'I, and Silence, some strange Race'

"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 were all 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 --"

 ~ 'I felt a funeral, in my brain' : Emily Dickinson ~

One of America's greatest poets, Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886), led a life of self imposed seclusion. This offbeat lifestyle almost cut off from the society created an aura around her life and literature, often celebrated and romanticized after her death. Though she was shy in social situations her poems have an amazing capacity to move and provoke. Most of the time she spent in the family house in Amherst, Massachusetts and rarely met people from outside. Yet in the closet she was an artist and accomplished musician. A prolific writer, she wrote more than 1500 poems and countless personal letters to a chosen circle of close friends.

Emily Dickinson remained a reclusive spinster all her life  and died at the age of 55 from Bright’s disease, which was caused by kidney degeneration. Doctors opined that the accumulation of stress throughout her life contributed to her premature death.

She wrote hundreds of poems every year, yet never published a book of poetry during her life. Emily wished her poems to be burnt after her death. But her sister Lavinia ignored this request and handed them over to Mabel Todd and Terrence Higginson, Emily's long standing friends. Ms.Todd use to refer Emily as "a lady whom people call the Myth". With their help the first edition of Emily's poems were published in 1893 which was critically acclaimed all over the English speaking world.

Since 1900 Dickinson has remained continuously in print.

'Once more to think what it is I am remembering'

"I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds,
Sniff them and think and sniff again and try
Once more to think what it is I am remembering,
Always in vain. I cannot like the scent,
Yet I would rather give up others more sweet,
With no meaning, than this bitter one.

I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray
And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing;
Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait
For what I should, yet never can, remember;

No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush
Of Lad's-love, or Old Man, no child beside,
Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate;
Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end"

-- 'Old Man' : Edward Thomas --

Philip Edward Thomas (1878 – 1917) was an Anglo-Welsh poet.

To One in Paradise

"And all my days are trances,

And all my nightly dreams

Are where thy dark eye glances,

And where thy footstep gleams—

In what ethereal dances,

By what eternal streams!

Alas! for that accursed time

They bore thee o'er the billow,

From love to titled age and crime,

And an unholy pillow!

From me, and from our misty clime,

Where weeps the silver willow!"

-- 'To One in Paradise' : Edgar Allan Poe --