"Hope is the thing with feathers" Emily Dickinson 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. | One of the most talented women to ever put a pen to paper, a individually gifted intellect, whose eccentricities mirrored the rare complexities of her verse, Emily Dickinson did much throughout her life her earn her place as one of America’s greatest poets. Born in Amherst, Massachusetts on December 10, 1830, Emily Dickinson left school early as teenager to live a reclusive life with her family, as she grew older Emily only continued to seclude herself with to greater extents. Yet, the solitude Dickinson sought was never a detriment to her understanding of human nature or world issues and has only added to enigma of her brilliance. A women of words: both bold and lonely, Dickinson lived in seclusion for reasons both compassionate(her ailing mother) and selfish( her own personal delicate condition, including depression, anxiety and agoraphobia). Her largely private life, has left us only with snippets of what seems to be a ardent and thoughtful existence, it’s limited availability only making what we do know all the more poignant and fascinating. If you wish to delve in Emily Dickinson’s enthralling and melancholy life, please see her other poems linked below where it is explored in greater detail. |
Four simple yet unique quatrains comprise Emily Dickinson’s “Hope”. Each one with a singular number of syllables and a rhyme scheme that is uncategorizable, her first poetic stanza has no rhyme scheme at all yet here she utilizes a slight aspect of repetition in the repeat of “And” also employing trochaic meter which gives her poem an audacious and bold flow, yet saps from it no grace or elegance. The words “soul” and “all” hint at slant rhyme, yet are too far apart phonetically to really be considered. The second stanza however rhymes quite regularly with a ABAB rhyme scheme “heard” and “bird”, “storm” and “warm”, reputation is again in “And” and “That” used to emphasize her extending metaphor by offsetting the beginning of each line. The last stanza introduces the poem’s speaker and a rather unusual rhyme scheme ABBB, in “land” than “sea” than “extremity” finishing with “me”, this ending serves to draw attention to the poems ubiquitous meaning and significance while giving it a sense of increasing speed and dramatic effect in it’s finale. Artfully construct with well employed artistic license, “Hope” is gorgeous and intricate poem both structurally and allegorically.
Emily Dickinson’s metaphor is flawless in that once you have seen it through her eyes like a Rorschach inkblot it is impossible to see it any other way. The mark of a great metaphor is an innate, not just simplicity but almost kinship between the ideas being compared. Upon finishing “Hope” the reader cannot help but ask themselves: how could I not have seen that ‘hope’ has been a bird all along? It is only nature that she should be feminine: a songbird, a symbol of purity, delicacy, innocence and naive elation. The music of a songbird is wordless, and thus boundless, the bliss it brings is not hindered by language or culture. It’s universally beautiful. Yet, ‘hope’ is at her most spectacular when contrast against that darkness that should wish to destroy her; “ … sweetest in the gale…”. Only the most resentful and corrupted of souls could possibly intentionally harm something as childlike and genuine, as Dickson phrases it: “And sore must be the storm, That could abash the little bird”. This line doubles to allude to extraordinary resolve of Dickinson’s minuscule heroine. It is the miracle of not just her birth, but the entirety of this small bird’s existence that designates her as hope. If she had been a wolf or lion or bear or even an eagle, her feat would not have been quite so astonishing. The element of disbelief that comes from something so tiny accomplishing something so large, and being an emblem to so many( for she is there for everyone large and small, young and old, dull and clever) is what creates the brilliance and irresputible nature of Dickinson’s allusion. She presents a ‘hope’ that is omnipresent and non-existent, there for everyone and anyone concurrently. Her simple presence is one vast impossibility. And so it is Dickinson’s ability to capture this marvel that makes her writing so magical.
Emily Dickinson is authentic and gifted, her writing is unambiguous and vaguely enigmatic. There is fluency and grace in abundance and she never fails to be a pleasure to read. Her style is one and candid, appealing to both adults and children, without ever sacrificing finesse or verisimilitude. Managing to embody light within something, that is as blatantly black and white as paper and ink is no small feat, yet with eloquence Emily Dickinson accomplishes deftly, thoroughly earning her place among the greatest female and American poets of all time.