Emily’s Party
My library hosts a birthday
party for Emily Dickinson each year on her December 10th
birthday. These
are quaint little affairs which include that corrupt pleasure, white frosted sheet cake, along with heaps of hot tea. We
sit with floral china tea cups and our snowy slices at a large
rectangular table and recite our favorite poems and chat a bit about
what we imagine or know about Emily and her quiet life. We even sing Happy Birthday at the close!
party for Emily Dickinson each year on her December 10th
birthday. These
are quaint little affairs which include that corrupt pleasure, white frosted sheet cake, along with heaps of hot tea. We
sit with floral china tea cups and our snowy slices at a large
rectangular table and recite our favorite poems and chat a bit about
what we imagine or know about Emily and her quiet life. We even sing Happy Birthday at the close!
Ordinarily,
our party attracts just a few regulars and our librarian, who is an
infectious aficionado of all things Emily. I’m a rather minor
participant because I don’t like to speak in public and I only have
a few favorite “Emily’s”. I find some of Dickinson
sobering in her focus on mourning and death. But I like her
buoyant lines that have lingered in my head since
first discovering her in high school English Lit. One of
my favorite stanzas graces this blog: “Not knowing when the
dawn will come, I open every door”. Some of her poetry is
filled with clever lightheartedness and it’s those I love.
our party attracts just a few regulars and our librarian, who is an
infectious aficionado of all things Emily. I’m a rather minor
participant because I don’t like to speak in public and I only have
a few favorite “Emily’s”. I find some of Dickinson
sobering in her focus on mourning and death. But I like her
buoyant lines that have lingered in my head since
first discovering her in high school English Lit. One of
my favorite stanzas graces this blog: “Not knowing when the
dawn will come, I open every door”. Some of her poetry is
filled with clever lightheartedness and it’s those I love.
I think Dickinson was a genius. Her twist of words bewitches and bewilders and often
her meaning isn’t truly realized until several seconds after the
poem is read. It is then, when the words have a chance to hang
in the air like an echo, that the implication washes over one. And so it was
at Emily’s party when surprisingly, a crowd of 21 souls showed up in the
bitter cold, including 8 men!
I
appraised that I was the youngest by at least 10 years.
Some were retired English teachers, a retired physician and his wife,
a retired accountant, among others. The librarian thought it
best to bring a microphone which we passed around at least 5 times.
Nearly everyone read outloud, including me. Remarkably, the men
were the most passionate and the grandfather beside me added charming
inflections in his voice as he read his selections from a well-worn
anthology. His voice resonated inside my sleepy head like that
of a favorite bedtime storyteller. Another participant, a
woman, declared her little poetry book “one of my most prized
possessions”. It was a slim abridged Hallmark book of Emily
that she received from an uncle for her high school graduation in
1964. When I inspected her treasure afterward, I saw that
Hallmark used beautiful evocative watercolors depicting the Belle of
Amherst with a delightful and intriguing 1960’s slant.
appraised that I was the youngest by at least 10 years.
Some were retired English teachers, a retired physician and his wife,
a retired accountant, among others. The librarian thought it
best to bring a microphone which we passed around at least 5 times.
Nearly everyone read outloud, including me. Remarkably, the men
were the most passionate and the grandfather beside me added charming
inflections in his voice as he read his selections from a well-worn
anthology. His voice resonated inside my sleepy head like that
of a favorite bedtime storyteller. Another participant, a
woman, declared her little poetry book “one of my most prized
possessions”. It was a slim abridged Hallmark book of Emily
that she received from an uncle for her high school graduation in
1964. When I inspected her treasure afterward, I saw that
Hallmark used beautiful evocative watercolors depicting the Belle of
Amherst with a delightful and intriguing 1960’s slant.
One
of my favorite recitations was the poem “I’m Nobody! Who are
you?” The reader prefaced it with a treatise on the
propagation of reality shows in our culture. The last line, “To
tell your name the livelong day to (only) an admiring bog!” had us all
chuckling.
of my favorite recitations was the poem “I’m Nobody! Who are
you?” The reader prefaced it with a treatise on the
propagation of reality shows in our culture. The last line, “To
tell your name the livelong day to (only) an admiring bog!” had us all
chuckling.
Naturally,
I wondered why so many people would turn up on cold dark winter
night for such a humble library program. I decided it could not
possibly be just because of the poet, however wonderful. I believe it is because whatever is beautiful and true, knows no season or
century.
I wondered why so many people would turn up on cold dark winter
night for such a humble library program. I decided it could not
possibly be just because of the poet, however wonderful. I believe it is because whatever is beautiful and true, knows no season or
century.
One Comment
Bron
One of my friends, to whom I recommended this blog, is a big Emily fan, so I know she will enjoy this.