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The month of March is The Big Read in Sonoma County. The purpose of The Big Read is to foster a community-wide celebration of reading. This year, the book selection is the poetry of Emily Dickinson. An actress who “becomes” Dickinson will make appearances throughout the county during the month of March.
Hope is the Thing with Feathers
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
I’m Nobody! Who Are You
I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us – don’t tell!
They’d advertise – you know!
How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one’s name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
A Book
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!
“Nature” is what we see
“Nature” is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse— the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.
Wonder—is not precisely Knowing
Wonder—is not precisely Knowing
And not precisely Knowing not—
A beautiful but bleak condition
He has not lives who has not felt
Suspense—is his maturer Sister—
Whether Adult Delight is Pain
Or of itself a new misgiving
This is the Gnat that mangles men—
A Bird Came Down
A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.
And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurries all abroad,—
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet head
Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feather
And rowed him softer home
Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, splashless, as they swim.
A Burdock—clawed my Gown
A Burdock—clawed my Gown—
Not Burdock’s—blame—
But mine—
Who went too near
The Burdock’s Den—
A bog—affronts my shoe—
What else have Bogs—to do—
The only Trade they know—
The splashing Men!
Ah, pity—then!
‘Tis Minnows can despise!
The Elephant’s—calm eyes
Look further on!
