The collection of poems in this book are really good. Some are very deep while some are shallow. I would like to return to them from time to time. Here is one of my favorites:

The Mystery of Pain.

Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.

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Reviewing a whole book of poetry concisely is an art which I have not mastered (and honestly am not planning on attempting), so instead we’ll take a different tactic and explore a handful of the poems which I enjoyed best in this first collection from Emily Dickinson. I’ve always been a fan of Dickinson for the few poems which I had read, so it was interesting to get to know her on a more broad level - even if this is only the very beginning, as there are quite a few more of her collections left to go!

The first poem which stood out for me was expectedly “In a Library.” I mean, this one was an easy favourite, as Dickinson explores the mutual love that all writers, readers, and literary aficionados have for the most accessible supplier of books! Her words evoke the unique smells of a library chalk-a-block full of old, rich tomes, which even though most of us frequent more modern collections we can’t help but imagine in the deepest recesses of our minds, and then the deep veneration and respect that we feel for librarians, the purveyors of our drug of choice, before moving on to the books themselves. These small offerings which take us to other worlds, into other minds, and remind us of ages past are expressed as adored in some of Dickinson’s most expressive language; it is clear that she is as deeply in love with books and the stories they hold as any of us, even though her selection was severely limited by the Victorian period (what would she have thought of the high fantasy that has become popular now?) and her subject matter tends towards the ancient and classical authors.

Dickinson clearly had a penchant for Death, and her most well-known poem (read and examined in every high school curriculum) is included here, but I’m actually going to choose a different poem as my favourite ode to Death: the untitled piece whose first line reads “I died for beauty, but was scarce…” This short poem tells the story of two beings entombed together, one having died for beauty and the other for truth. The two ideas play a nice contrast throughout the poem as the two characters get to know one another in their repose. Their story is extremely brief, but Dickinson’s imagery is strong enough to wrap my imagination in wondering who these people are. Did they know each other in the mortal realm, as enemies or rivals, and were they brought together after death to teach each other some much needed lessons? Are they actually people, or simply ideas, whose time for death has come to bring them together to create a new and more improved world? Either way, Dickinson plays an interesting game with her words here, and paints a lovely (if macabre) story.

Last, but not least, is the small poem “Lost.” This piece is such an enigma, I couldn’t help but be charmed with it, as Dickinson explores themes of loss, magic, and differing points of view. She was clearly someone out of step with her time period, and saw things from a unique perspective, so it is not surprising that these themes come up again and again in her poems. Here Dickinson finds value in a mysterious world (synonymous with a person, an idea, a freedom) bound by a shining row of stars which hides invisible to the eyes of a rich man. The poem is only two short stanzas, and in typical Dickinsonian fashion we are left with a perfect gem but very much wanting more. Who or what is this lost world, will it be found in later poems, and who is the gentleman who overlooks what Dickinson so clearly values? Considering the strange and lonely life that she seems to have lived, the world could be almost anything (in fact, it may be the world that she was largely kept from due to her sex and circumstances), and we can see Dickinson’s poem as a cry, not so much for help but for the recognition that she feels she deserves.

I’m going to take a break from reading the larger collection of Dickinson’s poems, since they are a rather large weight, but rest assured that I fully plan on returning to them after I delve into some other collections which are restlessly waiting on by TBR!
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An early publication of poetry by one of America's greatest poets, Emily Dickinson. Her genius wasn't recognized until after her death, but thanks to the dedication oif her sister and the editor who put the poems out, we are now able to delight in the meanderings of her restless mind. Dickinson was not a professional poet in her lifetime, and as a result, was not bound by the rules that often strait-jacket those who make a living from poetry. Instead, she blazed her own path and changed the rules. Some of her finest works are presented here, divided into categories by the editor, and given titles, perhaps not what she would have titled them. Dickinson's poetry belies the image of her as a loveless spinster; she clearly is able not only to define love, but to demonstrate she understood the pain of love and loss as well as anyone. This is a good, easy to read presentation; the only flaw is some weird formatting thanks to the digital presentation. ( )