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Making Dickinson More Traditional

Making Dickinson More Traditional. Original Version of “I heard a fly buzz—when I died—”. 1924 Version of “I heard”. I heard a fly buzz when I died: The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry

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Making Dickinson More Traditional

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  1. Making Dickinson More Traditional Original Version of “I heard a fly buzz—when I died—” 1924 Version of “I heard” I heard a fly buzz when I died: The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry And breaths were gathering sure For that last onset, when the king Be witnessed in his power. I willed my keepsakes, signed away What portion of me I Could make assignable,--and then 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. 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—

  2. A Popular, Traditional Poem by a Nineteenth-Century Woman Poet (Frances Osgood) Silent Love. AH! let our love be still a folded flower, A pure, moss rose-bud blushing to be seen, Hoarding its balm and beauty for that hour When souls may meet without the clay between! Let not a breath of passion dare to blow Its tender, timid, clinging leaves apart! Let not the sunbeam, with too ardent glow, Profane the dewy freshness at it heart! Ah! Keep it folded like a sacred thing! With tears and smiles its bloom and fragrance nurse; Still let the modest veil around it cling, Nor with rude touch its pleading sweetness curse.

  3. Be thou content, as I, to know, not see, The glowing life, the treasured wealth within— To feel our spirit-flower still fresh and free, And guard its blush, its smile, from shame and sin. Ah! Keep it holy! Once the veil withdrawn— Once the rose blooms—its balmy soul will fly, As fled of old in sadness, yet in scorn, Th’ awaken’d god from Psyche’s daring eye! DICKINSON ON WOMEN LIKE OSGOOD— What Soft—Cherubic Creatures— These Gentlewomen are— One would as soon assault a Plush— Or violate a Star— Such Dimity Convictions A Horror so refined Of freckled Human Nature Of Deity—ashamed It’s such a common—Glory— A Fisherman’s—Degree— Redemption—Brittle Lady— Be so—ashamed of Thee—

  4. Original version of “Of Bronze—and Blaze—” 1924 Version of “Of Bronze—” Of bronze and blaze The north, to-night! So adequate it forms, So preconcerted with itself, So distant to alarms,— An unconcern so sovereign To universe, or me, It paints my simple spirit With tints of majesty Till I take vaster attitudes, And strut upon my stem, Disdaining men and oxygen For arrogance of them. My splendors are menagerie: But their competeless show Will entertain the centuries When I am, long ago, An island in dishonored grass, Whom none but daisies know. Of Bronze—and Blaze— The North—Tonight— So adequate—it forms— So preconcerted with itself— So distant—to alarms— An Unconcern so sovereign To Universe, or me— Infects my simple spirit With Taints of Majesty— Till I take vaster attitudes— And strut upon my stem— Disdaining Men, and Oxygen, For Arrogance of them— My Splendors, are Menagerie— But their Competeless Show Will entertain the Centuries When I, am long ago, An island in dishonored Grass— Whom none but Beetles—know.

  5. Dickinson vs. Osgood, Titles A Toad, can die of Light— My Life had stood—a Loaded Gun— I took my Power in my Hand— Before I got my eye put out I see thee better—in the Dark She dealt her pretty words like Blades— A Death blow is a Life blow to Some I cannot live with You— I heard a Fly Buzz—when I died Ellen Learning to Walk Lucy’s Gem The Daisy’s Mistake On Parting for a Time With an Infant’s Portrait A Mother’s Prayer in Illness The Triumph of the Spiritual over the Sensual The Morning Walk, or the Stolen Blush Why Don’t He Come The Child and Its Angel Playmate

  6. “Safe,” Conventional Subjects for Nineteenth-Century Women Poets Women as delicate and spiritual Chastity The Joys of Motherhood The Joys of Domesticity Sentimental expression of loss and death Expectations of heavenly reunion The angelic origins of women Conventional metaphors for women Flowers Gems Butterflies Birds Conventional roles Mother Wife Lover

  7. Conventional settings Gardens Bedrooms Houses Conventional Themes The “cult” of domesticity (the pleasures of the home, marriage, motherhood, etc.) Acceptance of hardship, death, loss, etc. Self-sacrifice and humility for the sake of others and spiritual purity Dickinson’s Unconventional Themes Personal autonomy and independence Self-assertion and free expression vs. false fronts and repression Intellectual liberty and freedom of imagination Earthly things as preferable to heavenly rewards Individual authority of the soul and rejection of externally imposed roles Loss, suffering, and other forms of human limitation Dickinson’s Unconventional, Liberated and Liberating Techniques

  8. Free use of unconventional punctuation Adaptation of traditional hymn verse/ballad measure Off-rhyme and other deliberately imperfect irregularities of her verse Use of startling, unusual conceits (Metaphysical conceits) to describe abstract states of mind and concepts Use of unladylike diction (word choice) and unconventional metaphors Extremely compressed form of her poems, to the point of being elliptical Strange perspectives, voices, points-of-view Wild vacillations of tone (from, for example, pious and reassuring to dangerously rebellious and combative).

  9. A Traditional Poem by Lydia Sigourney, Popular Nineteenth-Century American Woman Poet SHE was my idol. Night and day, to scan 
The fine expansion of her form, and mark 
The unfolding mind, like vernal rose-bud, start 
To sudden beauty, was my chief delight. 
To find her fairy footsteps following mine, 
Her hand upon my garments, or her lip 
Long sealed to mine, and in the watch of night 
The quiet breath of innocence to feel 
Soft on my cheek, was such a full content 
Of happiness, as none but mothers know. 
Her voice was like some tiny harp that yields 
To the slight fingered breeze, and as it held 
Brief converse with her doll, or playful soothed 
The moaning kitten, or with patient care 
Conned o'er the alphabet‚but most of all, 
Its tender cadence in her evening prayer 
Thrilled on the ear like some ethereal tone 
Heard in sweet dreams. 


  10. But now alone I sit, 
Musing of her, and dew with mournful tears 
Her little robes, that once with woman's pride 
I wrought, as if there were a need to deck 
What God hath made so beautiful. I start, 
Half fancying from her empty crib there comes 
A restless sound, and breathe the accustomed words 
"Hush! Hush thee, dearest." Then I bend and weep 
As though it were a sin to speak to one 
Whose home is with the angels. 
Gone to God! 
And yet I wish I had not seen the pang 
That wrung her features, nor the ghastly white 
Settling around her lips. I would that Heaven 
Had taken its own, like some transplanted flower 
Blooming in all its freshness. 
Gone to God! 
Be still, my heart! what could a mother's prayer, 
In all the wildest ecstasies of hope, 
Ask for its darling like the bliss of Heaven?

  11. Review of Concepts and Terms Ellipsis, elliptical style Slant/off-ryhme/consonance, assonance Perfect rhyme Conceit (extended metaphor) Hymn verse Symbol Narrative vs. non-narrative representation (diachronic vs. synchronic) Theme Motif Irony Paradox and oxymoron Pun Allusion Metaphor Formal elements vs. content elements Which are relevant to the following poem? A Counterfeit—a Plated Person— I would not be— Whatever strata of Iniquity My Nature underlie— Truth is good Health—and Safety, and the Sky. How meagre, what an Exile—is a Lie, And Vocal—when we die—

  12. Much Madness is divinest Sense— To a discerning Eye— Much Sense—the starkest Madness— ‘Tis the Majority In this, as All, prevail— Assent—and you are sane— Demur—you’re straightway dangerous— And handled with a Chain— The Poets light but Lamps— Themselves—go out— The Wicks they stimulate— If vital Light Inhere as do the Suns Each Age a Lens Disseminating their Circumference—Mu

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