While taking my morning walk, I found my mind turning to the
Dickinson poem that I chose as the epigraph of my Autobiography. I have always
been fascinated by those transcendently great creative artists who masquerade
as commonplace folk and, by refusing to proclaim themselves, are persistently
underestimated by those who know them personally. Jane Austen and David Hume come to mind. It always astonishes me that even their
biggest fans sometimes imagine that the artists themselves are unaware of their
own true quality. As though one could
actually write Pride and Prejudice and
yet not be certain whether it were any good.
As I walked, I tried to conjure up a scene -- quite
imaginary, of course -- in the Amherst of the 1870's, let us say. The Editor of the Springfield Republican, Samuel Bowles, has gathered a group of
literary types to an afternoon tea in honor of a visiting poet from Boston who
has lately been much praised in the pages of the Atlantic Monthly. Bowles has
persuaded his friend and correspondent, Emily Dickinson, to make the long trip
down to Springfield for the event.
Dickinson is dressed plainly, and contents herself with standing quietly
at the margins of the room while the guests swirl around her, chattering and
gossiping about writers and publications.
One of those present is an eager ambitious young man,
just launching himself into the literary world, who very much wants to be sure
that he has met every important person in the gathering and has made an
impression. After thrusting himself into
each cluster of conversation, he notices Dickinson sipping her tea. Although he doubts that she can be very
important, inasmuch as no one is talking to her, he decides to take no chances,
and walks up to her boldly. "Who
are you?" he asks, rather impertinently.
Dickinson smiles shyly, takes another sip of tea, and
replies: "I am nobody/who are
you/are you nobody too?/Then there's a pair of us/shh don't tell/they'd banish
us you know/How dismal to be somebody/how dismal like a frog/to tell your name
the live long day/to an admiring bog"
4 comments:
Dickinson's reply struck me just as it should have struck the artist you imagine Dickinson talking to. Brilliant, brilliant post.
Thank you. I would perhaps surprise you how much it means to me that you saw what I was trying to do.
I too was very much heart felt by the context...brilliant post, indeed.
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