Friday, September 07, 2007

Contacting Emily in 2007

emily@amherst.com...The address leaped from the monitor’s screen into my head. Could it be? My heart pounded at the thought of Emily Dickinson,the cloistered poet, dressed in white, sitting at her computer sending messages into cyberspace. Dare I make contact? I do! My fingers tremble as I type. Dare I ask for permission to visit her? I do; I tell myself a dream does not come true without taking action. I click on send, and it’s done; I can’t call the message back.

Leaving the mail screen active, I search my book shelves for two books: one with a faded green cover and wrinkled pages, and one in it’s dust jacket with clean white pages of bold dark print. Emily Dickinson’s poems. I read while I wait for the ding that announces incoming e-mail messages.

“A precious--mouldering pleasure--’tis--
To meet an Antique Book--
In just the Dress his Century wore--
A privilege--I think--”

Emily Dickinson is that Antique Book from another century, that person who created a quiet revolution with her poetry. How exciting to contact her! Do I dare hope for the privilege of being in her presence, sharing a cup of tea, and discussing nature, words, and ideas?

“His venerable Hand to take--
And warming in our own--
A passage back--or two--to make
To times when he--was young--”

I substitute “her” and “she” and dream of taking Emily’s hand. I’m certain that in the awe I feel, I couldn’t begin to speak. Yet her hand warms my own and leads me to a chair. Emily sits in another chair close by, hands in her lap. Her dark hair is a smooth cap around her head; her dark dress trimmed with white lace around the neck. Her voice calms my nerves and invites me to converse.

“His quaint opinions--to inspect--
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind--
The Literature of Man--”

Emily begins with the most recent book of Dickens, and we talk of style, and characters, and social themes therein. She pours tea and passes me a cup. I spread the linen napkin on my lap and chose several delicacies from a plate of tempting dainty sandwiches and cookies. It is as I supposed, an occasion full of grace and courtesy.

“What interested Scholars--most--
What Competitions ran--
When Plato--was a Certainty--
And Sophocles--a Man--”

Emily converses on the strands of thought common to the ancient scholars and to their modern counterparts. She wonders if people, society, will ever learn from the literature and history of the past instead of repeating and even compounding mistakes. She’s interested in my opinion! She waits patiently for me to overcome my tongue-tied hesitation and attends my words, asking a question here, making a comment there.
“When Sappho--was a living girl--
and Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante--deified--
Facts Centuries before”

Emily quotes from Sappho, Elizabeth Browning, and the Brontes; I dare to introduce her to Moore, Rich and Angelou. She seems pleased that poets admired and imitated her verse and stanza patterns. She smiles a bit when I mention an entire volume has been published containing poetry inspired by her.

“He traverses--familiar--
As One should come to Town--
And tell you all your Dreams--were true--
He lived--where Dreams were born--”

Emily dreamed and wrote her dreams for readers everywhere to know. Because of her others dare to dream and dare to write their dreams with truth and honesty. Her sparkling intellect, keen curiosity, and deep introspection kindle my desire to search for deeper meanings and truth.

“His presence is Enchantment--
You beg him not to go--
Old volumes shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize--just so--” *

Of what importance, of what renown am I that Emily should share her precious time with me, yet the afternoon establishes a rapport, a kinship that embraces my soul and encourages me to dream. Emily’s presence is enchanting. I want to linger with Emily at Amherst and drink more of her rapture.

The anticipated “ding” has not interrupted my reverie with Emily; but I will keep the two volumes beside my computer. I will be patient. After all, in the year 2007, Emily may choose any one of 365 days to contact me. I will wait.

*Poem quoted from Thomas H. Johnson, ed., The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Boston: Little, Brown & Company, 1957, pp.176-77.

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