| When I ordered the books for our class, Final Harvest, the paperback selection of Dickinson's poems I usually order, was out of print, so I ordered The Selected Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Billy Collins, instead. But now that I look at that edition, I'm unhappy with the way Collins edited them poems to make them "more accessible to the eye of the modern reader," as he puts it. So —— This complicated page is my attempt to give you both the poems I want you to read and several ways to read them. The list of FIRST LINEs will allow you to identify which poems, in any edition of Dickinson you have (and at this point Final Harvest, featuring Thomas H. Johnson's selection and editing of her poems, is back in print). Clicking on MS., when that link exists for a poem, will bring up a digital facsimile of the poem as Dickinson herself left it for us to read, in her handwritten manuscript. Clicking on TSJ+ will pop up a transcription of the poem based on Johnson's editorial practices, except I've replaced his dashes ( — ) with hyphens ( – ), which I think are closer to Dickinson's own punctuation marks. Try reading at least your favorite among the poems in all these versions, and decide for yourself what kinds of difference conventions of editing and publishing make to the experience of Dickinson's poetry. One other approach to her work that I very much recommend is copying your favorite poems out, in your own handwriting. One last note: the first two poems below aren't included in Collins' edition, so you'll have to read them here. And feel free to read as many more Dickinson poems as you want! but make sure to read at least the following ones: |
MANUSCRIPT |
VERSION | |
| This was a poet | ||
| This Consciousness that is aware | ||
| A light exists in spring | ||
| Apparently with no surprise | ||
| Because I could not stop for Death | ||
| Belshazzar had a letter* | ||
| Dare you see a soul at the white heat? | ||
| Death is a dialogue between | ||
| Exultation is the going | ||
| Far from love the Heavenly Father* | ||
| Given in marriage unto thee | ||
| He preached upon "breath" till it argued him narrow | ||
| Hope is the thing with feathers | ||
| I cannot live with you | ||
| I felt a funeral in my brain | ||
| I had been hungry all the years | ||
| I heard a fly buzz when I died | ||
| I know that he exists | ||
| I like to see it lap the miles | ||
| I'm ceded, I've stopped being theirs | ||
| I'm wife; I've finished that | ||
| I never lost as much but twice | ||
| I never saw a moor | ||
| I reason, earth is short | ||
| I shall know why, when time is over | ||
| I stepped from plank to plank | ||
| It was not death, for I stood up | ||
| Mine by the right of the white election! | ||
| Much madness is divinest sense | ||
| My life closed twice before its close | ||
| Nature, the gentlest mother | ||
| No rack can torture me | ||
| One need not be a chamber to be haunted | ||
| Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn | ||
| She rose to his requirement, dropped* | ||
| The brain is wider than the sky | ||
| The brain within its groove | ||
| The bustle in the house | ||
| There's a certain slant of light | ||
| These are the days when the birds come back | ||
| The show is not the show | ||
| The soul selects her own society | ||
| The soul unto itself | ||
| The thought beneath so slight a film | ||
| This is my letter to the world | ||
| To fight aloud is very brave | ||
| To hear an oriole sing | ||
| To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee | ||
| What soft, cherubic creatures | ||
| Wild nights! Wild nights! |
| SOURCES: MANUSCRIPTS ARE SCANNED FROM THE MANUSCRIPT BOOKS OF EMILY DICKINSON, ED. R. W. FRANKLIN, 2 VOLUMES (© CAMBRIDGE: HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS, 1981). DICKINSON'S MANUSCRIPTS ARE IN THE HOUGHTON LIBRARY, HARVARD UNIVERSITY, AND THE AMHERST COLLEGE LIBRARY. TRANSCRIPTIONS ARE FROM THE COMPLETE POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON, ED. THOMAS H. JOHNSON (© BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN, 1960) -- EXCEPT FOR THE THREE MARKED WITH AN ASTERISK, JOHNSON'S VERSIONS OF THE POEMS ARE ALSO IN FINAL HARVEST (© BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN, 1961). |