Showing posts with label Dickinson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dickinson. Show all posts

Saturday, 11 March 2017

No coward soul is mine


Invading a sister’s privacy….

According to contemporary accounts it was the discovery of her sister Emily’s poems that first prompted Charlotte Brontë to push the girls into sending some of their writing for publication. Charlotte, apparently, “accidentally lighted on a (manuscript) volume of verse, in my sister Emily’s handwriting” and thought them “nor at all like the poetry women generally write. I thought them condensed and terse, vigorous and genuine. To my ear they had also a peculiar music, wild, melancholy and elevating.” Emily was furious and, at first, refused consent but relented after a few days when Anne supplied some of her own verses and a plot was hatched for the sisters to remain anonymous.

Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell

In the biographical notice that Charlotte wrote for the 1850 edition of Wuthering Heights and Agnes Grey she explained:
“Averse to personal publicity we veiled our own names under those of Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell; the ambiguous choice being dictated by a sort of conscientious scruple at assuming Christian names positively masculine, while we did not like to declare ourselves women, because – without at the time suspecting that our mode of writing and thinking was not what is called “feminine,” – we had a vague impression that authoresses are liable to be looked on with prejudice….”

Fine quaint spirit

In the first review of the Brontë’s poems, published in the July 4th Athenaeum, the reviewer thinks Ellis (Emily) is the best writer of the “three brothers” being “a fine, quaint spirit” and who possesses “an evident power of wing that may reach heights not here attempted.” The poems of Ellis “convey an impression of originality beyond what his contributions to these volumes embody.” Sadly, several magazines that received copies did not bother to review the volume and only two copies were sold. Less than 10 copies of the original 1846 print-run survive, but a reprinting in 1850 with additional poems curated by Charlotte fared better (cashing-in on the success of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights.) Emily’s poetry has certainly stood the test of time.
Emily Dickinson apparently requested that No coward soul is mine be read at her funeral

The steadfast rock of immortality

Emily’s most famous poem is probably the following, published after her death and containing an elemental and mind-expanding account of “universes” (cheeky plural!) that exist inside and outside the imagination. Apparently Emily Dickinson asked for this poem to be read at her funeral. I can understand why – it is technically perfect with its formal patterns and rhymes but it is audacious, too, with its wild use of verbs (shine, arming, anchored, animates, pervades, broods, changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, rears, render) with a glut of verbs in stanza 5. What does it mean? The voice in the poem is courageous at facing the world with a grounded self-defining confidence in the face of life’s uncertainties and trivial concerns. The voice embraces doubt, embraces nature, embraces death, and embraces immortality. God in this poem seems to be inside Emily Brontë, inside in the form of her own self-worth, her mother, her dead sisters, her brother, the Yorkshire landscape. The key phrase in this poem for me is “creates and rears” – the creation and the rearing of life, the actions of a mother; the creation and rearing of works of art that will “never be destroyed.”
Though earth and man were gone / And suns and universes ceased to be....

If Charlotte is to be believed, this is Emily’s final piece of writing

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven’s glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

O God within my breast,
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life that in me has rest,
As I undying Life have power in thee!

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men’s hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idle froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of immortality.

With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And thou were left alone,
Every existence would exist in thee.

There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou thou art Being and Breath,
And what thou art may never be destroyed.
Art work by Chrissie Freeth, Tapestry Weaver

Saturday, 6 August 2016

It's all I have to bring today

Anna, Andrea, Margaret, Sally, Elizabeth and me with Sally wedding-ready....
An EU wedding
Deep in the French Limousin region in the Haute-Vienne department, the town of Razès hosted the marriage of Margaret and Pascal. It was my first meeting with Pascal and he made it very easy to instantly warm to his reassuring and welcoming presence. Sally and I know Margaret from “olden days” at the University of Manchester and it was a privilege and pleasure to attend their ceremony on 9th July 2016.
At the town hall
Margaret arrived by horse-drawn carriage and her brother played a wedding march as she entered the local mairie (town hall.) The mayor of Razès, Monsieur JM Legay, welcomed guests from round the world with inspirational words about “peace, friendship, cooperation, openness towards others and the capacity to create a place where we are free, transcending national borders.” The Brexit vote was a million miles away from the spirit generated by the different people gathered to celebrate aimer sans frontières.
Like two trees....
A series of readings and performances decorated the legal ceremony:
Tibie Paiom by Dmitri Bortniansky
Lovers on Aran by Seamus Heaney
Ombra Mai Fu by GF Handel
Shetland Wedding Music played by Margaret’s Brother, Peter
Later in the beautiful bee-busy garden at Chesnevielh further performances ornamented the exchange of rings, moving words from Margaret’s daughters, Elizabeth and Anna, and the sharing of hopes between Margaret and Pascal:
Come with me my love sung by the Toolan family
Ma Solitude by Georges Duhamel
Tout Passe by medieval Persian poet, Hafez
Le reste du temps by Francis Cabrel
What a wonderful world by Thiele and Weiss

Lovers on Aran by Seamus Heaney
(read in the mairi by Owen Cant)
The timeless waves, bright, sifting, broken glass,
Came dazzling around, into the rocks,
Came glinting, sifting from the Americas

To posess Aran. Or did Aran rush
to throw wide arms of rock around a tide
That yielded with an ebb, with a soft crash?

Did sea define the land or land the sea?
Each drew new meaning from the waves' collision.
Sea broke on land to full identity.
Ma Solitude
(translated from Georges Duhamel 1884-1966 by Margaret Cant and read at the garden ceremony by Sylvain Le Bihanic and Sebastian Brun)
Like two trees, much alike
And facing the same horizon
We share our source of nourishment
And bend to the same winds.

Will I still be alone on this earth
Now that I have named you?
Have I rejected solitude in order to
Have you in my arms?

Like two trees, side by side
We mingle our leaves and roots
And the breeze which passes through us
Has but one force and one fragrance.

I take you into my solitude!
So deep and calm
That even the noise of our breathing
Is unable to disturb.

Like two strong trees, standing together
Reaching towards a cloudless sky
Their sap rising in parallel
Eternally apart

And yet, as soon as the wind rises,
From their entangled branches
Comes a harmonious music
Which betrays their one ardour.
Emily Dickinson
Friends Bob and Andrea included in their speech at the wedding dinner the following exquisite minature poem by Emily Dickinson, a fitting text to end memories of an idyllic setting for a remarkable occasion:
It’s all I have to bring today—
This, and my heart beside—
This, and my heart, and all the fields—
And all the meadows wide—
Be sure you count—should I forget
Some one the sum could tell—
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.
Lac de Saint Pardoux