How to Read an Emily Dickinson Poem (Prepatory Readings) (Patreon)

In preparation for the forthcoming Emily Dickinson Poetry Appreciation Series, here's a quick informal audio reading of three of her poems, along with some tips on how to read her.

Emily Dickinson is incredibly challenging. The prospect of teaching her makes my heart beat faster. 

I recommend rereading, pausing at length on each and every word, and perhaps even writing some of her lyrics out by hand. 

Pretend that you are the poet, deliberating over the choice of each word. Why choose a word like "slant" or "Heft" rather than ten other potential choices?

You might also wish to try reading her poems like an I-Ching, tarot, or your own personal prophecy - a poetic crystal ball.

Recommended editions of Emily Dickinson's poems:

• Complete Poems (Faber & Faber) 
• Pocket Poets Edition (Everyman) 

First reading (no. 320):

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 –

Second reading (no. 479):

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 –

Third reading (no. 1253):

Had this one Day not been.
Or could it cease to be
How smitten, how superfluous,
Were every other Day!

Lest Love should value less
What Loss would value more
Had it the stricken privilege,
It cherishes before.

Happy reading!