naporhymo #6

after "How soft this Prison is" (#1334) by Emily Dickinson:

How rude my Naming is

How rude my Naming is
How sour these trocheed barks
No Love Song but the Yawps of Crows
Christening my caul

Of Front if this is Mine
Have I no sweeter Hail
A Title but a Prelude is
Pre-destination—Stage.


after "Somehow myself survived the Night" (#1194) by Emily Dickinson:

Somehow the Rocks embrace the Stream

Somehow the Rocks embrace the Stream
And scour the Bed below—
That they be worn the Worn withstand
Until the Fissure streaks,

Upheaves the lithic, waters boil
As earth and sky exchange—
Catastrophe for Ancient Haunts
But relimned into Place.


After agonizing these two, my respect for ED has quadrupled. Two nights ago, I began reading Alfred Habegger's My Wars Are Laid Away in Books: The Life of Emily Dickinson. I'm not a fan of modern biography, and the beginning of this one almost made me burn it -- portentous conclusions drawn from insufficient data -- but I labored on, and thank goodness, now that Emily's been born, it's proving to be reasonably rewarding.