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the prowling Bee: September 2014

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2014_09_01_archive.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. But little Carmine hath her face —. But little Carmine hath her face —. Of Emerald scant — her Gown —. Her Beauty — is the love she doth —. Itself — exhibit — mine —. Links to this post. Whose Sources are interior —. As soon — Adversity. A Diamond — overtake. In far — Bolivian Ground —. Misfortune hath no implement. Could mar it — if it found —. The second stanza introduces the metaphor of a diamond. That precious gem is top of the Mohs sc...

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the prowling Bee: April 2015

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2015_04_01_archive.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. When Bells stop ringing — Church — begins –. When Bells stop ringing — Church — begins –. The Positive — of Bells —. When Cogs — stop — that's Circumference —. The Ultimate — of Wheels. In this wisdom poem Dickinson presents mortal life as a prelude to a better state in the hereafter. From Hanford Mills, NY, 1840-1967. It's a thoughtful poem, compressed, vivid, and rewarding the bit of work to let the images expand in your mind. This tribute t...

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the prowling Bee: The Lightning playeth — all the while —

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-lightning-playeth-all-while.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. The Lightning playeth — all the while —. The Lightning playeth — all the while —. But when He singeth — then —. Ourselves are conscious He exist —. And we approach Him — stern —. With Insulators — and a Glove —. Whose short — sepulchral Bass. Alarms us — tho' His Yellow feet. May pass — and counterpass —. Upon the Ropes — above our Head —. Continual — with the News —. Nor We so much as check our speech —. Nor stop to cross Ourselves —. The las...

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the prowling Bee: Her — last Poems —

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2015/04/her-last-poems.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. Her — last Poems —. Her — last Poems —. Poets ended —. Silver — perished — with her Tongue —. Not on Record — bubbled Other,. Flute — or Woman — so divine —. Not unto its Summer Morning —. Robin — uttered Half the Tune —. Gushed too full for the adoring —. From the Anglo-Florentine —. Late — the Praise — 'Tis dull — Conferring. On the Head too High – to Crown —. Diadem — or Ducal Showing —. Be its Grave — sufficient Sign —. Even Dickinson's gr...

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the prowling Bee: Ourselves were wed one summer — dear —

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2015/03/ourselves-were-wed-one-summer-dear.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. Ourselves were wed one summer — dear —. Ourselves were wed one summer — dear —. Your Vision — was in June —. And when Your little Lifetime failed,. I wearied — too — of mine —. And overtaken in the Dark —. Where You had put me down —. By Some one carrying a Light —. I — too — received the Sign. Tis true — Our Futures different lay —. Your Cottage — faced the sun —. While Oceans — and the North must be —. On every side of mine. Points readers t...

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the prowling Bee: February 2015

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2015_02_01_archive.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. No Romance sold unto. No Romance sold unto. Could so enthrall a Man –. As the perusal of. His Individual One —. Tis Fiction's — to dilute to plausibility. Our – Novel. When 'tis small eno'. To credit — 'Tis'nt true –. Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth. – Albert Camus. 8220;Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures.” ― Jessamyn West. Photo: James W. Johnson. Links to this post. They called me to the Window, for. As even while...

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the prowling Bee: 'Tis so appalling—it exhilarates—

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2012/09/tis-so-appallingit-exhilarates.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. Tis so appalling—it exhilarates—. Tis so appalling—it exhilarates—. So over Horror, it half captivates—. The Soul stares after it, secure—. To know the worst, leaves no dread more—. To scan a Ghost, is faint—. But grappling, conquers it—. How easy, Torment, now—. Suspense kept sawing so—. The Truth, is Bald, and Cold—. But that will hold—. If any are not sure—. We show them—prayer—. But we, who know,. Stop hoping, now—. Yours, is done—. But sh...

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the prowling Bee: There came a Day—at Summer's full,

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2012/08/there-came-dayat-summers-full.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. There came a Day—at Summer's full,. There came a Day—at Summer's full,. Entirely for me—. I thought that such—were for the Saints—. Where Resurrections—be—. The Sun—as common—went abroad—. The flowers—accustomed—blew,. As if no soul the solstice passed—. That maketh all things new. The time was scarce profaned—by speech—. The symbol of a word. Was needless—as at Sacrament—. The Wardrobe—of our Lord—. Each was to each—the sealed church,. Well, ...

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the prowling Bee: When Bells stop ringing — Church — begins –

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2015/04/when-bells-stop-ringing-church-begins.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. When Bells stop ringing — Church — begins –. When Bells stop ringing — Church — begins –. The Positive — of Bells —. When Cogs — stop — that's Circumference —. The Ultimate — of Wheels. In this wisdom poem Dickinson presents mortal life as a prelude to a better state in the hereafter. From Hanford Mills, NY, 1840-1967. It's a thoughtful poem, compressed, vivid, and rewarding the bit of work to let the images expand in your mind. I agree that s...

bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com

the prowling Bee: December 2014

http://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/2014_12_01_archive.html

Blogging all the poems of Emily Dickinson, by Susan Kornfeld. It was a quiet way —. It was a quiet way —. He asked if I was his —. I made no answer of the Tongue. But answer of the Eyes —. And then He bore me on. Before this mortal noise. With swiftness, as of Chariots. And distance, as of Wheels –. This World did drop away. As Acres from the feet. Of one that leaneth from Balloon. Upon an Ether street. The Gulf behind was not,. The Continents were new —. Eternity it was before. And fastened it in Dawn.