Dreaming Emily Dickinson

I’ve always been rather intrigued by the poetry of Emily Dickinson, the solitary American nineteenth-century poet. She was one of the people in my mind when we chose a name for our daughter Emily, along with Emily Bronte. Both these Emilies struck me as quirky, interesting and original women and I hoped that our Emily would be the same (and guess what, she is).

I’ve mentioned before that I sometimes dream poems: last night I dreamed that I had discovered a long-lost poem by Emily Dickinson. As soon as I woke I scribbled it down, and here it is, complete with “her” characteristically odd punctuation and capital letters.

I saw the Hollow in my Heart –
And knew that you were gone –
And Everything that still remained
- I looked about – was None

And it came with a great feeling of sadness.

Now, why would I dream a poem in the style of Emily Dickinson – or in a style approximating to hers, anyway?

Those with more supernatural belief than I have might perhaps think there’s something Hallowe’eny going on (especially since it was Hallowe’en) – hey, I like her poetry, my daughter’s called Emily and, guess what, even looks a little bit like her. Is Miss Dickinson up there, calling to me?

I don’t think so. I think it’s to do with my own sense of loss, which has been ever-present since I lost my first baby in 1984, and it was at this time of year, so this is always a sad time for me. Loss has haunted me somewhat ever since: there’s always a fear of losing loved ones.

I think – and this is only a theory – that the poem was to distance me from the feeling. Dream a poem in the style of Emily Dickinson and it’s one step removed from dreaming your own poem. Easier to cope with.