Poems by Emily Dickinson
(work-in-progress)
1. Intrada and Song Without Words
2. Love can do all but raise the Dead
3. Oh, honey of the hour
4. I held a Jewel in my fingers
5. Interlude 1
6. There is a solitude of space
7. Out of sight? What of that?
8. "Hope" is a Thing with Feathers
9. There is a pain so utter
10. Interlude 2
11. The Last Night That She Lived
12. Epilogue: Little Cousins
2.
Love can do all but raise the Dead
I doubt if even that
From such a giant were withheld
Were flesh equivalent
But love is tired and must sleep,
And hungry and must graze
And so abets the shining Fleet
Till it is out of gaze.
(J1731)
3.
Oh honey of an hour,
I never knew thy power,
Prohibit me
Till my minutest dower,
My unfrequented flower,
Deserving be.
(J1731)
4.
I held a Jewel in my fingers -
And went to sleep -
The day was warm, and winds were prosy -
I said " 'Twill keep" -
I woke - and chid my honest fingers,
The Gem was gone -
And now, an Amethyst remembrance
Is all I own -
(J245)
6.
There is a solitude of space
A solitude of sea
A solitude of death, but these
Society shall be
Compared with that profounder site
That polar privacy
A soul admitted to itself -
Finite infinity.
(J1695)
7.
Out of sight? What of that?
See the Bird - reach it!
Curve by Curve - Sweep by Sweep -
Round the Steep Air -
Danger! What is that to Her?
Better 'tis to fail - there -
Than debate - here -
Blue is Blue - the World through -
Amber - Amber - Dew - Dew -
Seek - Friend - and see -
Heaven is shy of Earth - that's all -
Bashful Heaven - thy Lovers small -
Hide - too - from thee -
(J703)
8.
'Hope' is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune with-out the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweettest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of Me.
9.
There is a pain - so utter -
It swallows substance up -
Then covers the Abyss with Trance -
So Memory can step
Around - across - upon it -
As one within a Swoon -
Goes safely - where an open eye -
Would drop Him - Bone by Bone.
(J599)
11.
The last Night that She lived
It was a Common Night
Except the Dying - this to Us
Made Nature different
We noticed smallest things-
Things overlooked before
By this great light upon our Minds
Italicized---as 'twere.
As We went out and in
Between Her final Room
And Rooms where Those to be alive
Tomorrow were, a Blame
That Others could exist
While She must finish quite
A Jealousy for Her arose
So nearly infinite -
We waited while She passed-
It was a narrow time-
Too jostled were Our Souls to speak
At length the notice came.
She mentioned, and forgot -
Then lightly as a Reed
Bent to the Water, struggled scarce -
Consented, and was dead -
And We - We placed the Hair -
And drew the Head erect -
And then an awful leisure was
Belief to regulate -
(J 1100)
12.
Little Cousins,
Called back.
Emily
Program Notes
"Uniforms of Snow" is a work in progress. It is part of a
long-term project titled the "The Emily Dickinson Songbook".
The poetry of Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830 - May 15,
1886) has become increasingly important to me over the years.
I am particularly struck by their tonal intricacies and
complex juxtaposition of opposed or perhaps even
irreconcilable feelings. After composing a series of long and
structurally complex works (Dreamtime, Treny I-IV, Symphony
No. 1: "Sacred Monuments", "A Journey After Loves") I wanted
to write shorter works that would allow a more direct
connection to an emotional center. Each song is composed
around a central musical metaphor, usually stated in the
instruments (often harp). The vocal line is both part of it
and separate. Because of their essentially strophic nature, I
originally wanted to call the series "urban folk songs". I
have of late been quite fascinated by the songs of Robert
Schumann. I hope the fascination has been at least partly as
fruitful as it has been enjoyable. Commissioned by Dr. W.
Howard Hoffman, this series is open-ended; my only structural
precondition is to eventually organize them in a series of
books, each containing six songs with instrumental
interludes.