Peripeteia

Emily Dickinson is not a poet who explores the lighter side of life too often. She is a famously dark, philosophical poet whose abstract meditations can be quite off-putting for the uninitiated. To make matter more complicated she describes her poetic project as to “Tell all the Truth but tell it slant.” Next Stop: Confusionsville! She is certainly gifted at approaching familiar topics from quite unusual angles/slants. On top of this is her completely unique metaphorical approach to her subjects – “Hope is the Thing with Feathers”; “My Life had stood a Loaded Gun” anyone?! – which makes her poems challenging poetic puzzles for professors the world over. Yet it is this very difficulty that makes her such a pleasure to study. Embrace her strangeness and the results will be many.

Heavenly Hurt
This brings us nicely to how Dickinson feels when viewing some lovely sunlight on a winter’s day. What could be more uplifting? While we probably would expect such a burst of sun in dark winter to bring relief and enjoyment it has an unexpected effect on Dickinson’s poetic speaker. Rather than bringing literal and metaphorical brightness it “oppresses, like the Heft / Of Cathedral Tunes.” Dickinson’s Calvinist heritage, which sees her utilising the church hymn form for most of her poetry, would lead us to expect “Cathedral Tunes” as a form of existential relief and soothing. However, the nouns “Heft” and “Tunes” combine to deliver an odd feeling of both oppressive overbearing and whimsical triviality. The broad, heavy vowel and aggressive plosive sounds in “Heft” convey Religion’s heavy-handed approach to dealing with the speaker’s existential anguish. In contrast the childish nature of “Tunes” belittles religion’s ability to offer any spiritual comfort. Whilst “Tunes” could refer to cathedral bells, it could just as easily refer to church hymns, which would further trivialise their serious function. Dickinson’s poetry predominantly uses the ABCB rhyme scheme of the church hymn but her rhymes were mostly combinations of weak and strong rhymes. Here the poem’s rhyme scheme is relentlessly strong, with each rhyming pair booming confidently out of the poem, which seems at odds with the spiritual uncertainty and anguish the poem explores. It also, in a way, mimics the resounding “Heft” of the “Cathedral Tunes” that seem to aggravate rather than sooth the speaker.

An Invisible Invasion
This denigration of religion is continued when the speaker describes the “certain Slant of Light” as delivering “Heavenly Hurt” with the alliteration of the H sounds connecting them to the “Heft” of the previous stanza. While on one level this phrase is a memorable description of the suffering felt by the speaker it is also a memorable oxymoron akin to divine despair. It suggests an exquisite pain, one almost perfect in its ability to “oppress” the sufferer. Dickinson emphasises the invisibility and internal nature of this trauma as it leaves “no [external] scar” but rather creates “internal difference / Where the Meanings are.” This is no passing blue mood but rather a seismic, soul-shattering, self-division that complicates the speaker’s previous assumptions about profound “Meanings.” The “internal difference” brought on by external conditions seems to create a type of self-conflict that is devastating to the speaker.

It would be easy to dismiss the speaker as a complete mentalist, to be fair! The entire premise seems pretty innocent and harmless yet it is the unpredictable, sudden transition from “certain Slant of Light” to the “Look of Death” that is most frightening. The speaker certainly seems to be crippled by depression of the darkest strain and the insistence that this random trauma is seemingly “Sent us of the Air” is one of its most terrifying aspects. Dickinson ascribes a name to it when she proclaims it “Despair.” This word basically means “hopelessness” but Dickinson complicates it by describing it an “An imperial affliction.” This phrase connotes both sickness [“affliction”] but also something much greater. “Imperial” continues the theme of oppression from the first stanza. However, this time it can be seen as shorn of its religious connotations and connecting to the wider external forces that shape our destinies; they are irresistible, all engulfing forces that sweep all before them. That said, one can also see religious connotations in this “Despair” that it caused by the “certain Slant of Light.” In biblical terms, “Let there be Light” is shorthand for the awesome creative power of God and references to light are often associated with a bestowing of divine knowledge/grace/purity etc. In this instance then “imperial affliction” sees divine knowledge/power/presence as intruding upon the natural world, transforming something that should bring relief into something that brings dread. This feeling of dread is reinforced by Dickinson’s skilful sonic patterns in the third stanza.

‘Tis the Seal Despair –
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air –

The hissing sibilance of the S-sounds [and the F-sounds], the strong plosive P and T-sounds and the grating fricative C-sound combine to create a harsh sonic environment that reflects the speaker’s mental turmoil.

The Land of the Living Dead
Dickinson careens from the external to the internal and back to the external again by the poem’s end but this time the external seems very much animated by the internal world of the speaker. The impact of the “Slant of Light” is to create an atmosphere of suspenseful fear and trepidation in the speaker and Dickinson uses personification effectively to show this. Like vulnerable prey praying for a predator to pass “the Landscape listens” until “it goes.” The alliterative L-sounds here are soft and gentle suggesting the vulnerability in the presence of this great indescribable oppressive presence. Additionally, the significant sibilance and strong, harsh fricative sounds are again notable. This time the sibilance creates a hushed, whispering atmosphere punctured by the presence of the sharp C-sounds. Even the “Shadows” (that normally connote dark moods and hidden dangers) “hold their breath,” which intensifies the gothic menace of this “Slant of Light.” Rather than frightening, the shadows here are frightened. Again, to return to biblical matters Dickinson creates a light that is more a Slash of light than “Slant” where this overbearing, brooding presence seems a manifestation of the vengeful God that dominates the Old Testament.

If the final stanza begins with Life, it most undeniably ends with “Death.” It is the final resounding word in the poem and its lethal power is emphasised by its rhyming word “breath.” Structurally, in the stanza breath gives way to death. However, in typical Dickinson fashion the presence of Death is not straightforward. When the odd paralysing presence of the “certain Slant of light” evaporates Dickinson describes a feeling not of relief or urgent reengagement with the world but something “like the Distance / On the look of Death.” What the hell is she talking about?! It’s a puzzling phrase for sure whose obscurity is increased by being a simile where the thing compared to “the Distance / On the look of Death” is not clear. The poem’s inability to concisely describe or justify the crippling emotions of despair it explores is continued to the very end and leaves the reader as uncertain and potentially lost as the poetic speaker. But back to specifics. What are we to make of this terrifically odd simile? Is she describing the numbness and denial [“Distance”] that comes with experiencing the death of a loved one aka getting a “look” at “Death”? OR does she refer to the detached emotional “Distance” on the face of some personified “Death” figure? An almost indescribable impersonal expression of indifference? If we lean towards this latter interpretation the “certain Slant of Light” takes on an increased level of Gothic terror, where it can be seen as not the light of God but the searchlight of Death itself, seeking its next victim. It really is not clear but the common aspect is an emotional coldness that ends the poem in overwhelming pessimism.