The Conch Explains: With Thanks to Emily Dickinson

So already, consider it the confluence of two events--National Poetry Month, and an anticipated visit to the Mead Art Museum,* located at Amherst College in Emily Dickinson's Massachusetts hometown. 

 

A while back, my poetry writing group did what we do periodically: wrote about a common prompt. Our writing task this time around was to write a poem about an animal that has the capacity to regenerate a body part.

One of the members of my group immediately said she's be writing about a starfish. I, in contrast, had no sudden animal inspiration, and hit the internet in search of one. That's when I learned that conchs can grow new eyes if necessary. 

 

The ideas began knitting together as I considered this animal that carries its home with it** and can regenerate new eyes. Was it similar to anyone I knew or had heard of? 

 

Enter my mind Emily Dickinson, who reputedly seldom left home ("reputedly" is a very deliberate qualifier here) and who seems to have preferred vision to sight, at least sometimes. 

 

The result was the following poem. I post it here, followed by the Dickinson poems that informed it:

The Conch Explains

Emily was my inspiration—

For if and how we ventured

From our celebrated shells,

No one ever knew—

 

Though we were both entreated to.

Perennially at home,

We thwarted those who sought

To coax us out to hear the sea.

 

So we watched the world

More than moved much in it,

She, peering from her window

Across her Amherst lawn,

 

And I, eyes extended

On the tips of swaying stalks,

Fastening on what flickered

In the waving sea light--

Until we both lost eyes.

Then our paths diverged, 

As might have been expected,

Given nature and our natures. 

 

When her eye was put out,

She quieted fears that sight regained

Might overwhelm and shatter her

By choosing to see only with her soul— 

 

Whereas I, who could grow replacement eyes,

Cursed the wait for my brand new one.

Emily understood, well aware that

Life inside had been chosen for me.

 

One night, while counting down to full sight,

I dreamed I was a photographer

Who, inching down a thinning branch

To capture something wondrous,

 

Crashed hard on the ground below—and

Realizing just my camera was smashed,

Dashed back to camp to grab another,

So I could see and shoot.

 

________________________________________

Much Madness is divinest Sense - (620)***

Much Madness is divinest Sense -

To a discerning Eye -

Much Sense - the starkest Madness -

’Tis the Majority

In this, as all, prevail -

Assent - and you are sane -

Demur - you’re straightway dangerous -

And handled with a Chain –

 

I never saw a moor (248)****

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.

 

Before I got my eye put out – (336)*****

Before I got my eye put out –

I liked as well to see

As other creatures, that have eyes –

And know no other way –

 

But were it told to me, Today,

That I might have the Sky

For mine, I tell you that my Heart

Would split, for size of me –

 

The Meadows – mine –

The Mountains – mine –

All Forests – Stintless stars –

As much of noon, as I could take –

Between my finite eyes –

 

The Motions of the Dipping Birds –

The Morning’s Amber Road –

For mine – to look at when I liked,

The news would strike me dead –

 

So safer – guess – with just my soul

Upon the window pane

Where other creatures put their eyes –

Incautious – of the Sun –

* https://www.amherst.edu/arts

** https://wildernessclassroom.org/wilderness-library/queen-conch/

*** https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51612/much-madness-is-divinest-sense-620

**** https://www.infoplease.com/primary-sources/poetry/emily-dickinson/poems-248

***** https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52135/before-i-got-my-eye-put-out-336