They shut me up in prose
As when a little girl
They put me in the closet
Because they liked me ‘still’
Still!
Could themself
have peeped
And seen
my Brain
go round
They might as
wise have lodged a bird
For treason – in the Pound
“Is that all?” Master asked
“So far, yes.” Disciple said, exhuming the inscriptions.
“What do you think about them?”
“Well, I didn’t get a thing.”
“You cannot do that instantly. We have to read Emily Dickinson line by line.”
“What time did she say she is coming?”
“She should be here now. I wonder why she is so late.”
Then they heard a whisper, “I am here.”
“Isn’t that her?” asked disciple.
“Yes. But where should she be?”
“Somewhere close by.”
“Where are you?” Disciple asked aloud.
Then they heard it again: “I am here.”
“Shall we walk down a little to find her out?”
“That’s a good idea. We have to put up with this, because Emily was more of a private poet. She was so careful in writing too.”
“How do you define that?”
“Her poetry had very short lines. Her famous poem ‘Nobody’ is only a few lines.”
“I remember.”
“What do you remember about that?”
“When we studied English Literature for O/Ls some of my friends didn’t like that poem, because it was too short. There was barely anything for them to byheart.”
This made master laugh; it sounded overly sarcastic.
“I know it sounds so funny.”
“It’s not only funny, son. It’s so tragically funny. We can see how teachers guide our students. What was your teacher saying?”
“She was saying it depicts a social issue. How nobodies feel about somebodies in the society and stuff, you know.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all I remember.”
“Most of her poetry didn’t have titles. She wrote about strangely small things. Something others hardly gave thought.”
Disciple listened to master with a keen ear. He wanted to know more. He wanted to be like Emily Dickinson for a moment.
“Who influenced her?”
“When she was 18, she had a friend called Benjamin Fanklin Newton.”
“Who later became her lover or husband?”
“Not exactly. I don’t think so. But he was a very good friend of her.”
“Many poetesses have male friends like that, don’t they?”
“Yeah, that’s the thing. Let’s have a talk on it later on. Franklin introduced William Wordsworth to her. She later wrote a poem on him too.
Whose name
my father’s law student
taught me, has touched the secret spring”
Disciple seemed mesmerized by the lines. He was silently listening.
“And quite later on Emily became so fond of popular literature. She even read Shakespeare.”
“But compared with her poetry, I think Shakespeare is a little gothic.”
Master looked at the disciple for a few seconds.
“You haven’t read Shakespeare properly. You are like all those nincompoops who label Shakespeare as unreadable. You have to read him carefully. Shakespeare is not the one everyone sees him to be.”
Disciple realized he had annoyed master. He nodded and spoke in drawl.
“I know. I have to study Shakespeare in more detail. So how did Emily get influence from him?”
“I have no mood to spell that out to you. Go read Shakespeare. And then read Emily. Now let’s go.”
“What about Emily? We are supposed to see her?”
“She is also hiding away from us. May be she doesn’t want to meet us at all.”
Walking further down, master and disciple heard that faint mumbling voice once again.
“I am here...”
