“The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.” (Dickinson, Poem 1687).
‘Normal’ is both an expectation, and a trap. If you fall into the pit that is normalcy, you
become a forgotten face, one of the masses who exist only in the form of
gravestone numbers. But if everyone were to lead, there would be no one to
follow, and so normal is given a positive connotation by many aspects of
society.
We are told by the ubiquitous ‘them’ that normal is good, and
weird is bad—that we must strive to be a part of society’s expected group (but
that we will not be remembered as individuals if we do not try to stand out). This
odd set of expectations is often proved wrong. Strange is not synonymous with
bad, and following the path set for you by others rarely leads to true
happiness or success. (Success, of course, depends on your own definition of
it. Mine includes a balance between being content with the impact you have on
yourself, your family, and your community, while living in comfort and
contentment. Others see success as being purely based in finance, or in
popularity.)
Poets like Emily Dickinson are remembered for being weird—for wearing
a white dress, writing pieces that are different and atypical. While this can
be a distraction that prevents some people from approaching her work with an
open mind, it can also help differentiate her work from that of the norm. Sometimes,
such an obsession with what is different prevents us from seeing what is the
same, and what is unifying in art. Like all other (non-psychopathic) humans,
Dickinson had feelings, ideas, emotions, and thoughts. She tried to communicate
those in a form that not everyone succeeded in or even attempted: poetry.
“I tasted life,” she wrote in a letter, making a claim on the base
human emotions of joy, experience, and love. Despite the distance of time, and
the seclusion she chose to live within, her words are still quite prevalent today
and can easily speak to an audience willing to listen. With the vast majority
of her work being published after her death, Dickinson herself could not speak
to what certain pieces meant, or what she may have been trying to say—many of
her words were self-reflections, not meant for the public eye. Nevertheless,
they are available now, and such accessibility allows for multiple
interpretations.
All the dashes in her work can be intimidating—and surely meant
something different within her own mind than what translated onto the text to
our eyes years later. For a writer who never intended some things to be read,
she has certainly made an impact upon numerous lives. When looked at in smaller
pieces (famous quotes for instance) her work is less intimidating. She speaks
of hope as if it has wings, of love, life, and emotion—things that most people
observe or take note of. Within her condense, careful use of words, Dickinson
speaks to these overarching themes that so many relate to. In this way, she is
no longer the ‘weird’ poet, but merely another person struggling to express abstract
things that different combinations of words and sounds cannot always get right.
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