Dickinson Week Day Seven: ‘”Why Do I Love” You, Sir?’

“Why do I love” You, Sir?
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He’s Sunrise—and I see—
I love Thee—

To finish the week I think we’ll go with one of Dickinson’s more sweeter and heartwarming poems, which is – if read with a positive eye – completely devoid of her usual allusions to metaphorical or physical death. Instead Dickinson, in ‘”Why Do I Love” You, Sir?’, examines the relationship between love and reason, and ultimately suggests that there is in fact no connection between them whatsoever.

The speaker immediately addresses the eponymous question: ‘”Why Do I Love” You, Sir?’, responding to it with the somewhat childish answer: ‘Because’. This answer is largely endearing, provoking an image of a young child responding to a parent’s question, believing that simply ‘because’ is an adequate answer when stumped to find another. The allusion to a young child and the likening of this image to the speaker herself really creates a halo of innocence around her; setting an innocuous tone for the rest of the poem.

The speaker goes on, appealing to nature with the aim to, in effect, justify the absence of a justifiable reason as to why she loves the man she addresses in the poem. She gives examples of nature that require no need for an explanation, firstly the Wind’s acceptance that the ‘Grass’ cannot ‘keep Her place’ (notice how the grass is labelled as being feminine…perhaps an allusion to female submission to their male counterparts?) when it blows, as the answer is simple in that it is just so. Dickinson then goes on to use an example of the relationship between living beings and nature, denoting how the ‘Lightning’ never asks an ‘Eye’ why it blinks when it sees a lightning strike, it accepts that it is just nature and that is something not to be challenged.

The final stanza fundamentally combines the absence of reason in nature and the speaker’s love for the one she speaks to. She illustrates that the ‘Sunrise’ wakes her in the morning because of the light that it presents, and that the light wakes her simply because that is the very nature of the components of it – light is light, and it wakes us just ‘because’. This is the only time in the entire poem in which Dickinson does actually apply a very odd kind of logic to the speaker’s love. She says, after alluding to the ‘Sunrise’ and its ability to wake her, that ‘Therefore—Then— /  I love Thee—’; thus applying the same ‘anti-logic’ that was already illustrated in the previous stanza. The speaker loves this man simply because he is who he is, just as the light wakes us because it is light. Her love for this man is justified through it being ultimately unjustifable, it is simply in his nature for her to love him.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)


Dickinson Week Day Six: “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!


The first stanza here, starkly denotes that the person that best knows the measure and value of success is the person who is yet to experience it. Dickinson’s recognition of the drinking of ‘nectar’ as something that only the ‘sorest’ can understand basically indicates that (with ‘nectar’ being recognised in mythology as the drink of the gods that enabled them to revel in immortality) one has to be in the infinite depths of despair to truly appreciate the virtues of positivity – in this case specifically, success. In short, Dickinson primarily outlines that those who succeed never truly appreciate it—it is only those who fail, or who lack something, that can truly appreciate how wonderful it would be if they did succeed.

Dickinson extends the metaphor defined in the first stanza and continues it across the rest of the poem. She alludes to the image of a battlefield, denoting that those soldiers ‘who  took the flag’ will not be able to comprehend the true value of their success as their losing counterparts will recognise it. Dickinson then goes on to depict the despair of the losing side in her final stanza, denoting ‘he’ (who is perhaps selected as a synecdoche for the entire losing side of an army in war ) as ‘dying’ as they hear the ‘triumph’ of the winning side. The final stanza is fundamentally heartbreaking, in the sense that it further highlights that success can only ever be appreciated by those who have never experienced it, suggesting that as soon as we experience success we will never again place the same value upon it; it is now no longer the pinnacle of achievement and is ultimately an anti-climax to those who are regular to it.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)


Dickinson Week Day Five: “After great pain, a formal feeling comes—…”

After great pain, a formal feeling comes —
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs
The stiff Heart questions, was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round —
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought —
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone —

This is the Hour of Lead —
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow —
First — Chill — then Stupor — then the letting go —


Dickinson’s poem “After great pain, a formal feeling comes—…” ultimately seems to denote the very facet of human nature that imposes an emotional equilibrium after an intense trauma. It’s a strange thing that us humans have that natural ability to completely numb ourselves to any feeling after grief or heartbreak, and Dickinson really explores this numbness and inwardness in her beautiful poem. Her figurative language is largely reminiscent of a solitary funeral; with the ‘Nerves’ (as the synecdoche for the entire human body) sitting ‘ceremonious, like Tombs’ which is a nice literal link to the motif of a funeral and the marking of a death, perhaps the death of the feeling or trauma that had previously been haunting the speaker. In the second stanza the theme of death is further exhausted by Dickinson through an indirect manipulation of imagery that would only truly profoundly resonate with a Late Modern readership; with the ‘mechanical’ movement of the ‘Feet’ of the person who has suffered the trauma being highly reminiscent of a walking corpse – or more commonly referred to in modern culture as a ‘zombie’. The zombie-like qualities demonstrated here, predominantly through the complete absence of any human nature in their ‘mechanical’ movements, ultimately suggesting death in the metaphorical sense. The final stanza – although seldom interpreted in this way – can arguably be seen to set out a somewhat stark warning to the reader through Dickinson’s implementation of a simile comparing the memory of this numb (or ‘formal’) feeling after emotional pain to the memory of snow of those who freeze to death. It perhaps points out to the reader that we should maybe be in some ways grateful for this kind of numbness, as for those of us who suffer from the former (emotional numbness after pain) have the ability to ‘outlive’ it, as opposed to those who die from a literal numbness in their limbs, as they freeze to death in snow. Alternatively, however, the simile draws emphasis upon the purgatorial state of those who harbor this ‘formal feeling’ of numbness in their ‘Nerves’. The speaker draws the comparison between those who remember their ‘formal feeling’ through ‘outliving’ their emotional numbness and those who ‘let go’ (aka die) from their numbness which in some ways creates an element of confusion, as it begs the question: how can someone remember anything if they are dead? Which seems to ultimately suggest that lingering state of purgatory, with those feeling this numbness wavering somewhere between life and death.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)


Dickinson Week Day Four: “I’m Nobody! Who are you?”

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!
They’d banish — you know!

How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one’s name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Now this famous Dickinson poem, ironically entitled “I’m Nobody! Who are you?”, if we consider how utterly un-famous Emily Dickinson was in her lifetime, really provokes us as readers to appreciate our inconspicuous nature. The poem begins with the speaker’s proclamation that they are ‘Nobody’ (I’ll try my hardest not to harp on about capitalisation again), encouraging the reader to admit that they are nobody too The speaker provokes the reader to consider how ‘dreary’ it would be to be ‘Somebody’, that if a person were Somebody, he would be obliged to be ‘public’ in all that he does. Seclusion was something that Emily Dickinson ultimately strove to achieve in her lifetime, often hibernating in her home and seldom ventured outdoors (fun fact: Emily didn’t even emerge from her room while her father’s funeral took place in 1874). This – arguably excessive – appreciation for seclusion and isolation on the part of Dickinson is starkly denoted in this particular poem, ultimately highlighting that the ability to travel through life under a veil of anonymity is actually a far greater blessing than to forever stand of a stage under a heavy halo of fame.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)


Dickinson Week Day Three: “I died for Beauty—but was scarce…”

I died for Beauty — but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room —

He questioned softly “Why I failed?”
“For Beauty,” I replied —
“And I — for Truth — Themself are One —
We Brethren, are,” He said —

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night —
We talked between the Rooms —
Until the Moss had reached our lips —
And covered up — our names —

In “I died for Beauty—but was scarce…” Dickinson seemingly writes about two martyrs in their respective tombs, talking to each other about their deaths until all of their remains have been overgrown by ‘moss’ and thus forgotten completely. One of these martyrs died for ‘Beauty’ and the other for ‘Truth’, and their declarations of this really paints a picture of a couple of revolutionaries dying while fighting for their ideals in life. The poem seems to ultimately idealise martyrdom as the connotations of both the virtues these martyrs have died for are indisputably good and pure in their positivity.

The ultimate message of this particular Dickinson poem is in fact rather morose when analysed through a rather tragic lens, in that everything humane about these two martyrs – their ‘lips’, ability to speak and their ideals, their ‘names’ – are ‘covered up’ by the ‘Moss’ (again note the capitalisation) in death. Dickinson arguably communicates to her reader that no matter how strong an emotion, or cause, or ideal – such as ‘Beauty’ or ‘Truth’ might be in life, it is ultimately erased and obliterated in death and is eventually lost and forgotten, along with those who championed them.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Dickinson Week Day One: “I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—…”

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm –
The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset – when the King
Be witnessed – in the Room –
I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable – and then it was
There interposed a Fly –
With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz –
Between the light – and me –
And then the Windows failed – and then
I could not see to see –
One of Dickinson’s most famous poems, “I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—…”, to me, seems to provoke a real examination of both the romanticism and bleakness of death in the moments before it, and balances itself perfectly on the line between the macabre and the utter peaceful completeness that is achieved in its realisation. Dickinson’s focus on the ‘Stillness in the Room’ at the moment before her speaker’s imminent death is starkly highlighted in her capitalisation of this word, personifying ‘Stillness’ as a calming presence, soothing the poem’s speaker in their final moments. This ‘Stillness’ seems to provoke the speaker to pay specific attention to their surroundings and to take advantage of the ability to ‘see’ – Dickinson’s metaphor for ‘living’.
The focal motif of the poem, the fly, in some ways points out the facets of life that we encounter every day but do not stop to appreciate or even notice. As I’ve mentioned already, Dickinson draws specific attention to particular ideas through capitalisation and if we look closely at the words that are capitalised – which includes ‘King’, ‘Window’ – thus possibly highlighting the things that for one reason or another pass us by in our daily lives in our younger years in particular. Of course, Dickinson’s use of capitalisation may be relevant to archaic styles in written expression in the 19th century, but as we are reading her poetry as a contemporary audience this consistent implementation of capitalisation encompasses a whole new meaning for us. The capitalisation of the noun ‘King’ is of particular interest to me, in that – if we infer the usual connotations of ‘King’ in this context as referring to God – it is possible to suggest that if Dickinson is highlighting God as a being that goes unnoticed by us in our daily lives just as we would ignore a ‘Window’ or a ‘Fly’.
When I first read this poem, the ‘Fly’ that Dickinson focuses on seems to represent a much larger idea than we may first realise. It is possible to infer that the ‘Fly’ that ‘interposed’ as the speaker ‘signed away’ their physical possessions – ‘Keepsakes’ – and body, is ultimately a godly figure who comes forth to welcome us into death. It’s appearance may be controversially argued to be an actual embodiment of God himself and that this God is full of imperfection. The ‘stumbling Buzz’ that the fly lets out perhaps highlights that God may not be all that he seems to us as the living and the portrayal of him as an ‘uncertain’ fly tarnishes him with an anthropomorphous exterior.
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Brown Penny by W. B. Yeats

I whispered, ‘I am too young,’
And then, ‘I am old enough’;
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
‘Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.’
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

In ‘Brown Penny’, Yeats explores the question of love; specifically in opening lines of the poem the speaker is pondering whether he is in love with a girl or not. Yeats illustrates the internal conflict of the speaker in the first two lines; ‘I whispered, “I am too young,” / And then, “I am old enough.” These two lines seem to confirm to us that this is a coming-of-age, the speaker questions whether he is ‘old enough’ to be in love, but not just if he can be in love, he also seems to wonder whether or not he has the maturity to appreciate love. He ‘threw a penny’, perhaps flipping the coin, to find the answer to his question of whether he ‘might love.’ The speaker does not have to wait long for an answer to his question of whether he ‘might love’, as the penny seems to speak to him, saying: ‘Go and love, go and love, young man / if the lady be young and fair.’ The speaker’s following proclamation, in stating that he is in ‘looped in the loops of her hair’ instantly after the penny gives him his answer somewhat suggests that he already knew he was in love, and asking whether he was or not is simply ‘head-over-heart’ logic. Alternatively his asking of the penny suggests that he may possibly be the victim of blind faith, he is so in love already that he’ll do anything to have it confirmed to him. He is ‘looped’ in his lover’s hair, suggesting an element of confusion, thus extending the metaphor; the speaker is in fact ‘blinded’ by love.

In the second and final stanza the speaker comes to accept that asking the penny for a prediction of his romantic exploits is ultimately futile, as ‘love is a crooked thing, / there is nobody wise enough / to find out all that is in it.’ He concludes that attempting to predict the future is a waste of time and if we obsess over it, we will waste the rest of our lives and will never find any answers; we ‘would be thinking of love / till the stars had run away / and the shadows eaten the moon’, thus implying the events of the end of the world. The speaker finally addresses the ‘brown penny’ again, claiming that ‘one cannot begin it too soon’, referring of course to the attempts at understanding the ‘crooked’ ways of love. If love would take more than a lifetime (and more time than it would take for the world to end), then age is arguably no object, you can love at any age. The act of finding a penny is widely considered as a good omen or good luck in folklore, and so in using a ‘brown penny’ as a motif in his poem, Yeats perhaps draws a parallel between the connotations of chance in finding a penny or throwing a penny into a fountain / well with the speaker’s risk of throwing himself into love.

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)