This week instead of writing,
I wanted to share a poem that I really like these days. Remember that a poem can have more than one interpretation. It depends on how you look at, from which perspective and even in which mood you are in at the time. This poem from Emily Dickinson is known as “280” like most of her poems this doesn’t have a title either because they were mostly published after she died. She wrote this poem in the two year period when she was in a state of severe depression, this is all the help I’m giving you to understand and make something out of it.
280
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading- till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through-
And when they all were seated,
A service, like a Drum-
Kept beating- beating- till I thought
My Mind was going numb-
And when I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space- began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here-
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down-
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finishes knowing- then-
If anybody wants to discuss this poem you'd be more than welcome to e-mail me at sibelmuradoglu@yahoo.com
Sibel Muradođlu (ELIT/IV)
