Because I Like to Kick It Old School
NPR reminded me of Emily Dickinson this morning. Not being a huge fan of rhyme time poetry, she’s an exception for me. Maybe for you, too?
God Gave A Loaf to Every Bird
God gave a Loaf to every Bird—
But just a Crumb—to Me—
I dare not eat it—tho’ I starve—
My poignant luxury—To own it—touch it—
Prove the feat—that made the Pellet mine—
Too happy—for my Sparrow’s chance—
For Ampler Coveting—It might be Famine—all around—
I could not miss an Ear—
Such Plenty smiles upon my Board—
My Garner shows so fair—I wonder how the Rich—may feel—
An Indiaman—An Earl—
I deem that I—with but a Crumb—
Am Sovereign of them all—
Who wants to take a shot at analysis on this one? Keep your eyes on your own paper and don’t use Google.
11 Responses to Because I Like to Kick It Old School
Leave a Reply Cancel reply
-
Articles
- April 2012
- March 2012
- February 2012
- January 2012
- December 2011
- November 2011
- October 2011
- September 2011
- August 2011
- June 2011
- May 2011
- April 2011
- March 2011
- February 2011
- January 2011
- December 2010
- November 2010
- October 2010
- September 2010
- August 2010
- July 2010
- June 2010
- May 2010
- April 2010
- March 2010
- February 2010
- January 2010
- December 2009
- November 2009
- October 2009
- September 2009
- August 2009
- July 2009
- June 2009
- May 2009
- April 2009
- March 2009
- February 2009
- January 2009
- December 2008
- November 2008
- October 2008
- September 2008
- August 2008
- July 2008
- May 2008
- April 2008
- February 2008
- January 2008
- December 2007
-
Meta
It’s about sex.
My attempt — without cheating. It’s about appreciating what you have. The more you accumulate, the harder it is to appreciate the individual things in your life.
My attempt — without cheating. It’s about appreciating what you have. The more you accumulate, the harder it is to appreciate the individual things in your life.
Being grateful.
I’m a very literal person, so to me it means “I’m poor but happier than any rich person could ever hope to be.”
I thought it was about talent. And then I *did* use Google and – wow. Some people went a whoooooolllle ‘nother direction.
It’s about masturbation!
Kidding. *Ducking your swipe at my head.*
I think it’s about savoring what you have, even the crumbs, because in the lean times, you’ll have less than a crumb to eat or have.
What’s mine is mine and I’m not sharing?? I really don’t know, I don’t read poetry much
It’s obviously about her love for entertainment. By capitalizing certain names, she’s showing all the actors and writers and artists she loves.
Loaf – she loves Meatloaf’s “I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)”
Bird – it’s well known that Dickinson was a fan of the Gibson/Hawn vehicle “Bird on a Wire”
Crumb – the bizarre indie comics of R. Crumb are usually a favorite of any auteur.
Sparrow – what woman doesn’t love Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow?
Garner – apparently, she also loves older actors such as James Garner, presumably as TV’s Maverick.
Rich – while this can mean many different names, I suspect she meant Richard Dawson from Family Feud.
An Indiaman – she’s one of the last remaining people who still thinks M. Night Shyamalan can make good movies.
An Earl – who knew that she’d love My Name is Earl?
In all seriousness, though, I’m going to assume that it’s her being upset with or questioning God, because I seem to remember that as a common theme throughout her poems, and it seems to be true here as well.
Half a loaf half a loaf,
Half a loaf inward,
All through the bakery of Death
Rode the six birdies:
‘Forward, you sparrows go!
Charge for the crumbs’ he said:
All through the bakery of Death
Flew the six birdies.
‘Forward, you sparrows go!’
Was there a wing waylay’d ?
Not tho’ the parrots knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to ask ‘the heck?’,
Theirs but to do & peck,
All through the bakery of Death
Flew the six birdies.
Tabbies to right of them,
Calicos to left of them,
Ferals in front of them
swatt’d & meow’d;
Storm’d at with claw and fang,
Boldly they flew and well,
Into the jaws of cats,
Into the claws of Hell
Flew the six birdies.
Flash’d all their feathers fair,
Flash’d as they dov’d in air
Pecking the ferals there,
Charging the cat herd while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged near the oven-smoke
Right thro’ the cake they broke;
Siamese & Shorthaired
Reel’d from the beaking-stroke,
Shatter’d & sunder’d.
Then tumbled back, but not
Not the six birdies.
Tabbies to right of them,
Calicos to left of them,
Ferals in front of them
swatt’d & meow’d;
Storm’d at with claw and fang,
While talons & feathers fell,
They that had flown so well
Came thro’ the paws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six birdies.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild flight they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the flight they made!
Honour the Wing’d Brigade,
Noble six birdies!
i sure as shit know less than a crumb about poetry. what her words made me feel was gratitude and thankfulness…that she was saying she appreciates what she has and therefore she is richer than those who take things for granted.
did i pass?