 | |
|
The Grace—Myself—might not obtain – Emily Dickinson
707
The Grace—Myself—might not obtain—
Confer upon My flower—
Refracted but a Countenance—
For I—inhabit Her—
All these years since I began blogging in 2006 (6365 to date), I have found it rewarding to combine my photographs with poems by such poets as Emily Dickinson, Jorge Luís Borges, Julio Cortázar and many others. Without really being aware I have remembered many of these poems when I see them in my books. This is important to me as poetry was not my forte in high school. I could never memorize a poem for those extra points given. Now I remember lines from them.
In today’s blog, when I noted this Emily Dickinson poem in my excellent Twitter/X algorithm feed, I knew that it had a connection with my Rosemary. I spent a few minutes in bed this morning figuring out how to find or make an image that would go with the poem. This process is most satisfying and rewarding.
The line “For I – inhabit Her – " to me means immediately that when I gaze at any flower in my (formerly ours) garden it is her face.
I previously wrote about it (see link below) where Argentine writer Ernesto Sábato manages in a lovely way to state that a van Gogh painting is van Gogh himself.
More Emily Dickinson blogs
All the Witchcraft that we need
It only gives our wish for blue
Rosemary white and a bit of yellow
November left then clambered up
You cannot make remembrance grow
November
the maple wears a gayer scarf
Just as green and as white
It's full as opera
I cannot dance upon my Toes
a door just opened on the street
Amber slips away
Sleep
When August burning low
Pink Small and punctual
A slash of blue
I cannot dance upon my toes
Ah little rose
For hold them, blue to blue
Linda Melsted - the music of the violin does not emerge alone
The Charm invests her face
A sepal, a petal and a thorn
The Savior must have been a docile Gentleman
T were blessed to have seen
There is no frigate like a book
I pay in satin cash
Water makes many beds
The viola da gamba
But sequence ravelled out of reach
A parasol is the umbrella's daughter
Without the power to die
Lessons on the piny
Ample make this bed
How happy is the little stone
The shutting of the eye
I dwell in possibility
when Sappho was a living girl
In a library
A light exists in spring
The lady dare not lift her veil
I took my power in my hand
I find my feet have further goals
I cannot dance upon my toes
The Music of the Violin does not emerge alone
Red Blaze
He touched me, so I live to know
Rear Window- The Entering Takes Away
Said Death to Passion
We Wear the Mask That Grins And Lies
It was not death for I stood alone
The Music in the Violin Does Not Emerge Alone
I tend my flowers for thee
Lavinia Norcross Dickinson
Pray gather me anemone!
Ample make her bed
His caravan of red
Me-come! My dazzled face
Develops pearl and weed
But peers beyond her mesh
Surgeons must be very careful
Water is taught by thirst
I could not prove that years had feet
April played her fiddle
A violin in Baize replaced
I think the longest hour
The spirit lasts
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/03/i-left-them-in-ground-emily-dickinson.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/01/i-felt-my-life-with-both-my-hands.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/currer-bell-emily-dickinson-charlotte.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/and-zero-at-bone-with-dirks-of-melody.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/05/charm-invests-her-face.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/i-could-not-see-to-see.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/blonde-assasin-passes-on.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2012/12/you-almost-bathed-your-tongue.html
