Emily Dickinson, ‘I felt a cleaving in my mind’
I felt a cleaving in my mind As if my brain had split; I tried to match it, seam by seam, But could not make them fit. The thought behind I strove to join Unto the thought before, But sequence ravelled out of reach Like balls upon a floor.
What we love about this poem…
Dickinson strides straight in with ‘I felt’. She has felt something, wants to understand what it was, pursues it with active verbs of effort— ‘I tried’ and ‘I strove.’ However, she does not learn what that feeling was. All we know is that something so momentous has occurred that it feels like her brain has been cut in two. We aren’t told what it is, but we can guess: the loss of a loved one, perhaps, or a bitter disappointment, or some other emotional blow. Or maybe it could be something wonderful and marvellous; the poem doesn’t say.
And that is the point: so much is left open. We love the fact that the poem doesn’t provide an explanation of the feeling, only its effects. Dickinson emphasizes process rather than outcome. How often do people say ‘there are no words to express’ a feeling like loss, bereavement, or —conversely—extreme joy and elation? This poem gets beyond that linguistic impasse.
This short poem is also packed with interesting imagery, mostly associated with traditional women’s work—sewing (‘seam by seam’) and knitting (balls of yarn possibly being invoked by that word ‘ravelled’ at the end). The kitchen makes an appearance in the verb ‘cleaving.’ On the other hand, the images of seams, fitting, and joining could also be gesturing towards woodworking (or joinery). All of these kinds of work require patience, precision, and talent; just like the craft of poetry.
About the Author
Emily Dickinson (1830-86) is widely regarded as one of the most important and innovative American poets. She spent most of her life in Amherst, Massachusetts, living reclusively but writing constantly, both poetry and letters. Her work was published after her death and became an instant success. She once described the power of poetry as something that ‘takes the top of your head off’, an image that is strikingly akin to the ‘cleaving in my mind’.
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