These manuscripts are important as much as a physical record of her work as they are for a point of reference in terms of her punctuation, which was sometimes altered by editors and publishers. So today I'll read my two favorite Dickinson poems, which is I heard a fly buzz when I died and Hope is the thing with feathers. So I'll start, I heard a fly buzz when I died. The stillness in the room was like the stillness in the air between the heaves of storm
Laura L (she/her)
@Loloflow · 1:09
My life closed twice before its close it yet to see if immortality unveil a third event to me so huge, so hopeless to conceive as these that twice befell parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of h***
Wild Nights. I want to read that one too. The poets light, but lamps themselves go out the wicks. They stimulate if vital light in here, as do the suns. Each age a lens disseminating their circumference. Let's see. Wild nights, wild nights, were I with thee. Wild night should be our luxury futile. The winds to a heart in port, done with the compass, done with the chart
Laura L (she/her)
@Loloflow · 0:58
It's. Yay. I'm so glad you're up for this. So grateful to have found you in the poetry community here. My tribe. My tribe. I love your picks. That first one I've never read. What was it? Each age a lens disseminating their circumference. What? I mean mind blowing and wild nights. Holla. I'm going to read one that is really short. But it slays me
Creative Reader
@MoonPoet · 1:14
And I don't always reply because, like you mentioned, I don't always know exactly what to say. But that doesn't mean that I'm not following your work. I'm enjoying it very much. So thank you. Bye
You. Hi, Steven. Thanks very much for your reply and thanks very much for listening and continuing to listen. Likewise. I'm always floating around as well, listening to everything. Trying to, anyway, so I appreciate that. I want to end this thread, or well, I don't know. It doesn't have to end. It could go forever if we want. But I'll read one more Emily Dickinson poem. It's called? They shut me up in prose