Wednesday, June 03, 2020

From right clockwise — Rosa ‘James Mason’, R. ‘William Lobb’, R. ‘Duchess of Portland’ & R. ‘La Belle Sultane’ — 04 June 2020 — Scan — Alex Waterhouse-Hayward

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

Part Two: Nature


NATURE rarer uses yellow

Than another hue;

Saves she all of that for sunsets, —

Prodigal of blue,

Spending scarlet like a woman, 5

Yellow she affords

Only scantly and selectly,

Like a lover’s words.

These days of waiting it is easy to roam in our garden and cut roses to scan. Today I thought that the idea of doing something related to the yellow stamens of my roses (all once bloomers) was a good one. But then, what could I possibly write about?

The first thing I did was to look up the Real Academia Española Dictionary (RAE) definition of amarillo (yellow). It seems that it comes from the Latin amarellus which means bitter.

Del b. lat. hisp. amarellus, y este del dim. del lat. amārus ‘amargo’.

From there I went to my old faithful Emily Dickinson who seems to have written about everything. That she did. Her little poem is not bitter. I would say bittersweet.

More Emily Dickinson
A sepal, petal and a thorn
Her breast is fit for pearls
I would not paint a picture
November left then clambered up
You cannot make remembrance grow
the maple wears a gayer scarf
We turn not older with years, but older

Now I am ready to go
Dilapidation’s processes Are organized Decays

I find my feet have further goals

A melancholy of a waning summer
Just as green and as white
It’s full as opera
I cannot dance upon my Toes
a door just opened on the street
Amber slips away
When August burning low
Pink Small and punctual
A slash of blue
I cannot dance upon my toes
Ah little rose
For hold them, blue to blue

The colour of the grave is green

Its temple stands, alway,

The Woman in white

Her Grace is not all she has

To know if any human eyes were near
Linda Melsted — the music of the violin does not emerge alone
The Charm invests her face
A sepal, a petal and a thorn
The Savior must have been a docile Gentleman
T were blessed to have seen
There is no frigate like a book
I pay in satin cash

Emily Dickinson’s White Dress & a Hunter of Lost Souls

El vestido blanco — The White Dress
Water makes many beds
The viola da gamba
But sequence ravelled out of reach
A parasol is the umbrella’s daughter
Without the power to die
Lessons on the piny
Ample make this bed
How happy is the little stone

Sleep is supposed to be
The shutting of the eye
I dwell in possibility
when Sappho was a living girl
In a library
A light exists in spring
The lady dare not lift her veil
I took my power in my hand
I find my feet have further goals
I cannot dance upon my toes
The Music of the Violin does not emerge alone
Red Blaze
He touched me, so I live to know
Rear Window- The Entering Takes Away
Said Death to Passion
We Wear the Mask That Grins And Lies
It was not death for I stood alone
The Music in the Violin Does Not Emerge Alone
I tend my flowers for thee
Lavinia Norcross Dickinson
Pray gather me anemone!
Ample make her bed
His caravan of red
Me-come! My dazzled face
Develops pearl and weed
But peers beyond her mesh
Surgeons must be very careful
Water is taught by thirst
I could not prove that years had feet
April played her fiddle
A violin in Baize replaced
I think the longest hour
The spirit lasts

Link to: Yellow she affords