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 –
by Emily Dickinson
This is one of the poems I continue to read over and over- into the night, it's always in the back of my mind...that the muse that haunts us is often the very same one that inspires. Those moments that we see or feel those aspects of light and we know that something has changed. Us. We can only begin again- ripped wide open or remain in the dark. "like the heft of Cathedral Tunes"..."the Landscape listens".....do we listen? do we really listen?
ReplyDeleteThis is a dark poem. Doomed when it comes and goes. She grabs these positive images (p) and gives them negative slants (n): heavenly (p) hurt (n), oppressive (n) cathedrals (p), and a seal (p) of dispair (n).
DeleteBut it's not all light, just a certain slant. I like that.