I relished a trip to Amherst, Massachusetts, a few years ago with my family. A long-time writing heroine of mine, Emily Dickinson and I had an appointment. I could hardly wait to visit her childhoold home.
I consider Dickinson America’s best poet, exceeding the writings of Frost, Whitman, Sandburg, and Emerson… even contemporary poets like Billy Collins, Ted Kooser, and Mark Strand… all of whom I adore. It just seems that no one comes close to the sharp insight and brilliance of Emily.
Here’s the poem I wrote on that crisp autumn day in Amhert after visiting the home and grave of Emily Dickinson.
To Emily Dickinson
I saw the family
homestead, Emily, and
gazed at the old white oak.
Hallowed stones carried me
through your garden
where an impassive
gardner purged the ground
of intruding weeds.
Your flowers’ fragrances mingled and
wafted on chilly autumn breeze,
enticing me to another generation.
I breathed deeply
the university air of Amherst.
Reverently, I touched your
cold gravestone and
caressed your name engraved.
Nothing passed between us, Emily.
Your sweet, stinging words,
your life, your war with God
moved through my heart.
No spark of inspiration
illumined my lingering soul…
Turning to search,
I sensed the ever so slight
sweep of a scented garment–
a pierced hand–
and bowed to worship
Another.
Bonnie Saul Wilks 
Emily Dickinson brought people face-to-face with mortality, and served up a strange mix of welcome dread.
He passat com un ratolí, entrant per la porta i sortint per aquí 🙂
Ah yes, cousin Em, strange but like Lamar said, brewed up welcome dread!
D
Menudita como un picaflor, pero ¡tan grande! La poesía encarnada en una cápsula atómica apunto de estallar. La adivino correr por entre sus versos mientras cantan pacíficamente los petirrojos en una tarde de verano. De pronto se pone a nevar. ¡Honda como un abismo que nos mira!
Dearest Emily,
I sauntered with a stable worship,
Of your pains of earth become,
The words painted precisely
My imagining of you silk spun
Each word did spill its tender sounds
From your reclusive world undone
As a poetess would envision
An earth, since mine begun.
I, for the first of time
Did see your image sweet
Such beauty the grace of thine
As if a tender love to greet.
I fathom not the tears I felt
When finally we did meet
Our dearest poetic Emily
I trust the journey is complete.
Norman Anthony 2010