For the man who should loose me is dead, Fighting with the Duke in Flanders, In a pattern called a war. Christ! What are patterns for?
The speaker concludes in saying that any who might have aided her in "breaking the pattern" has passed in a battle at Flanders. She seems to be making the point that patterns are only projections of order which don't in all reality have any substance or meaning
We would have broke the pattern; He for me, and I for him, He as Colonel, I as Lady,
we might gather that the speaker's fiance and herself would have defied the "pattern" or defied the series of expectations set on them by sex and society
And I walked into the garden, Up and down the patterned paths, In my stiff, correct brocade. The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun, Each one. I stood upright too, Held rigid to the pattern By the stiffness of my gown. Up and down I walked, Up and down.
you can gather that the speaker is progressively feeling more and more suffocated in her "stiff, correct brocade," especially in its limitation of her expression of sorrow at the loss of her fiance
Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown
reiteration of her feeling confined to her body. she cannot extend herself outside of the "marble basin" within
For my passion Wars against the stiff brocade.
speaker expresses feeling of being confined within her dress, while referring to the prior comparison between herself and the external world and their mutual patterns. the external world may break from their folds, but she cannot
I too am a rare Pattern.
mutual identification between speaker and the paths
It puffed—blazed—fell.But still I walked on,In the drowning rain,Slowly winding up the string.
shows the speaker's power of will and love of what is good (e.g. the kite) and compares their attempts at salvaging such during the war to a narrative of their experience with a kite struck by lightning
I caught the purple dress of one of the dancers,But, as I grasped it, it tore,
attempts to salvage the beautiful in the midst of war is impossible, and all will be bloodied by it
For ashes are not beautifulEven in the dawn.
point on how death/ "extinguished things" cannot be made "beautiful" with any rationale
I painted the leaves of bushes redAnd shouted: “Fire! Fire!”But the neighbors only laughed.“We cannot warm our hands at them,” they said.
the speaker recalls warning those around her of the danger of war; their response is that of the "practical" one
I gambled with a silver money.The dried seed-vessels of “honesty”Were stacked in front of me.Dry, white years slipping through my fingersOne by one.
to gamble life with "honesty" is stark against the "dry, white years slipping through"
My own face lay like a white pebble,Waiting.
it would appear as though the speaker is comparing the digging effort to her personal experience and anticipated dread in the midst of wartime
I wandered through a house of many rooms.It grew darker and darker,Until, at last, I could only find my wayBy passing my fingers along the wall.Suddenly my hand shot through an open window,And the thorn of a rose I could not seePricked it so sharplyThat I cried aloud.
The speaker is in darkness, casting an ominous tone from the onset.
You will sit here, some quiet Summer night, Listening to the puffing trains, But you will not be lonely, For these things are a part of me. And my love will go on speaking to you Through the chairs, and the tables, and the pictures, As it does now through my voice, And the quick, necessary touch of my hand.
Mirrors the first stanza of the poem. The speaker will be carried within the physical world in the person's memory of them interacting with the world and their things, as the speaker is very much made out of their environment, and the person in question
The old house will guard you, As I have done. Its walls and rooms will hold you, And I shall whisper my thoughts and fancies As always, From the pages of my books.
Acting on behalf of the speaker, as it is a sort of conduit for the speaker's spirit, what the speaker has left behind will comfort the person in question, and the speaker will live on in her memory.
Sitting here in the Summer night, I think of my death. What will it be like for you then? You will see my chair With its bright chintz covering Standing in the afternoon sunshine, As now. You will see my narrow table At which I have written so many hours. My dogs will push their noses into your hand, And ask—ask— Clinging to you with puzzled eyes.
"As now" seems to be the pivotal line in this stanza in that it asks of the intended audience how life will fare with the speaker's absence, and how as time would have it, looking at the speaker's old things after death shifts their significance.
The old house will still be here, The old house which has known me since the beginning. The walls which have watched me while I played:
The speaker assigns a type of memory to the physicality of her home and things. There's a relationship of sorts which seems to be presented in the prior stanza.
These are the sounds that men make In the long business of living. They will always make such sounds, Years after I am dead and cannot hear them.
In listening to the sounds of cars, their engines, and trains, the speaker makes note of the strangeness that such sounds will continue after her death, even if she will not hear them. There is an implicit distinction being made between "living sounds" and "dead sounds."
For me, You stand poised In the blue and buoyant air, Cinctured by bright winds, Treading the sunlight. And the waves which precede you Ripple and stir The sands at my feet.
The speaker reimagines the subject as more beautiful than Botticelli's Venus, which makes sense of the title, "Venus Transiens" as the subject makes a new Venus out of its subject. The difference is that the new Venus treads the sunlight, and the speaker has crafted the image.
Tell me, Was Venus more beautiful Than you are, When she topped The crinkled waves, Drifting shoreward On her plaited shell? Was Botticelli’s vision Fairer than mine;
comparison between subject of the poem and the representation of Venus in Botticelli's painting. The speaker begs the question of what constitutes the beautiful, in that Venus, being the goddess of love, was known for her seductive qualities. Also brings in Venus' origin in coming from sea foam
Solitaire
The personification of nighttime in this piece is incredibly creative and clever in the ways Lowell transfers nightly mullings into concrete images. Its travel through the Chinese gardens, temples, and flowers gives the metaphor an interactive function that one wouldn’t necessarily be so quick to assign to nighttime, or late-night thought. The final note of the speaker’s “laughing mind” makes the poem all the more lively and unexpected in that there is a strange absurdity to the awakeness of a mind in the midst of night.
Then I shall take out this afternoon And turn it in my fingers, And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate, And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves. To-day I can only gather it And put it into my lunch-box, For I have time for nothing But the endeavour to balance myself Upon a broken world.
The speaker tucks away this memory into her mind for safe-keeping, and in anticipation of the end of the war, for then is the only time she might savor it adequately. The ending lines seem to be remarking on how to enjoy the memory at this particular point before war's end would be unwise on her part, in that if she savored it then, there'd be an imbalance in herself and the good she may perceive following the remnants of the war.
Some day there will be no war,
turning point in the poem and end of image
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves, And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows. Under a tree in the park, Two little boys, lying flat on their faces, Were carefully gathering red berries To put in a pasteboard box.
The speaker describes a picturesque scene of the world in the nearing autumn season. It's a joyful picture, infused with sunlight, and the quiet of life carrying on against the contrast of a warring year. Youth and beauty are depicted in this image, and the speaker is in a peaceful contemplation of these things.
Where the Grasses
“Where the Grasses” is a melancholy and naturalistic piece seemingly about the position that it is only in contrasts that we may appreciate the quality of a thing, or of our world. As the subject of this poem is Kansas, the speaker would appear to be emphasizing its inherent beauties that, unfortunately, can only be appreciated through its comparison to other lands and places within the world. As well, the speaker makes a point about history and that knowledge about Kansas’ history would allow for more recognition of the state’s allure. A great deal of memory seems to be accounted for in this piece, and one gets the impression that the speaker’s melancholy is over the fact that their memories and capacity to appreciate Kansas do not extend to many others in a similar way.
Encounter in April
“Encounter in April” is a delightful, romantic piece about the newness of love, its temporality, and its felt presence through time. The comparison of the speaker and his/her love as “two deers” seems to communicate the freshness of liveliness of one’s first meeting with love, along with all of the shyness that accompanies it, and one’s transfixion in such an encounter. The second stanza is where the temporality comes in, along with the solemnity in recognizing that such a communion is not eternal in this world. The speaker’s pain in acknowledging this fact is sharp and visceral, as such a moment worthy of being held forever is inevitably brief. Nonetheless, the imagery of this piece is absolutely divine, and Sarton does a magnificent job of contrasting the beauty of this encounter with the harsh reality of time.
"Prisoner At a Desk" seems very much to be a piece concerned with the writerly feeling of being imprisoned within the occupation of being a writer, in that writers very often live through their work. The speaker almost likens this experience to that of being in war, in that they must maintain control over the "inner explosions" within. Yet, the speaker almost backtracks on the notion of the writer-prisoner, when saying "No prisoner at a desk, but an ocean / Or forest where waves and gentle leaves / And strange wild beasts..." and so on. The speaker seems to be saying that there a series of universes and untamed realities within their soul that they can encounter and participate with from this creative faculty within, and rather than being imprisoned within themselves, they're a part of everything, all of the time.
"In the Living" is a short, yet haunting piece addressing the collective and their irresponsible indifference to victims causing the current climate or "killing" or dying. The speaker reflects back on a time of "grace" and "charity" wherein persons welcomed the healing powers of love for the helpless, and imagined a world where "real peace" and where "no one dies" is a feasible reality. There's also a point on how the collective might've acted sooner in saving their victims, or having the reflective capacities to understand the injustices at play. The speaker ends on the harrowing conclusion that now since the collective did not act, they must pay the cost of "becoming what we hated most" in either killing, or dying. Since this poem is in the February of 1945, we can ascertain it's the speaker's scathing critique on America's hesitation to participate in WWII.
For what is happiness but growth in peace, The timeless sense of time when furniture Has stood a life's span in a single place, And as the air moves, so the old dreams stir The shining leaves of present happiness? No one has heard thought or listened to a mind, But where people have lived in inwardness The air is charged with blessing and does bless; Windows look out on mountains and the walls are kind.
The final stanza of this piece seems to be a point reiterating the speaker's stance at the beginning of the poem that happiness is a peaceful encounter with solitude, and the growth that arises in such a peace. Time, in this contemplative solitude, seems to collapse in on itself, and the "old dreams" seem also present in the moment of contemplation. The final couple of lines seem to end on the idea that although you cannot share your inward soul with others, places where you have connected with solitude can connect others in that very same "blessing"/peace you received in finding joy in the silence.
The old chest in the corner, cool waxed floors, White curtains softly and continually blown As the free air moves quietly about the room; A shelf of books, a table, and the white-washed wall— These are the dear familiar gods of home, And here the work of faith can best be done, The growing tree is green and musical.
Following the point of the connection between happiness and silence, the speaker lists these concrete items to suggest how they almost emerge as sanctified items in the contemplative act of observation when one embraces solitude.
No one has seen it happen, but inside the bark Another circle is growing in the expanding ring. No one has heard the root go deeper in the dark, But the tree is lifted by this inward work And its plumes shine, and its leaves are glittering.
Similar to the innerworkings of tree and natural growth itself, the speaker again points to the invisible process of life as it occurs over time, and how, even in its invisibility, it's inwardly working towards "growth"/happiness.
I thought of happiness, how it is woven Out of the silence in the empty house each day And how it is not sudden and it is not given But is creation itself like the growth of a tree.
The speaker seems to be suggesting that happiness is not visible in one's "weaving," but rather, progressively and humbly tied within the unseen cycle of growth.
And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down – And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing – then –
Reason itself acts as a plank, or a place to jump off the ship from, and it allows the speaker then to plunge into knowing only by taking a leap of faith and immersing themselves fully into every idea. The ambiguous last line with "– then –" seems to be in the spirit of learning in that there's a certain level of ignorance that'll come when one will come to learn something next.
As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race Wrecked, solitary, here –
"As all the Heavens were a Bell" contrasts sharply to "A Service, like a Drum –." The speaker seems to be stuck in silence with neither the Funeral service, nor the "Heavens...Bell."
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,
The "Mourners" from the first stanza seem to be the subject of the third. It would appear as though the speaker and their thoughts are the victims of these "Boots of Lead."
And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum – Kept beating – beating – till I thought My Mind was going numb –
The funeral "Service" seems more maddening than it does sad with the second and third lines being "A Service, like a Drum – / Kept beating – beating –"
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading – treading – till it seemed That Sense was breaking through –
In conjunction with the personification of "Sense" in this stanza, the "Funeral" in the speaker's brain seems to be related to an intellectual kind of dying.
If it be invention It must have a Patent. Rabbi of the Wise Book Don’t you know?
The speaker ends on the question of whether or not true knowledge can be gained through a man-made "invention," which would have to be owned or "patented" by someone. They then direct the question to either God, or the writers of the Bible (which has the claim of true knowledge) in indirectly asking if knowledge then comes from an object, or a creator, as is believed in the case of the Scriptures.
Is it in a Book? So, I could buy it — Is it like a Planet? Telescopes would know —
Here the speaker seems to be asking if they can buy true knowledge in a book, or if it might be seen through observation like one would do in looking through a telescope at a planet.
“How to forget”! Say — some — Philosopher! Ah, to be erudite Enough to know!
With the line, "How to forget!" it appears as though the speaker is talking in the voice of the Philosopher, who having gained so much knowledge, wishes to forget so as to be able to begin again the experience of learning.
I went to School But was not wiser Globe did not teach it Nor Logarithm Show
The speaker did not experience "real learning" in school.
Dull Hearts have died In the Acquisition Sacrificed for Science Is common, though, now —
The speaker seems to be making a point about how the "Acquisition" or the owning of knowledge has been a sacrifice for a type of learning that science promulgates.
But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how
Here the speaker is making a distinction between learned or "possessed" knowledge and a knowledge that's fluid enough to be taught
Knows how to forget!
The first line seems to be suggestive of a subject who emphasizes a skill of forgetting.
Whose crumbs the crows inspect And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer’s Corn – Men eat of it and die.
I interpreted these last lines as predatory persons feeding on the last bits of a person's fame in an "ironic" way, similarly to how those who report on individuals for the fact that they were once famous. Then, very quickly, as we see in the line which states, "Flap past it to the Farmer's corn," these "crows" very quickly go to feed on what's the next "big thing." The last line is a reference back to the first in that Dickinson seems to be making the argument that fame then has the capacity to starve a person once they've eaten of it, because it cannot be sustained long enough for one to survive off of it.
Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set.
Fame is rarely served more than once/fame can very quickly become unwelcome
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate
The use of the word "fickle" may be used either in that food offers only short-lived sustenance, or that it in itself is a fickle experience.
It makes the parting tranquilAnd keeps the soul serene,That gentlemen so sprightlyConduct the pleasing scene!
The speaker finding and knowing peace in the fact that the energy which moves the world's processes and ideas will continue to be upheld by persons orchestrating these processes. For me, the end note is that of joy.
T is sweet to know that stocks will standWhen we with daisies lie,That commerce will continue,And trades as briskly fly.
The speaker expressing gladness at the thought of the world moving just as it has and will even in the event of their death. There's an ongoing life in the processes of ideas and occupations.
If I should die,And you should live,And time should gurgle on,And morn should beam,And noon should burn,
Dickinson contrasting the possibility of her death with the world's natural forces and ongoing processes; the tone is slightly cheerful with her use of short verbs like "gurgle," "beam," and "burn."
A solemn, careful, contented young life, with none of the playfulness or childishness that belong to it, -- this is my little fisherman, whose memory already fades of whatever tenderness his dead mother may have given him.
Age is a large, overarching theme in this short-story. It shows that for Georgie being a boy, he may (though it's unfortunate) grow into a man by his own dependence and decision. Whereas on the other hand, we find in the case of Cynthia, we find an arrested maturity in her inability to move beyond her circumstances and feminine obligations.
I think Miss Cynthia felt, after we were out in the woods, as if I were her company, and she was responsible for me.
element of sisterhood
She never said a word about it, but there was a young man over there that wanted to keep company with her. He was going out first mate of a new ship that was building. But, when she got word from me about father, she come right home, and that was the end of it.
example of the numerous missed opportunities by both Hannah and Cynthia to gain their independence from their families and homes
He looked forward to going one day (I hope that day has already dawned) to see the shipyards at a large seaport some twenty miles away. His face lit up when he told me of it, as some other child's would who had been promised a day in fairy-land. And he confided to me that he thought he should go to the Banks that coming winter. "But it's so cold!" said I: "should you really like it?" -- "Cold!" said Georgie. "Ho! rest of the men never froze." That was it, -- the "rest of the men;" and he would work until he dropped, or tend a line until his fingers froze, for the sake of that likeness, -- the grave, slow little man, who has so much business with the sea, and who trusts himself with touching confidence to its treacherous keeping and favor.
Although still very much a child, we see here and in prior sections how Georgie has had to grow up fast. His courage in attempting to be like "the rest of the men" is a symptom of this condition in that he's too willing to take on tasks seemingly beyond his youthful capacities.
. Every thing looks fair to him, and he thinks he can have the world just as he wants it; but I know it's a world o' change, -- a world o' change and loss.
Mrs. Wallis displays a bittersweet feeling in the departure of her home, and the loneliness of letting go of what she's always had
There is so little to interest the people who live on those quiet, secluded farms, that an event of this kind gives great pleasure.
commentary on the humdrum condition of impoverished, rural life and the near-absurdity of enjoyment in even solemn events
Boys ain't made just to look at, so ye be handy, will ye
revealing dialogue of how Georgie's been raised as a "little man" by his father
The footpath led from Mrs. Forder's to another farmhouse half a mile beyond, where there had been a wedding. Mrs. Downs was there, and in the June weather she had been easily persuaded to go home to tea with Mrs. Forder with the promise of being driven home later in the evening. Mrs. Downs's husband had been dead three years, and her friend's large family was scattered from the old nest; they were lonely at times in their later years, these old friends, and found it very pleasant now to have a walk together. Thin little Mrs. Forder, with all her wheezing, was the stronger and more active of the two; Mrs. Downs had grown heavier and weaker with advancing years.
The duo of Mrs. Downs and Mrs. Forder contrast with the Hannah and Betsey duo
The friends stopped again -- poor, short-winded bodies -- on the crest of the low hill and turned to look at the wide landscape, bewildered by the marvelous beauty and the sudden flood of golden sunset light that poured out of the western sky. They could not remember that they had ever observed the wide view before; it was like a revelation or an outlook towards the celestial country, the sight of their own green farms and the countryside that bounded them. It was a pleasant country indeed, their own New England: their petty thoughts and vain imaginings seemed futile and unrelated to so fair a scene of things. But the figure of a man who was crossing the meadow below looked like a malicious black insect. It was an old man, it was Enoch Holt; time had worn and bent him enough to have satisfied his bitterest foe. The women could see his empty coat-sleeve flutter as he walked slowly and unexpectantly in that glorious evening light.
The "culprit" of the stolen gold is left open to interpretation, but there is a suggestion that it very well might have been Holt. Whether or not he was the culprit, however, is irrelevant in that the sisters (specifically Hannah) were given the capacity to exert their independence/power in placing the curse on Holt.
Hannah trembled before him, but Betsey faced him sturdily, being amazingly like him, with a feminine difference; as like as a ruled person can be to a ruler, for the discipline of life had taught the man to aggress, the woman only to defend.
commentary on gender roles where authority is concerned
She had a disposition of mind towards the exciting circumstances of death and burial, and was in request at such times among her neighbors; in this she was like a city person who prefers tragedy to comedy, but not having the semblance within her reach, she made the most of looking on at real griefs and departures.
a bit of dark humor: Mrs. Downs is unconventional in mind and taste
There's a certain degree of self-awareness in Mrs. Downs' internal dialogue.