Thursday, January 27, 2011
Dormition
Given the fact that we here on the East Coast are buried under yet another round of snow, with a bit more to come, I thought I'd post one more Dickinson poem. This one mentions snow, but has nothing to do with it really. I figured since we're in the throes of the dead of winter, you might enjoy it and find it relevant in some way. I love this poem.
After great pain a formal feeling comes--
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore?
And yesterday--or centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.
-Emily Dickinson
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That is one of her best poems. I know that one well. "This is the hour of lead" is one of the greatest lines in all of American poetry. It's impossible to forget that poem.
ReplyDeleteI am exhausted from all the snow. I live on Staten Island and we got about 20 inches. We got 26 inches from that storm about a month ago. And there have been a couple opf smaller storms in between. There is no place to put all this snow. One more storm and I will stop even trying to shovel. It's not even the work, it's the inconvenience of it all. There is no place to park and the streets are dangerous.
So you're on the East Coast too Manny? Nice to know. My husband has some cousins on Staten Island but we haven't been there in years. Sadly, the times we do go are usually for funerals. Yes, I agree, it's sooooo inconvenient to have all this snow. I came home with groceries after work tonight and darn near killed myself just trying to get from the car to the sidewalk. Enough is enough!
ReplyDeleteTake care
Joyce