The Morning after Death
Is solomnest of industries
Enacted upon Earth -
The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity.
Emily Dickinson, c. 1866
The reason I bought this anthology to begin with (The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Thomas H. Johnson), was in response to a wonderful recital I attended by the incomparable Marilyn Horne. She sang the song cycle "I will Breathe a Mountain", by William Bolcom, and I read somewhere that it was at her request that he set Dickinson's poem as part of this cycle. Ms Horne had read the poem at her brother's funeral. She sang it so beautifully that evening, that I sought to read more of the wonderful poet who wrote the words. I love to dip into this anthology from time to time. I really know nothing about Emily Dickinson's life, so I shall have to get a biography of her. In Sophie's Choice (William Styron), this poem is quoted:
Ample make this Bed -
Make this Bed with Awe -
In it wait till Judgment break
Excellent and Fair.
Be its Mattress straight -
Be its Pillow round -
Let no Sunrise' yellow noise
Interrupt this Ground -
c. 1864
While I mention Sophie's Choice... this was one of the rare books I have read in my life (granted I was 21 at the time) where I felt bereft at the end for the selfish fact that I missed the characters. I'm not sure how I'd feel about them now, some years on. I have the book somewhere, and I shall re-read it one day. D'oh! It is this half-baked idea that I will re-read everything one day that makes it impossible for me to get rid of books. And this is why they are - in my otherwise relatively streamlined home - double- and triple-stacked at times. I don't even know what I have any more and they are all out of order. I don't mind the latter problem at all, as there is nothing like going on a hunt for a book, only to be distracted by another. And before I know it several hours have passed under the spell of an unexpected seduction. However the former problem of not knowing what I have, means that I often purchase a book, not realizing that I purchased another copy 15 years back.
That night at the Marilyn Horne recital, I remember she sang "I Dream of Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair" as her final piece, an a capella encore. Someone told me she always finishes her recitals with this piece. It was so beautiful, I never forgot it, and of course I went on a hunt for the composer Stephen Foster, another brilliant, sensitive American of Victorian times.
And, for the record, my place, though basically clean, is upside down with poetry, drying watercolours, lists of Christmas baking supplies, and piles of not-quite-addressed Christmas cards and newsletters. It's quite cheery with the DVD fireplace crackling away. I do feel this huge need to hibernate. Seriously. I would like nothing more than to make a fortress with the bedclothes and hide away with a bottle of scotch and a supply of dark chocolate for the next four months.
SPEAKING OF WHICH... (the ramble continues)... Lindt (those out and out rotters!) have release a new chocolate ball in Canada. Well, I assume it's new, I mean, I haven't seen it before. It's really dark, 60% cocoa content, and comes wrapped in black, shiny paper. Well. What can I tell you? I bought out the supply from the local Dominion, and they are all poured into a tall glass jar sitting atop my china cabinet. And this is how I suggest enjoying them: Unwrap the Lindt ball. Admire the dark chocolate. Place it in your mouth before the melting process starts. Let the ball sit cradled on your tongue, then lightly press the ball into the roof of your mouth. Gently does it. A bit more... the melting is in process, and then suddenly... magic! A little fissure in the chocolate shell breaks and... mmmmmmm... that flowing dark chocolate centre lavas its way over your tongue, sending all the little taste buds into paroxysms of ecstacy.
And now I'm off to bed with a Lindt ball and the Virago Book of Wicked Verse. Among all the erotic naughtiness is... another Emily Dickinson! And an awful lot of exclamation marks. Mmmmm... I wonder what Yankee charmer inspired this in her?
Wild Nights - Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile - the Winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden -
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor - Tonight -
In Thee!
c. 1861
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