Vendler’s book has inspired me to take a deep dive into Dickinson. Deep. Can’t stress that enough. I picked up a concordance to the poems of Dickinson, which is now one of my prized possessions, and the three book varorium edition of Dickinson’s poems by R.W. Franklin (that includes not just her poems but all their variants and where they’re found). The concordance is used but looks as clean and crisp as the day Mount Union College was gifted the book. It always makes me a little rueful to see the beautiful books withdrawn by college and university libraries. The concordance was printed in 1967 and was only checked out once—March 19, 1990. [Sigh.]
So, I continue to read Vendler’s interpretations and she hasn’t written anything that makes me want to interject with my own opinion. But Dickinson is really an enjoyable poet to read and analyze, so I opened up Franklin’s book at random and came to this poem. My intent, in analyzing this, isn’t to pretend that I’ve unlocked the poem’s meaning, once and for all, but to invite your thoughts as well. (The version I’m going by is the one Dickinson collected in her final fascicle.)
I should have been too glad, I see— Too lifted—for the scant degree Of Life's penurious Round— My little Circuit would have shamed This new Circumference—have blamed— The homelier time behind. I should have been too saved—I see— Too rescued—Fear too dim to me That I could spell the Prayer I knew so perfect—yesterday— That Scalding One—Sabachthani— Recited fluent—here— Earth would have been too much—I see— And Heaven—not enough for me— I should have had the Joy Without the Fear—to justify— The Palm—without the Calvary— So Savior—Crucify— Defeat—whets Victory—they say— The Reefs in old Gethsemane Endear the shore beyond— 'Tis Beggars—Banquets—best define— 'Tis Thirsting—vitalizes Wine— Faith bleats to understand—
And as almost always with Dickinson, my first response was—Wut? The first two stanzas appear to be If/Then statements. If X had been true, then Y would have been the result. If I had been “too glad [too successful(?)]”, then I would have “blamed [treated with contempt]—/The homelier time behind”. If I had been “too saved [my spiritual(?) doubts resolved]”, the second stanza asserts, the “Fear [would have been] too dim [too forgotten]” to cause me to remember “the Prayer/I knew so perfect—yesterday”.
The third stanza continues: “The Earth would have been too much [too perfect]” and Heaven, in comparison, “not enough [unnecessary].” Then she goes on to write that she would have had the “Joy/Without the Fear—[needed] to justify [to vindicate] “The Palm—[the victory] without the Calvary [the concomitant suffering]. Therefore, she writes, “Savior” [fate or destiny beyond her control—or Jesus as retributive judge and purifier]—Crucify [me]”, cause me to suffer.
The final stanza seems to give her suffering reason, to restate more clearly what the previous stanzas imply: Only through defeat do we truly appreciate Victory [whets Victory]. Only through immense suffering [Gethsemane] is the further shore [respite from suffering] truly understood. It’s the beggar, starving, who most appreciates the food at the banquet. It’s the thirsty who truly appreciate Wine.
Faith bleats to understand—
But then that final line. That’s a curious line. The modern usage of bleat implies contempt, but I’m not sure that would have been the case in Dickinson’s time. The online Emily Dickinson Lexicon defines Dickinson’s usage of “bleat” as “beg; plead pitifully; meekly supplicate; ask in a helpless way.” If I look in my new concordance, one discovers that Dickinson only used the word once!—in this poem. Further, the concordance offers “faints” as the words meaning, as in she “faints to understand”. Out of curiosity, I looked up the meaning of bleat in a dictionary from Dickinson’s time, and it is simply defined as “the cry of a sheep”. So, if Dickinson’s usage is loaded, that remains conjecture.
But what is she saying?
Out of curiosity, I looked around to see what others were writing. One commenter briefly asserts that Emily was adopting the voice of a disembodied spirit: “I would have been too happy for a normal life and too happy to want to get saved–told from the point of view of a disembodied spirit.” And that’s an interesting take but doesn’t make sense (to me) in light of the final line. A disembodied spirit’s cry “to understand” comes a bit late (according to all the Dickinson I’ve read so far). There was another completely bizarre interpretation here. Bizarre because it reads like an AI analysis and quotes lines from the wrong poem/s.
So, I’m on my own here. I read the poem as being angry and even sarcastic and I do suspect that Dickinson uses bleat with an element of contempt. I read it like this:
[Oh sure] I should have been too glad[happy], I see— [Yeah, I see that now] Too lifted [too uppity]—for the scant degree [miserly opportunity] Of Life's penurious [stingy] Round [useless daily tasks and indignities]— My little Circuit would have shamed [would have been an embarrassment to] This new Circumference [freedom and accomplishment]—have blamed [treated with contempt]— The homelier [more miserable] time behind.
I read it as dripping with sarcasm, especially because she goes on to write that, obviously, such happiness would have led to a rejection of faith/religion. She would have been too happy to remember why Jesus ever cried, Sabachthani—”Why hast thou forsaken me?”. Trust me, she writes sarcastically, that prayer is spoken fluently here. Oh yeah. But she’s not done. The sarcasm continues into the third stanza. A little happiness, for a change, would have made her so happy, so giddy, that Earth would have made Heaven gratuitous. No, we can’t have heaven on earth. We can’t have that kind of happiness. Earth is the place for penurious rounds and little circuits, and don’t you forget it. Who would need a Jesus, crucifixion, “the Calvary” and all that palaver without suffering? It’s the suffering that makes Heaven necessary—after all—and teaches us to behave. So, says Dickinson, go ahead “Savior”, crucify the hell out of me.
And then Dickinson uses that “they say” formulation that always seems to signal contempt on her part. Yes, defeat whets victory, they say. The reefs in old Gethsemane endear the shore beyond, they say. Begging makes the banquet tastier, they say. Thirst makes the wine sweeter, they say. It’s then that she throws up her hands with the entirely dismissive and contemptuous final line:
Faith bleats to understand—
Christ almighty!—she almost writes. You can just about see Dickinson rolling her eyes. The rest of us (who are not they) swoon, faint and wither away trying to make sense of this nonsensical reasoning—as if we were meant to “bleat” like clueless little lambs incapable of independent thought (let alone happiness). And at this point, I always ask myself what Dickinson might have been responding to and wonder if someone has told her (as an errant way to comfort her) that her suffering is “faith’s due” (and the lot of Christians born in sin). She’s having none of it. ‘As if,’ she writes sarcastically, ‘there could be no faith without misery. As if I might forget myself and my place (a woman’s penurious rounds and little circuits) if I experienced anything like success and happiness!‘
One wonders if she was complaining about her lack of respect, acceptance or recognition as a poet?
So, yes, I also read an element of feminist impatience with whatever was said to her—or with whatever she read.
Edit: As an afterthought, I thought I would add that one could try to read this poem as a pious and penitential poem acknowledging that happiness is not (and should not) be a Christian’s lot in life. There is certainly a strain in Christian thought that considers suffering the surest way to God. And I do get the sense that some read it this way, calling it a magnificent poem of faith. The problem, again, is the final line. If this were the case, then why end the poem with a plea to understand? She has just spent the entirety of the poem, apart from the last line, rationalizing why it is better to suffer. Any other pious Victorian poet, Christina Rosetti let’s say, would have ended the poem with an Amen, not a cry to understand. It’s for this reason that I read Dickinson’s anger in the poem.
up in Vermont | November 10 2023
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