Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Emily Dickinson's Funeral

In class, we discussed the issues raised in Blake's "The Sick Rose." Read the following poem by Emily Dickinson and share your thoughts: what is it "about" (in the sense we discussed in class)? What do you make of her word choice? What is being described here? Remember, a comment needs to be at least 150 words long and all comements will be vetted before they are posted.

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -

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,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -

This post will remain open until midnight on January 28.

3 comments:

  1. I believe the poem is "about" the poet's descent into madness; that is, the breaking of the "Plank in Reason."

    Stanzas 1-4 are the poet struggling to maintain some sort of sanity or reason, as the end of the first stanza says plainly that the poet felt "That Sense was breaking through." However, soon after, the poet's senses begin to go haywire. The first step of the decent into madness is hope, then comes the numbing of the poet's mind, a result of the struggle with the "funeral goers." Soon after comes the creaking across the soul, the loss of spacial perception (Then Space - began to toll), and a weird paradox of sound and silence in the fourth stanza.

    The puzzle of sound, silence, and self in the fourth stanza effectively signals the breaking of the "Plank in Reason." The image the reader is presented with is one of a loud heaven and the poet (the assumed "Being) taking in all of its noise (because it is "but an Ear). However, the poet quickly negates the possibility of being the "Being" as he/she, along with "Silence," is "Wrecked, solitary, here."

    An apt explanation is that the poet is attempting to convey madness through imagery. The opposing images in each half of the fourth stanza suggest an out-of-body experience--literally. It is through the progression of more and more bizarre imagery, climaxing with the breaking of Reason, that the poet successfully brings the reader to a point where poet and reader alike both understand the truncation of "knowing," signalled by the final dash. That is, the reader and poet alike know madness.

    -- Patrick Danner

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  2. I don’t actually see the poem as the poet’s gradual descent into madness, but an account of their sharp final fall.

    I believe that the poet had suffered the gradual decline of sanity before writing this poem, and the poem itself is actually their last attempt to claw pack to reality– their final stand. For example, the poet says that they felt a “Funeral” in their brain. Therefore, the poet opens by saying that they are having a funeral, essentially for themselves, as their mind (who they are) is dead.

    I do feel that there is still some sense of reality creeping into the poem with the words “treading” and “beating,” repeated in em dashes. Despite the poet’s final fall into madness, these words highlight how their senses are still connected to reality, but they are only side thoughts – glimmers of light – as their mind is already gone.

    When you look at some of the words that have capitalization they are “Funeral”, “Service”, “Soul”, “Space”, “Being”, “Silence”, and “Finished” (ignoring the phrases). To me, it seems that the stanzas are the process of the poet’s mind’s final departure. First there is a funeral, then a service, and then the soul (what makes us who we are, and in some way, human) is finally swallowed by madness. Now there is only space, and the poet is simply a “being” without a soul or concept of reality. Finally, there is simply silence until the poet is finished – the poet is done – their mind gone.

    -- Stephen D Beeston

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