Posts Tagged ‘Emily Dickinson’

At first she thought the writing would be easy.  She was extremely confident in her ability to dream, to imagine, and she supposed that expressing her dreams in words, in writing, would be entirely natural, like drawing breath.  She had read widely from the time she was a child, and she knew how to recognize something that was well written.  She admired certain lines and passages so much that she had taken complete possession of them and committed them to memory.  She could recite “The Gettysburg Address” and “The Twenty-Third Psalm.”  She could recite “Jabberwocky” and Emily Dickinson’s “Further in summer that the birds” and Wallace Stevens’s “Sunday Morning.”  She knew by heart the final paragraph of Joyce’s “The Dead,” and if challenged she could say in whole the parts of both Romeo and Juliet.  And she knew many Kiowa stories and many long prayers in Navajo.  These were not feats of memory in the ordinary sense; it was simply that she attended to these things so closely that they became a part of her most personal experience.  She had assumed them, appropriated them to her being.
But to write!  She discovered that was something else again.
  —    Navarre Scott Momaday
On This Day In:
2019 All In Good Time
Day 13: Pause & Resume
Ghrelin And Leptin
2018 Gratitude And Warmth
Remembering Loss, Sacrifice And Service
Making Little Ones Out Of Bigger Ones
2017 Never Forget
2016 It’s All Greek To Me (Well, Latin Actually)
2015 Truism
2014 Thank You
2013 Really
2012 Ordinary Five Minutes Longer
2011 The Wealth Of Sons (And Daughters)

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He Ate and Drank the Precious Words

He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book.  What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!
Written by:  Emily Dickinson
On This Day In:
2014 Discover God
2013 Without Witness
2012 Nutritarian

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I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.
    —    Emily Dickinson

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