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 –

A Wooden way

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –

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 –

 

Jai Rodgers

Emily Dickenson’s "After great pain, a formal feeling comes" is an attempt to communicate to the reader the nature of the experience which comes "after great pain." The poet is using the imagery for this purpose, and the first line of the poem, which states the subject of the poem, is the only abstract statement in the poem. The pain is not a physical pain; it is some great sorrow or mental pain which leaves the mind numbed. The nerves, she says, "sit ceremonious like tombs." The word sit is very important here. The nerves, it is implied, are like a group of people after a funeral sitting in the parlor in a formal hush. Then the poet changes the image slightly by adding "like tombs." The nerves are thus compared to two different things, but each of the comparisons contributes to the same effect, and indeed are closely related: people dressed in black sitting around a room after a funeral may be said to be like tombs. And why does the reference to “tombs” seem such a good symbol for a person who has just suffered great pain (whether it be a real person or the nerves of such a person personified)? Because a tomb has to a supreme degree the qualities of deadness (quietness, stillness) and of formality (ceremony, stiffness).

A Brave and Startling Truth

We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
If we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls.
Love costs all we are and will ever be.
Yet it is only love which sets us free.
A Brave and Startling Truth.
It is possible and imperative that we discover
A brave and startling truth.
When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
And without crippling fear
When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonders of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.

- Maya Angelou

The morns are meeker than they were -

 

The morns are meeker than they were -

The nuts are getting brown -

The berry’s cheek is plumper -

The rose is out of town.

 

The maple wears a gayer scarf -

The field a scarlet gown -

Lest I sh'd be old-fashioned 

I’ll put a trinket on. On the Pulse of Morning

 

Emily Dickenson

 

 

On The Pulse of Morning

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Facedown in ignorance,
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out to us today,
You may stand upon me,
But do not hide your face.

- Maya Angelou

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!

by Emily Dickinson.

Emily Dickinson's "Success is Counted Sweetest" has been written in iambic trimester. The poem highlights observational truths that are most people believe.

In the first stanza, Emily Dickinson writes to define the true essence of success. The general impression is that success can be 'counted' by only those who have experienced it numerous times. But, it is more precisely evaluated or counted by those who have never succeeded as they can catch its true value.  

For the true experience of life, failures are inevitable. For, what we learn from our failures, success can never teach us. The alliteration with the repetition of the 's' sound lays emphasis on 'success'. Success also tastes sweeter to the person who has persevered very hard for it, than to a person who has found success effortlessly. The former is also more thankful to God, and cherishes his accomplishment. The word 'nectar' here implies water. However, it is perception that renders it 'nectar'. To the thirsty ones with parched throats, a drop of water tastes as sweet as nectar. Here 'sorest' is utilized with reference to its old meaning ,that is 'greatest'.Only the one in the direst need, can treasure any sort of sanction.

Passing Time

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a
sure beginning.

Maya Angelou

 



Maya Angelou’s short poem “Passing Time” is about an interracial couple. It is from the prospective of the black person. In the opening line “Your skin like dawn mine like musk” giving the irony of the poem. Angelou describes the skin by metaphorically calling dawn and musk. These things are usually perceived as beautiful, but are put parallel to a theme that she writes as something that shall bring an end. "The beginning of a certain end" suggests an inevitable conclusion to the relationship depicted in this poem, though there is uncertainty as to the outcome of the ending. While this fixed, inevitable end is clear to the author, the reader is left to fill in the blanks for himself. "The end of a sure beginning" is also provocative. There is a suggestion of confusion as to the nature of the relationship, as the author knew how to begin the relationship but does not know how to continue into this new territory. Both the author and the figure she addresses are left in a state of transition where much is certain, but even more is unknown.

I'm Nobody! Who Are You?

by Emily Dickinson.

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!
They'd advertise - you know!
How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one's name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

 

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

- Maya Angelou

This poem is written with Maya Angelou herself as the speaker. She is speaking to her audience of oppressors about how she has overcome racism, criticism, sexism, and personal obstacles in her life with pride and grace. This poem is historically rooted with the mentions of slavery, a “past of pain,” and “gifts of ancestors,” however she is speaking in the present having overcome all of the hardships of her past and embarking on the rest of her journey with the knowledge that she is a strong African American woman. Still I Rise is about overcoming oppression with grace and pride, having no sympathy for the oppressors and giving to validity to the reasons for oppression.

 

There is rhyme every other line for most of the poem that immediately guides the reader through the poem. The phrases “I rise” and “Still I rise” are used repetetively throughout the poem to show that the speaker continues to overcome each situation of oppression and each oppressor. Imagery is dominant in this poem, especially after Angelou questions her oppressors. She gives the us images like “I walk like I’ve got oil wells /Pumping in my living room” and “Shoulders falling down like teardrops” and ” I dance like I’ve got diamonds/ At the meeting of my thighs.” There is also the repeating image of air and dust rising. Much of her imagery is conveyed through similes and metaphors. This usuage of figurative languages gives us a very clear picture of what Angelou means and usually conveys a strong emotion. For example, when Angelou says “Shoulders falling down like teardrops,” we get an image of drooping shoulders (like the shape of a tear) and the tear itself is immediately associated with sadness. The two of these combined makes the images even stronger. The poem is more a narrative than anything else because Angelou interacts with her audience as she talks about the highs and lows of her life and history.

 

The main symbol throughout the poem is that of rising dust. For dust to rise, it must be unsettled from the ground in some way and then forms a dust cloud. But once the dust has been unsettled from the ground, it can leave and RISE. This can be applied to Angelou’s overcome of the obstacles and her oppressors on the “ground” and rising above them all, unsettling and challenging the oppression.

This poem has a very certain seriousness to it, but Angelou brings in her pride as an African American woman and injects playful images into the poem when questioning her oppressors. The stanzas that have questions show the direct relationship between the speaker and the audience, Angelou and her oppressors, and allows the reader to put themselves in the heat of the discussion and in the heart of the poem. The tone is one of sureness, pride, and grace.

This online analysis says that the “you” that the poem is speaking to is the white race and that the “I” is the black race. This analysis says that the poem is a discussion between black and white, where the black, with Maya Angelou speaking, is taking pride in her heritage and what she has come from and intimidating the white race. This analysis says that “Maya is pretentiously assuring the audience that she will ‘rise” to any occasion and her color won’t hold her back.” After reading this analysis, I agree with the “you” being the white race. I thought before that the “you” had been specific to her own life, but this interpretation makes sense with the multiple references to slavery.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

 

By Emily Dickinson      

 

 

(its a good poem but still)

 

 

 

Awaking in New York

    Curtains forcing their will   

against the wind,

children sleep,

exchanging dreams with   

seraphim. The city

drags itself awake on   

subway straps; and

I, an alarm, awake as a   

rumor of war,

lie stretching into dawn,   

unasked and unheeded.

 

By Maya Angelou 



Because I Could not Stop for Death 

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.
We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—
Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—
Since then—'tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity—

By: Emily Dickinson

HIS DAY IS DONE

His day is done.
Is done.
The news came on the wings of a wind, reluctant to carry its burden.
Nelson Mandela’s day is done.
The news, expected and still unwelcome, reached us in the United States, and suddenly our world became somber.
Our skies were leadened.
His day is done.
We see you, South African people standing speechless at the slamming of that final door through which no traveler returns.
Our spirits reach out to you Bantu, Zulu, Xhosa, Boer.
We think of you and your son of Africa, your father, your one more wonder of the world.
We send our souls to you as you reflect upon your David armed with a mere stone, facing down the mighty Goliath.
Your man of strength, Gideon, emerging triumphant.
Although born into the brutal embrace of Apartheid, scarred by the savage atmosphere of racism, unjustly imprisoned in the bloody maws of South African dungeons.
Would the man survive? Could the man survive?
His answer strengthened men and women around the world.
In the Alamo, in San Antonio, Texas, on the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, in Chicago’s Loop, in New Orleans Mardi Gras, in New York City’s Times Square, we watched as the hope of Africa sprang through the prison’s doors.
His stupendous heart intact, his gargantuan will hale and hearty.
He had not been crippled by brutes, nor was his passion for the rights of human beings diminished by twenty-seven years of imprisonment.
Even here in America, we felt the cool, refreshing breeze of freedom.
When Nelson Mandela took the seat of Presidency in his country where formerly he was not even allowed to vote we were enlarged by tears of pride, as we saw Nelson Mandela’s former prison guards invited, courteously, by him to watch from the front rows his inauguration.
We saw him accept the world’s award in Norway with the grace and gratitude of the Solon in Ancient Roman Courts, and the confidence of African Chiefs from ancient royal stools.
No sun outlasts its sunset, but it will rise again and bring the dawn.
Yes, Mandela’s day is done, yet we, his inheritors, will open the gates wider for reconciliation, and we will respond generously to the cries of Blacks and Whites, Asians, Hispanics, the poor who live piteously on the floor of our planet.
He has offered us understanding.
We will not withhold forgiveness even from those who do not ask.
Nelson Mandela’s day is done, we confess it in tearful voices, yet we lift our own to say thank you.
Thank you our Gideon, thank you our David, our great courageous man.
We will not forget you, we will not dishonor you, we will remember and be glad that you lived among us, that you taught us, and that you loved us all.

Maya Angelou

You're right—

234

You're right—"the way is narrow"—
And "difficult the Gate"—
And "few there be"—Correct again—
That "enter in—thereat"—

'Tis Costly—So are purples!
'Tis just the price of Breath—
With but the "Discount" of the Grave—
Termed by the Brokers—"Death"!

And after that—there's Heaven—
The Good Man's—"Dividend"—
And Bad Men—"go to Jail"—
I guess—

Emily Dickinson

Dickinson discusses the road to Heaven with either a religious person or perhaps even Jesus himself. Referring to a sermon Jesus reportedly gave, she agrees that the way to Heaven is narrow and difficult, but seems to stop short of concurring that there is any punishment – Hell – for those who aren’t good enough to stay on the right road. Her tone is breezy and dismissive, even sarcastic. She adopts the language of commerce, as if life is an investment aided by brokers and paying off with dividends. The price of life, or “Breath,” is costly – but, hey, there is this great Death discount! You won’t have to pay forever!

            The dismissive sarcastic tone begins with the aside, “Correct again.” Today we might say, “Yep, it’s a tough road and that gate’s a toughie. Check. And you say that hardly anyone makes it in? Bingo.” Why is Dickinson so dismissive here? It seems she is skeptical of the ultimate destination and purpose. Life itself is “Costly,” she implies – like buying the sort of clothes royalty might wear with its expensive purple dyes. Just being born incurs the cost of living, “the price” – again the financial lingo – “of Breath.” The “Brokers”  – those men who claim knowledge and authority – are the clergy who dispense their knowledge.  It is again sarcasm when she notes that another word for their “Discount” on the cost of life’s difficult investment is “Death.”

            The last stanza summarily dismisses the dual destinations of Heaven, a “Dividend” for the good, and Hell, or “Jail” where the “Bad men” go, with a shrug: “I guess.” “Yeah, whatever,” we might say. Sure.

            The poem sounds to me like a response to a sermon where the clergyman made the extended analogy she discusses: life as a costly investment, heaven as a dividend, and a punitive place for the miscreants.

            As far as meter, the poem hums along in iambic trimeter with the third line of each stanza iambic tetrameter. But then to add emphasis, the last line, “I guess – ,” that retrospectively embues the whole poem with such irony,  is separated from the line before. Without this emphatic separation, the line would have been another 3rd line iambic tetrameter. There is a “missing” last line, a purposeful omission that leaves the doubt hanging midair. The poet is unresolved on the issue and so is the poem.

                     

      

        

Alone

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Maya Angelou

“Alone” by Maya Angelou is a poem explaining how it is almost impossible to go through life alone and remain happy.  Maya Angelou knows first hand what it feels like to be alone in life, living between homes though out her adolescence and getting to where she is in life on her own.  She explains the importance of having someone in your life that you can have a relationship with.  The poem talks about being alone in the world and what toile it takes on you.  Also, how loneliness leaves you with the constant need and want to have someone there to fill that empty void. In the poem she says “How to find my soul a home / Where water is not thirsty / And bread loaf is not stone” telling us that being alone causes you to feel empty and leaves her always reaching for more, because what she has is not enough.  She wants to be somewhere in life where her thirst will be quenched and she’ll no longer be hungry.  This poem also tells us that money cannot buy happiness.  People rely too heavily on material things and put a momentary happiness before an eternal happiness that human beings could bring to your life.  It’s almost impossible to live life being alone because happiness is something that is meant to be shared, which is one reason that makes you happy in the first place.  Without being able to share that happiness with someone, you won’t make it too far.  The poem says “They’ve got expensive doctors / To cure their hearts of stone. / But nobody / No, nobody / Can make it out here alone” reminding us that there’s nothing that can cure being alone and the heartache it brings.  Not doctors or any medicine they can provide.  The only thing that can heal that feeling completely is the love of another human being.