Adventure 134: Seattle, WA/Post E

When I was a college student majoring in English, I was assigned many writing tasks. One, I remember was to analyze Emily Dickinson's poem: 372 (She didn't title any of her more than 1500 poems; editors did that later). I don't remember what I said about the poem then, and my perspective has changed a little over time, so I thought I'd do it again (Just for the great pain of it).

#372

After great pain a formal feeling comes-- The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs; The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore? And yesterday--or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round A wooden way Of ground, or air, or ought, Regardless grown, A quartz contentment, like a stone. This is the hour of lead Remembered if outlived, As freezing persons recollect the snow-- First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

After great pain a formal feeling comes--

Dickinson doesn't specify the type of great pain, nor does she define the gender of the sufferer. This suggests that whatever the pain source, the feeling is universal to the human condition. The great pain must be powerful, so powerful, it's like when an electrical power surge snaps a breaker. Everything is suspended (As a protective measure). Notice though, through the alliteration of  the f sounds (formal feeling), that the protective feeling is stiff and uncomfortable, as if the sufferer is attending a State dinner underdressed or ill-mannered. Even more powerfully uncomfortable are the rituals with which we surround our death ceremonies. Try to remember the last relaxed person you've seen at a funeral.  Finally, the feeling just comes; it isn't asked for, it can't be controlled, and it can't be stopped.

The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;

Stiffness and discomfort are harsh, unwelcome feelings. Notice here that Dickinson dehumanizes the sensations. She takes sufferers out of their feelings. It takes a certain numbness to accept the fact that this ceremonious tomb has license to take a lover away.

The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore?

In times of great pain, sufferers question the justice of things. Those who are religious question Jesus. Notice Heart and He. Here Dickinson points out that Jesus was the ultimate giver. It was He who gave His heart. It was He who bore the weight of our sin. Unfortunately, in the midst of stiffness, many sufferers don't feel all that 'saved'. They question the fairness of things (This questioning surfaces later in the poem in the form of danger).

And yesterday--or centuries before?

The questions get sketchy because when enduring great pain, sufferers  lose touch with the present. They can't tell if the pain happening now, or if it has it been happening for centuries, or, regardless of the age, if great pain has been the constant. The weight of it seems to envelop them like ashes burying the victims of a volcano eruption or an earthquake or a fire or an explosion or any of a number of possible calamities. There is a difficulty accepting the infinite nature of great pain, so often the only protective response is the dull non-feeling.

The feet, mechanical, go round

The second stanza reminds sufferers that regular life moves on. The days continue, however stupefied, and the feet plod, dehumanized, mechanical, often in circles of confusion. There is no passion, no love, no joy. There are no feelings at all.

A wooden way

Again Dickinson emphasizes the stiffness, the nonhuman expression, like Pinocchio before the miracle. And notice the alliterative 'wooden way', suggests a non living thing, a piece of dead wood cutoff from the living, which is just how a sufferer feels.

Of ground, or air, or ought

Not only do sufferers move about in otherness as stiff as dead wood, but daily things take on no importance. It's easy to fall into a "What's the use?" mentality: The things done on Earth (ground), the breathing (air), the talking, the things we 'ought' to do. Anything in a daily experience, anything that once meant something when shared takes on an absurd presence. 

Regardless grown

It doesn't matter how old, how experienced, how mature, how brave, how faithful, how accepting, how often others say it will be OK. Great pain hurts.

A quartz contentment, like a stone.

Here Dickinson emphasizes the absurdity of normalcy with an oxymoron. Just how content can a rock be? And then there is the multi-facets of quartz, each portion reflecting the light that enters, but never providing a light source of its own. Also note that this stanza is five lines long, which is Dickinson's device for stretching the unbearable rhythm of pain out. It makes the poem hard to read, rhythmically broken like the heart of the sufferer. It mirrors the feeling of endless pain, just like this crawling tense feeling that's moving up the back of my neck right now. Contentment? Really?

This is the hour of lead

In the final stanza, Dickinson changes the time frame from the eternity of centuries to an hour; however, this hour is long and heavy. The question here: How long must the sufferer suffer?

Remembered if outlived--

Dickinson brings the question to a climax right here. Great pain can crush spirit; it can give license for hopelessness. It's the danger spoke of earlier. A sufferer can wallow in self-pity, can swim in despair, can walk on the edge of an emotional precipice. Great sorrow brings with it many currents, most of them capable of swallowing the sufferer. Things ride on a very sharp edge: remembered if outlived--

As freezing person recollect the snow--

At this point Dickinson shifts focus to the present. The person who is suffering is doing so NOW. Notice the persons 'freezing', not frozen. The process is going on right now. Nothing is finished. Nothing is certain. The final response has not been decided. In other words, those who feel the great pain of death also face the choice of facing the living.

First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

When I analyzed this poem in college, I claimed that the last line spoke for itself. My professor disagreed, and gave me a B+. He said the last line was the most important one to analyze of all. I wanted to avoid it then, and I want to avoid it now, but I won't. The point is, even after the sufferer feels the harshest of pain, wanders through the daze of disbelief, and finally lets go….there is still no guarantee that things will get better. It is entirely possible that something even more terrible may happen tomorrow. This fact must be accepted by all of us because it's part of what it means to be human. It's why the opposite of pain is joy, the opposite of dark is light. The possibility of sheer bliss and pure despair always move together within the same sphere, and none of us "control freaking" humans can doing anything about either possibility. We must accept whatever we get (And like it--that's the hard part). That is why (paradoxically) life is good, especially today.

Speaking of good, Douglas and I had a manly afternoon yesterday when we went for our manicure (They call it a MANicure) and our pedicure. It was a first for me, and I must tell you, there was no great pain involved.

 Douglas and I with the owner of the shop (Lee). Surprisingly, three other men joined a gaggle of women for the treatment while we were there.

 The treatment feels great. The technicians are skilled. I plan to have a second experience. 

 My feet fresh off the treatment.

The joke (For men) is to pick a color. We both chose just a buff of our natural nails, but it was cute to hear all the Vietnamese women chattering and giggling like sparrows in a tree. We provided great joy for them. You can, too. Pick a color.