Reading Dickinson with Dad

Dad had taken two falls in the house in the space of a week. He was somewhat physically fine but shaken up mentally. After multiple visits to doctors, his condition is simply old age. Transitions need to be instigated, perhaps sooner than later. I think it’s going to be much harder than I anticipated. I’m not sure where my own life is headed.

We were sitting in the living room a couple days after the second fall, and Dad was reading a collection of all Emily Dickinson’s 1775 poems. I’d bought the edition for $2 at a library sale to cheer him up. Dickinson is his favorite poet and he can recite dozens of her poems.

He chose poem 896 for me to read aloud, her classic about a snake in the grass.

I butchered the first few lines and started over. Dickinson’s dashes, line breaks and capitalization can trip you up.

I read the poem and we discussed its reality and metaphor, its obvious qualities and opaque ones. We discussed the book’s excellent introduction. We discussed Dickinson’s life and the myths about her poetry (such as the one that she didn’t want to be published and all her writing was a secret).

Our conversation about Dickinson lasted half an hour. I then retired to the deck and 95-degree heat, but not before Dad thanked me for my attention and the robust discussion of an American poet.