XVII by Emily Dickinson,”My Wheel is in the dark,–“

Poems by Emily Dickinson Edited by her Niece, C 1957

Poems by Emily Dickinson
Edited by her Niece, C 1957

My Wheel is in the dark,–                                                                                                                                                           I cannot see a spoke,                                                                                                                                                             Yet know its dripping feet                                                                                                                                                        Go round and round.

My foot is on the tide–                                                                                                                                                            An unfrequented road,                                                                                                                                                          Yet have all roads                                                                                                                                                                    A “clearing” at the end.

Some have resigned the loom,                                                                                                                                             Some in the busy tomb                                                                                                                                                         Find quaint employ,                                                                                                                                                             Some with new, stately feet                                                                                                                                                  Pass royal through the gate,                                                                                                                                          Flinging the problem back at you and me.                                                                                                                                  (pg. 227)

The beauty in poetry is the relationships found by our beloved poets. I usually don’t care for observational type poems that finish with what it means to the speaker. That, for me, seems almost rude, like having a conversation with someone who only wants to tell you about their experiences. Anyone can observe something and draw conclusion. What is interesting is the affect it has on the speaker and the relationship of the images and words. Emily finds the carriage wheel as an analogy of the self, pairs it with the circular loom. To create this type of poem, it takes more effort but is more fun to write and read.

K.S.

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