Nature
H.W. Long fellow
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
Explanation:-
In his poem "Nature" the poet H.W.Longfellow portrays a comparison of the relationship between a child and his mother and the relationship between human beings and mother nature. It is the harsh truth of nature that all living beings will meet their inevitable end some day. In this poem, the poet reminds us of this bitter fact through the comparison he draws.
The poem begins with the picture of a fond mother taking her child to sleep. The poet talks about the mixed feelings in the child's mind at this point in time. The mother takes her child away from his playthings, still strewn all over the floor, to tend her child to sleep. She promises him a lot of other attractions to convince him to go to sleep. The child is well aware of the pleasures he would receive from his playthings, but the words of his mother try to take his mind away from his familiar world into a world unknown, inexperienced by him. The child has different thoughts running in his mind. He wants to play but the urge to dwell in the unknown world also allures him, making him half reluctant and half willing to be led to his bed. Even while he is being led by his mother, he gazes at his playthings left behind, his mind still not reassured or comforted by the promises made to him by his mother. The promises made might be splendid on their own but may not please the child the way his playthings do. In spite of a more splendid offer, he might still be inclined to play rather than pursue those pleasures.
This is the way nature deals with us. The poet compares us, humans, with the child and nature with the mother and sleep with our end, death. With each passing days of our life, time slips away from our hand, the days remaining in our lives get shorter. And in this course of time, nature takes away from us our beloveds, our possessions. In the end, as the rule of nature, we are bound to separate from all our relationships, all our belongings behind and leave this world. The process is so gradual that we hardly notice our end creeping towards us. Nobody knows what happens after death. Man keep on wondering what awaits him after his death and before he gets his answer, he himself meets his own death. As it says, we go to a different world after death. Our whole life passes away but we fail to reach a conclusion regarding our fate in the other world. We do not get to decide whether we want to stay on this earth, or depart after death for another world, unknown to us. We stay too much engaged in our thoughts of both the world to understand what we actually want. In the end, we leave this world, completely ignorant of where we are going, what is waiting for us on the other end.
The poem begins with the picture of a fond mother taking her child to sleep. The poet talks about the mixed feelings in the child's mind at this point in time. The mother takes her child away from his playthings, still strewn all over the floor, to tend her child to sleep. She promises him a lot of other attractions to convince him to go to sleep. The child is well aware of the pleasures he would receive from his playthings, but the words of his mother try to take his mind away from his familiar world into a world unknown, inexperienced by him. The child has different thoughts running in his mind. He wants to play but the urge to dwell in the unknown world also allures him, making him half reluctant and half willing to be led to his bed. Even while he is being led by his mother, he gazes at his playthings left behind, his mind still not reassured or comforted by the promises made to him by his mother. The promises made might be splendid on their own but may not please the child the way his playthings do. In spite of a more splendid offer, he might still be inclined to play rather than pursue those pleasures.
This is the way nature deals with us. The poet compares us, humans, with the child and nature with the mother and sleep with our end, death. With each passing days of our life, time slips away from our hand, the days remaining in our lives get shorter. And in this course of time, nature takes away from us our beloveds, our possessions. In the end, as the rule of nature, we are bound to separate from all our relationships, all our belongings behind and leave this world. The process is so gradual that we hardly notice our end creeping towards us. Nobody knows what happens after death. Man keep on wondering what awaits him after his death and before he gets his answer, he himself meets his own death. As it says, we go to a different world after death. Our whole life passes away but we fail to reach a conclusion regarding our fate in the other world. We do not get to decide whether we want to stay on this earth, or depart after death for another world, unknown to us. We stay too much engaged in our thoughts of both the world to understand what we actually want. In the end, we leave this world, completely ignorant of where we are going, what is waiting for us on the other end.
A Letter to Her Husband, Absent upon Public Employment – Anne Bradstreet
My head, my heart, mine Eyes, my life, nay more,
My joy, my Magazine of earthly store,
If two be one, as surely thou and I,
How stayest thou there, whilst I at Ipswich lye?
So many steps, head from the heart to sever
If but a neck, soon should we be together:
I like the earth this season, mourn in black,
My Sun is gone so far in’s Zodiack,
Whom whilst I ’joy’d, nor storms, nor frosts I felt,
His warmth such frigid colds did cause to melt.
My chilled limbs now nummed lye forlorn;
Return, return sweet Sol from Capricorn;
In this dead time, alas, what can I more
Then view those fruits which through thy heat I bore?
Which sweet contentment yield me for a space,
True living Pictures of their Fathers face.
O strange effect! now thou art Southward gone,
I weary grow, the tedious day so long;
But when thou Northward to me shalt return,
I wish my Sun may never set, but burn
Within the Cancer of my glowing breast,
The welcome house of him my dearest guest.
Where ever, ever stay, and go not thence,
Till natures sad decree shall call thee hence;
Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone,
I here, thou there, yet both but one.
Explanation :-
The poet wonders why her head and heart and eyes and life, and her joy and “Magazine of earthly store” –her husband –is away while she remains at Ipswich. It seems like it is so many steps, that the neck separates the head and heart by too many. It is winter on earth and winter in her as well, and she mourns in black for his absence.
She writes that the sun is so far gone in Zodiacal cycle. When he was there she never felt cold or storms, but now her limbs lie cold and forlorn without him. She calls for the “Sol” to return from Capricorn and bring him back, ending her “dead time”. It is difficult for her to look at their children since they resemble their father so much. It is a strange thing.
He has gone southward and she is weary, feeling that the day is too long. When he northward to her returns, she hopes that the sun will never set again but burn within her and in their house where he is the “dearest guest”. She hopes he will stay there forever and never leave again until finally it is time to die. She calls herself “the flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone” and ends with “I here, thou there, yet both but one”.
Analysis
This is one of Bradstreet's most famous and oft-anthologized poems. Like "To My Dear and Loving Husband" and "Another", the poet speaks in effusive terms of love for her spouse. It is one of her most personal and intimate poems.
Bradstreet begins by explaining just how much her husband means to her –he is truly her entire life, and her "magazine of earthly store". While the two inhabit the world, waiting to go to heaven, they represent the totality of each other's existence. He is away on business while she has to linger at home. One gets the sense that the domicile, normally a warm and welcoming place, is cold and imprisoning.
The poet uses her understanding of astrology (not in the contemporary, future-predicting manner) to explain the time of year for these events. During the summer the sun was at its highest point above Massachusetts, occupying the area where the constellation Capricorn dwelt. In the winter the nights are longer and the air colder. Bradstreet speaks of this coldness as both literal but also as indicative of her loneliness and perhaps her sexual desire for her husband ("my chilled limbs now nummed lye forlorn"). In the summer, when the sun is in Cancer, he will return, and both the warmth of the sun and the warmth of his body will return as well.
Because of the references to the Zodiac, critics have linked this poem to the Quaternions, especially "the Four Seasons". Jane Donahue Eberwein explains that in "Letter", written years after the Quaternions, "the principal image is seasonal and relates closely to the fourth quaternion with its presentation of the annual cycle...the metaphor follows the conventional pattern of the seasons, but emotional experience differs qualitatively from natural cycles, and heart-time often contradicts almanac assertions". The short days of winter feel longer to the poet than the actual long days of summer. Also alluding to the Quaternions is Bradstreet's association of herself with Earth and with Autumn, which the yields the understanding that she is identifying with Old Age and Melancholy.
Bradstreet's sensuality is on full display here, which, as one might imagine, was rather surprising for a Puritan woman and leads one to surmise this poem may have been intended for her husband's eyes only. She says it is difficult for her to look upon their children, "those fruits through thy heat I bore". It is a "strange effect" to look upon them, for she remembers their conception.
At the end of the poem Bradstreet hopes that he will never leave her again and that their unity will endure. She says, in biblical language and cadence, that she is "Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone, / I here, thou there, yet both but one".
Brahma – R.W. Emerson
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
I am the hymn the Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.
Explanation
Brahma is a poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson, written in 1856. It is named after Brahma, the Hindu god of creation. Brahma is one of the gods in Trinity (Consisting of Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh). Brahma is a poem that presents a faithful version of a basic idea stressed in the Bhagawad Gita that is the souls' immortality.
Brahman, according to Hinduism, is the ultimate soul of the universe- "an uncreated, illimitable and timeless essence of being". Brahma expresses his spiritual vision that comes from his reading of eastern religion, especially Hinduism, Confucianism, and Islamic Sufism.
Brahma is the speaker in this poem and entire poem is his appreciation. Brahma presents himself as the center of this universe. Whatever activities happen in this world they happen because of Brahma. He is timeless, immortal and permanent. He can't be destroyed. He is omnipresent. He symbolizes the creation of the human soul. A person may be killed physically, but his soul is not killed. It passes from one person to another and thus, is eternal and immortal. Nothing is secret to Him. Shadow and sunlight are the same for Him. He treats shame and fame at the same level. The vanquished gods also appear to Him. He resides in Heaven. He can't be doubted because He Himself is doubter and doubt. A slayer and the slain are also the result of the same spirit. If anything is far or forgotten, that thing is very close to Brahma. If anyone sings, Brahma is the music. If anyone flies, Brahma is the wings. Brahma is also aware that human beings are competing to get him. But Brahma suggests mankind to develop goodness and reach close to him. Brahma, the speaker, concludes the poem with a suggestion that if people finds his way to Brahma's essence, he will have all that he needs for all eternity.
This poem is the poetic extension of American romanticism known as transcendentalism. According to this philosophy, we all of us are the product of the same One-soul. We are born out of the same parent. If the father is same, children are equal. The self of one individual is as important as the self of the other individual. But only thing is that we should learn to rely on ourselves. From this point of view, self-reliance is an important aspect of American transcendentalism.
Emerson through Brahma is trying to convey the same message. If we want to achieve Brahma, goodness is the only solution and that goodness lies in our self. In this respect, this poem is the celebration of the self. Emerson’s Brahma, the supreme Hindu god relies on Hindu sources to assert a cosmic order beyond the limitation of sense perception. Brahma represents the eternal, infinite soul of universe where every individual soul gets united.
The imagery used in this poem is partly based on the 'Vishnu Purana' to which Emerson frequently refers in his journals. Emerson's poem Brahma is miraculous in its blend of Eastern and Western thought. In the poem, Emerson assumes the role of Brahma, the Hindu God of creation. Emerson is able to use clever, yet complex, paradoxical logic in order to present his philosophy in poetic terms. Throughout the poem, Emerson alludes to Hindu mythology. The knowledge of which he gained through reading the Bhagavad-Gita and other Hindu scriptures.
This poem has four stanzas with four lines in each. It is rhymed as abab written in Pyrrhic-tetrameter. It is a lyric song.
Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking – Walt Whitman
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wander’d alone, bareheaded, barefoot,
Down from the shower’d halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories sad brother, from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon late-risen and swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in the mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous’d words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such as now they start the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man, yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.
Once Paumanok,
When the lilac-scent was in the air and Fifth-month grass was growing,
Up this seashore in some briers,
Two feather’d guests from Alabama, two together,
And their nest, and four light-green eggs spotted with brown,
And every day the he-bird to and fro near at hand,
And every day the she-bird crouch’d on her nest, silent, with bright eyes,
And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them,
Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.
Shine! shine! shine!
Pour down your warmth, great sun!
While we bask, we two together.
Two together!
Winds blow south, or winds blow north,
Day come white, or night come black,
Home, or rivers and mountains from home,
Singing all time, minding no time,
While we two keep together.
Till of a sudden,
May-be kill’d, unknown to her mate,
One forenoon the she-bird crouch’d not on the nest,
Nor return’d that afternoon, nor the next,
Nor ever appear’d again.
And thenceforward all summer in the sound of the sea,
And at night under the full of the moon in calmer weather,
Over the hoarse surging of the sea,
Or flitting from brier to brier by day,
I saw, I heard at intervals the remaining one, the he-bird,
The solitary guest from Alabama.
Blow! blow! blow!
Blow up sea-winds along Paumanok’s shore;
I wait and I wait till you blow my mate to me.
Yes, when the stars glisten’d,
All night long on the prong of a moss-scallop’d stake,
Down almost amid the slapping waves,
Sat the lone singer wonderful causing tears.
He call’d on his mate,
He pour’d forth the meanings which I of all men know.
Yes my brother I know,
The rest might not, but I have treasur’d every note,
For more than once dimly down to the beach gliding,
Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows,
Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts,
The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,
I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair,
Listen’d long and long.
Listen’d to keep, to sing, now translating the notes,
Following you my brother.
Soothe! soothe! soothe!
Close on its wave soothes the wave behind,
And again another behind embracing and lapping, every one close,
But my love soothes not me, not me.
Low hangs the moon, it rose late,
It is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love, with love.
O madly the sea pushes upon the land,
With love, with love.
O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers?
What is that little black thing I see there in the white?
Loud! loud! loud!
Loud I call to you, my love!
High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves,
Surely you must know who is here, is here,
You must know who I am, my love.
Low-hanging moon!
What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?
O it is the shape, the shape of my mate!
O moon do not keep her from me any longer.
Land! land! O land!
Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again if you only would,
For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look.
O rising stars!
Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you.
O throat! O trembling throat!
Sound clearer through the atmosphere!
Pierce the woods, the earth,
Somewhere listening to catch you must be the one I want.
Shake out carols!
Solitary here, the night’s carols!
Carols of lonesome love! death’s carols!
Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!
O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea!
O reckless despairing carols.
But soft! sink low!
Soft! let me just murmur,
And do you wait a moment you husky-nois’d sea,
For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me,
So faint, I must be still, be still to listen,
But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me.
Hither my love!
Here I am! here!
With this just-sustain’d note I announce myself to you,
This gentle call is for you my love, for you.
Do not be decoy’d elsewhere,
That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice,
That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray,
Those are the shadows of leaves.
O darkness! O in vain!
O I am very sick and sorrowful.
O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping upon the sea!
O troubled reflection in the sea!
O throat! O throbbing heart!
And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.
O past! O happy life! O songs of joy!
In the air, in the woods, over fields,
Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved!
But my mate no more, no more with me!
We two together no more.
The aria sinking,
All else continuing, the stars shining,
The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous echoing,
With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning,
On the sands of Paumanok’s shore gray and rustling,
The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching,
The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying,
The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting,
The aria’s meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing,
The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,
The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering,
The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying,
To the boy’s soul’s questions sullenly timing, some drown’d secret hissing,
To the outsetting bard.
Demon or bird! (said the boy’s soul,)
Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me?
For I, that was a child, my tongue’s use sleeping, now I have heard you,
Now in a moment I know what I am for, I awake,
And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours,
A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, never to die.
O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me,
O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetuating you,
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations,
Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me,
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there in the night,
By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon,
The messenger there arous’d, the fire, the sweet hell within,
The unknown want, the destiny of me.
O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here somewhere,)
O if I am to have so much, let me have more!
A word then, (for I will conquer it,)
The word final, superior to all,
Subtle, sent up—what is it?—I listen;
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?
Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not,
Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly before day-break,
Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word death,
And again death, death, death, death,
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my arous’d child’s heart,
But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet,
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over,
Death, death, death, death, death.
Which I do not forget,
But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,
That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok’s gray beach,
With the thousand responsive songs at random,
My own songs awaked from that hour,
And with them the key, the word up from the waves,
The word of the sweetest song and all songs,
That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet,
(Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet garments, bending aside,)
The sea whisper’d me.
Explanation :-
This poem was written in 1859 and incorporated into the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass. It describes a young boy’s awakening as a poet, mentored by nature and his own maturing consciousness. The poem is loose in its form, except for the sections that purport to be a transcript of the bird’s call, which are musical in their repetition of words and phrases. The opening of the poem is marked by an abundance of repeated prepositions describing movement—out, over, down, up, from—which appear regularly later in the poem and which convey the sense of a struggle, in this case the poet’s struggle to come to consciousness.
Unlike most of Whitman’s poems, “Out of the Cradle” has a fairly distinct plot line. A young boy watches a pair of birds nesting on the beach near his home, and marvels at their relationship to one another. One day the female bird fails to return. The male stays near the nest, calling for his lost mate. The male’s cries touch something in the boy, and he seems to be able to translate what the bird is saying. Brought to tears by the bird’s pathos, he asks nature to give him the one word “superior to all.” In the rustle of the ocean at his feet, he discerns the word “death,” which continues, along with the bird’s song, to have a presence in his poetry.
Commentary
This is another poem that links Whitman to the Romantics. The “birth of the poet” genre was of particular importance to Wordsworth, whose massive Prelude details his artistic coming-of-age in detail. Like Wordsworth, Whitman claims to take his inspiration from nature. Where Wordsworth is inspired by a wordless feeling of awe, though, Whitman finds an opportunity to anthropomorphize, and nature gives him very specific answers to his questions about overarching concepts. Nature is a tabula rasa onto which the poet can project himself. He conquers it, inscribes it. While it may become a part of him that is always present, the fact that it does so seems to be by his permission.
The epiphany surrounding the word “death” seems appropriate, for in other poems of Whitman’s we have seen death described as the ultimate tool for democracy and sympathy. Here death is shown to be the one lesson a child must learn, whether from nature or from an elder. Only the realization of death can lead to emotional and artistic maturity. Death, for one as interested as Whitman in the place of the individual in the universe, is a means for achieving perspective: while your thoughts may seem profound and unique in the moment, you are a mere speck in existence. Thus the contemplation of death allows for one to move beyond oneself, to consider the whole. Perhaps this is why the old crone disrupts the end of the poem: she symbolizes an alternative possibility, the means by which someone else may have come to the same realization as Whitman. In the end the bird, although functionally important in Whitman’s development, is insignificant in the face of the abstract sea: death, which is the concept he introduces, remains as the important factor.
Thus although “Out of the Cradle” can be described as a poem about the birth of the poet, it can also be read as a poem about the death of the self. In the end, on the larger scale, these two phenomena are one and the same.
O Captain! My Captain! – Walt Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
The poem is an elegy to the speaker's recently deceased Captain, at once celebrating the safe and successful return of their ship and mourning the loss of its great leader. In the first stanza, the speaker expresses his relief that the ship has reached its home port at last and describes hearing people cheering. Despite the celebrations on land and the successful voyage, the speaker reveals that his Captain's dead body is lying on the deck. In the second stanza, the speaker implores the Captain to "rise up and hear the bells," wishing the dead man could witness the elation. Everyone adored the captain, and the speaker admits that his death feels like a horrible dream. In the final stanza, the speaker juxtaposes his feelings of mourning and pride.
Analysis
Whitman wrote this poem shortly after President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. It is an extended metaphor intended to memorialize Lincoln's life and work. The Captain represents the assassinated president; the ship represents the war-weathered nation following the Civil War; the "prize won" represents the salvaged union. The speaker, torn between relief and despair, captures America's confusion at the end of the Civil War. It was a time of many conflicting sentiments, and Whitman immortalizes this sense of uncertainty in "O Captain! My Captain!"
Whitman's poetry places a lot of emphasis on the individual. This particular poem explores a variation on that theme: the self vs. the other. The speaker struggles with balancing his personal feelings of loss with the celebratory mood resulting from the successful voyage. While the Civil War claimed many lives, it led to the reunification of the Union, so many Americans felt similarly divided. In Whitman's poem, the speaker believes that he should be part of the "other" group, celebrating the return to safety. However, his inner thoughts set him apart from the crowd as he tries to reconcile his emotional reaction to the Captain's death.
"O Captain! My Captain!" is the only Walt Whitman poem that has a regular meter and rhyme scheme. Often hailed as "the father of free verse," Whitman tended to write his poems without following any kind of ordered poetic form. However, "O Captain! My Captain!" is organized into three eight-line stanzas, each with an AABBCDED rhyme scheme. Each stanza closes with the words "fallen cold and dead," and the first four lines of each stanza are longer than the last four lines. Because this poem is an elegy to the dead, the more traditional format adds to its solemnity. Additionally, the regular meter is reminiscent of a soldier marching across the battlefield, which is fitting for a poem that commemorates the end of the Civil War.
There’s a certain Slant of light – Emily Dickinson
There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons –
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes –
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
We can find no scar,
But internal difference –
Where the Meanings, are –
None may teach it – Any –
'Tis the seal Despair –
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air –
When it comes, the Landscape listens –
Shadows – hold their breath –
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death –
Explanation :-
This poem focuses only on the effect of a certain kind of light that the speaker notices on winter afternoons. It quickly becomes clear that this is not going to be a poem extolling nature or winter light’s virtues, for this light “oppresses.”
What kind of oppression this is, exactly, is what the rest of the poem describes. In the first stanza it is described as “like the Heft/Of Cathedral Tunes –,“ which is not a common simile for something oppressive, making it clear that this light’s oppression is of a complicated nature.
This slant of light gives a “Heavenly Hurt” to the observer of it—that is, something that causes no outwardly visible damage (“We can find no scar”), but instead causes a mental or spiritual change (“But internal difference, / Where the Meanings, are –“).
This change cannot be induced through teaching (“None may teach it – Any –“); instead, it must be experienced. Though it is “Despair,” it is an “imperial affliction,” that is, a regal or royal affliction, that although painful, leads to an uplifting.
It is powerful enough that even nature notices its presence (“When it comes, the Landscape listens –“), and its departure allows for a preternatural understanding of death (“When it goes, ‘tis like the Distance / On the look of Death –“).
Analysis
This poem very closely describes a fairly common theme of Dickinson’s—that of change as a fearful but illuminating process, both painful and essential. Here this awe of change is embodied in the “certain Slant of light” that becomes the place of departure for the transformation. This slant of light is oppressive, but this is no simple, purely negative oppression, it is instead oppressive like “the Heft/Of Cathedral Tunes –.”
The choice of “heft” here, instead of “weight,” which would actually have fit the rhyme scheme more closely, emphasizes the paradoxically uplifting aspect of this oppression, because while “weight” gives the reader solely an image of a downward force, “heft” implies a movement upward, albeit a difficult one. Thus while this slant of light is oppressive, while it creates difficulty for the speaker, the diction makes it clear that it is also uplifting.
This makes the surprising use of the simile of the “Cathedral Tunes” more understandable, as this seems to fit in with Dickinson’s views of religion. Faith, religion, and God are not easy for her; instead, they have a great difficulty, an oppressiveness, about them, and they cause “Heavenly hurt”—the importance of the adjective here is emphasized in the alliteration, and the flipped syntax of the line, opening with the direct object instead of the subject. This difficulty is, however, one that leads to greater understanding, and thus perhaps uplifts her, and in so doing takes her closer to God.
The importance of this painful transformation becomes even clearer in the third stanza. Here we see that its lessons cannot be taught, but must be lived; the emphasis of “Any” at the end of the first line of this stanza makes this very clear. And it is a “Seal of Despair – / An imperial affliction.” The close proximity of “Seal” and “imperial” make this experience into something that brings she who experiences it onto another level -- into a select, almost royal group of those marked by it.
This painful transformation has a better side to it implied throughout the poem, a certain uplifting that makes it worthwhile, that makes those who have lived through it members of a select club. However, the final stanza ends this transformation, and in so doing, leaves the day much closer to ending and the observer much closer to death, the word with which the poem itself closes. Yet death is balanced closely with life, as is shown by the fact that “death” rhymes with “breath,” an obvious symbol for life, earlier in the stanza, so even this death is not purely negative.
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