in California.

And she remained lonely, staying long hours in her room, leaving home sometimes, to go hunting in the woods, joined by her dog. A dog huge and faithful.

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond—
Invisible, as Music—
But positive, as Sound—
It beckons, and it baffles—
Philosophy—don't know—
And through a Riddle, at the last—
Sagacity, must go—
To guess it, puzzles scholars—
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown—
Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies—
Blushes, if any see—
Plucks at a twig of Evidence—
And asks a Vane, the way—
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit—
Strong Hallelujahs roll—
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul—

(A Life in Books)

(New England)



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