my becoming-a-genius project, part 24!the background:i have decided to become a genius.to accomplish this, i'm going to work my way through the collected stories of various authors, reading + reviewing 1 story every day until i get bored / lose every single follower / am struck down by a vengeful deity.i fully believe that when i get around to finishing this, i will transcend all known limits of humanity and finally become the most insufferable person in history.but also, this is 700 pages' wort...

If, like me, you’ve become mildly obsessed with the wild and transcendent Dickinson on Apple, then you probably have already grasped just how large the idea of fame looms over Emily’s life. The show isn’t historically accurate (which is what helps it so shine so brightly, in my opinion) but it is an excellent introduction to her poems. “Fame is a bee,” among others, deals with the complexity of fame—a theme I seem to be addicted to in my own work as well.

Emily Dickinson's poetry is stunningly existential and her story is equally fascinating. Such a great collection to dip in and out of, and no-one writes a striking opening line quite like her.

When I hoped, I fearedSince I hoped, I dared! I realized for a moment with a great sense of sadness that from now on, whenever I decide to read a famous poet for the first time, I must keep myself free from any prejudice and presumption. I had heard that she was regarded as a transcendentalist as far as the major themes in her poems were concerned. I do not know, from where I got this notion, I probably learned it from some of the early articles, I read about her poems somewhere. How authentic w...

Book Review I love Emily Dickinson's poetry. I recently went to a museum exhibit dedicated to her and fell in love again with one of her poems, which I'll dissect below: Critics of Emily Dickinson’s poem number 328, commonly titled “A Bird Came Down the Walk,” have several different interpretations of the poem. Most critics believe that the poem is a “conventional symbolic account of Christian encounter within the world of nature…” (Budick 218). Although several critics take a religi...

This is a huge volume of poetry and probably not meant to be read straight through, but that's what I did. Some of them I didn't like or understand, but there were many that I thought were beautiful and perfectly suited to my feelings. I think that's the way with most poets and their readers. After reading, I was left in wonder about this strange and reclusive woman who saw only a handful of her poems published before her death. She never knew she would be a success, never knew her poems would b...

See the Dickinson documentary A Loaded Gun for my take on this writer, arguably the best poet in English. (I play the villain in that film directed by James Wolpaw.) I have given reading-whistlings of ED's bird poems, from memory of course, in the garden of the Dickinson Manse in Amherst, and I have recited an hour of Dickinson on several occasions (from memory). In fact, Dickinson is fairly easy to memorize--a hallmark of fine verse. Perhaps only Yeats' tetrametric "Under Ben Bulben" is easier ...

I felt a sneeze - as big as GodForm in - back of - my NoseYet being - without - a HandkerchiefI Panicked quite - and frozeSneeze I must - yet sneeze - must notDilemma - made - me grieveHappy then - a single BeeSaw me - use - my sleeveWell all right, I did not read every one of the 25,678 but certainly a fair number. You know when she died they found she'd stuffed poems everywhere in her house, up the chimney, down her knickers, tied in little "packets" onto her dogs' hindquarters, someone cut a ...

Because she is so freaking good--
As good--as she can be--
She makes me want--to scream--and shout--
And set my poor heart free--

Because I cannot live without--
Her rhythm--and her rhyme--
I keep this poet close at hand
And only ask--for time.

Emily Dickinson's poems convinced me, at an early age of 9 or 10, to become a writer myself. I discovered her poems from the obsolete American textbooks my mother got from the collection in our school library. On Saturday and Sunday afternoons, when it was too hot to play outside and children were forced to take afternoon siestas, I'd end up reading her poems and imagined the person, that woman, with whom I shared similar thoughts. My favorite poem remains to this day:I'm nobody! Who are you?Are...