On this very special international day of poetry, my recent obsession immediately sprang to mind; Emily Dickinson, a divinely talented poet who, within a self-imposed quarantine, managed to praise the beauty of Nature, Life and Death in equal excellence. This poem of hers, always lacking a title, but never deprived of distinctive punctuation and arbitrary capitalisation, introduces us to the melancholic time of day when shadows conquer light. This certain slant of light is the definitive factor, subtly bringing about external and internal change. I truly had my breath taken away as I stumbled upon this masterpiece, where some of the Meanings seem to lie hidden in the shadows – or in plain daylight.
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 –
Here is the poem on a blog dedicated only to Dickinson’s poetry with marvellous accompanying analysis. I invite my advanced students to pay a visit.
