1. Emily Dickinson The “Belle of Amherst”

2. Biography Born December 10, 1830 the second of three children to a Calvinist family in Amherst, MA. Her father was a lawyer and one of the wealthiest and most respected citizens in the town, as well as a conservative leader of the church Educated at Amherst Academy, Dickinson was a serious student with a mischievous streak. At 17, began college at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary; she became ill the spring of her first year and did not return.

3. Biography She enjoyed spending time with her family. She was very close to her older brother Austin and younger sister Lavinia, as well as her childhood friend/Austin’s wife Susan Gilbert Dickinson. She also enjoyed dancing, buggy rides, parlor games, and other forms of entertainment. She formed friendships with lawyers and ministers whose intelligence attracted her.

4. Biography She spent sociable evenings with guests such as Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield Daily Republican In the mid-1860’s, Dickinson seems to have had a devastating emotional experience, related perhaps to a disappointment in love. At this point, the poet settled into a quiet, reclusive existence with her parents and sister. Although she rarely ventured beyond the family Homestead, she did entertain several significant visitors, including Thomas Wentworth Higginson, whom she met in person for the first time in 1870 when he visited her at home in Amherst.

5. Biography To Higginson she offered her own definition of poetry: "If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only way I know it. Is there any other way?” She almost always wore white, though she was normally photographed in black or blue, and stated that she preferred printed calico to anything else. She loved the innocence of children, and often lowered snacks and treats in baskets to neighborhood children from her window, careful never to let them see her face.

6. Biography Though she eventually lived in almost total physical isolation from the outside world, she actively maintained many correspondences and read widely. By the time Dickinson turned 35, she had composed more than 1100 concise, powerful poems that astutely examine pain, grief, joy, love, nature, and art. The bulk of these, she composed during her intense writing period (1858-1865). She recorded about 800 of these poems in small handmade booklets (now called “fascicles”), very private “publications” that she shared with no one. Although Dickinson did continue to write poetry after 1865, she appears to have stopped formal assembly of the poems into these booklets or “fascicles.”

7. Biography Manuscripts dated to this period appear less finished than those of her intense writing period (1858-1865), and scholars are increasingly intrigued by what these later manuscripts—some of which are written on scraps of paper— suggest about her writing process. She wrote 1775 poems total, but only seven of them published in her life time. Before her death, she asked her sister, Lavinia, to burn all her poems; however, her sister published them instead. Dickinson died May 15, 1886 of nephritis (kidney disease).

8. Dickinson’s Poetry Dickinson was able to create a very personal and pure kind of poetry. She used regular meter—hymn meter and ballad meter, also known as common meter –Stanzas were written as Quatrains –With an alternating tetrameter and trimeter –Often 1 st and 3 rd lines rhyme, 2 nd and 4 th lines rhyme in iambic pentameter The use of dashes

9. Dickinson’s Poetry Her poetry exhibits great intelligence and often suggests the agonizing paradox of the limits of the human consciousness trapped in time. The subjects of Dickinson’s poetry are the traditional ones of love, nature, individuality, and immortality Dickinson's youthful years were affected by the deaths of friends and relatives, including her young cousin Sophia Holland, prompting questions about death and immortality which arise in her poetry.

10. Dickinson’s Poetry Dickinson used a concise, frequently imagistic style Her poetry is also notable for its technical irregularities Other characteristics of her style include –sporadic capitalization of nouns; –convoluted and ungrammatical phrasing; –off-rhymes; –broken meters; –bold, unconventional, and often startling metaphors; –aphoristic wit.

11. Dickinson’s Publishing Career Dickinson asked for advice with her poetry in letters with Thomas Wentworth Higginson, a local intellectual, journalist, and anti-slavery activist who she admired. Higginson responded with much praise and gentle criticism, but he advised her against publishing her poetry because of its raw form and subject matter. Higginson became Dickinson’s intellectual mentor, even though he admitted feeling out of her league in poetical talent. Though a talented writer himself, he did not recognize the worth of her poetry. At the time of her death, only seven of her poems had been published.

12. Posthumous Publication After her death, her poems were heavily edited and published by Higginson and friend Mabel Loomis Todd(Austin Dickinson’s mistress who first referred to Dickinson as the “myth.”) Thomas Johnson produced a collection of Dickinson’s more than 1700 poems in three volumes in 1955; he restored her original capitalization and punctuation. Later in the 20th century, Ralph W. Franklin focused attention on Dickinson’s manuscripts, raising provocative questions about the poet’s writing practices. Franklin reassembled Dickinson’s fascicles in The Manuscript Books of Emily Dickinson, in 1981, while his 1998 The Poems of Emily Dickinson, a complete edition in print of Dickinson's poems, refined Johnson’s work.

13. What’s the Difference? BECAUSE I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played, Their lessons scarcely done; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school, where children strove At recess, in the ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. An excerpt of poem 712, or “Because I could not stop for Death, called “The Chariot” by Higginson and Todd. On the left is the edited version; on the right, the original. Note the major changes in lines 9 and 10. EDITED VERSION ORIGINAL VERSION

14. Legacy Virtually unknown during her lifetime, Emily Dickinson now stands as a giant of American Literature. Dickinson upended convention, posing the great questions of life in the form of riddles for the reader. Dickinson has come to be recognized as a great American nonconformist and poet of rare quality.

15. The Dickinson Homestead in Amherst, Massachusetts

16. The Dickinson Homestead in Amherst, Massachusetts (garden)

17. The Dickinson Homestead in Amherst, Massachusetts (bedroom)

18. The Dickinson Homestead in Amherst, Massachusetts (Dress)

19. If you were coming in the Fall If you were coming in the Fall, I ’d brush the Summer by With half a smile, and half a spurn, As Housewives do a Fly. If I could see you in a year, 5 I ’d wind the months in balls– And put them each in separate Drawers, For fear the numbers fuse– If only Centuries delayed, I ’d count them on my Hand, 10 Subtracting,till my fingers dropped Into Van Diemen’s Land. If certain, when this life was out– That yours and mine, should be I ’d toss it yonder, like a Rind, 15 And take Eternity– But, now, uncertain of the length Of this, that is between, It goads me, like the Goblin Bee— That will not state—its sting. 20

20. My life closed twice before its close My life closed twice before its close— It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.

21. The Soul selects her own Society The Soul selects her own Society— Then—shuts the Door— To her divine majority— Present no more— Unmoved—she notes the Chariot’s—pausing— 5 At her low Gate— Unmoved—an Emperor be kneeling Upon her Mat— I ’ve known her—from an ample nation— Choose one— 10 Then—close the Valves of her attention— Like Stone—

22. Much Madness is divinest Sense Much Madness is divinest Sense— To a discerning Eye— Much Sense—the starkest Madness— ‘Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail— Assent—and you are sane— Demur—you're straightway dangerous— And handled with a Chain— perceptive complete succeed Agree Object

23. Success is counted sweetest Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host Who took the flag today Can tell the definition So clear of Victory As he defeated—dying— On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Burst agonized and clear!

24. Because I could not stop for Death Because I could not stop for Death— He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Ourselves— And Immortality. We slowly drove—he knew no haste 5 And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For his Civility— We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess—in the Ring— 10 We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain— We passed the Setting Sun— Or rather—He passed Us— The Dews drew quivering and chill— For only Gossamer, my Gown— My Tippet—only Tulle— We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground— The Roof was scarcely visible— 15 The Cornice—in the Ground— Since then— ’tis Centuries—and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses’ Heads Were toward Eternity— 20

25. This is my letter to the World This is my letter to the World That never wrote to me— The simple News that Nature told— With tender Majesty Her Message is committed To Hands I cannot see— For love of Her—Sweet countrymen— Judge tenderly—of Me

26. Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.