Category: Thomas Wentworth Higginson

Lie/Lay Person

7/9/2025

How are your grammar skills? Specifically, how well do you understand “lie” (to recline) vs. “lay” (to place)?

In past posts, I’ve written about challenges Mabel Loomis Todd and Thomas Wentworth Higginson faced in preparing Emily Dickinson’s poetry for publication. Issues ranged from having to decipher Dickinson’s handwriting to determining word choice (when faced with multiple alternate word choices on the page) to correcting (or not correcting?) errors in spelling, capitalization and grammar.

“When it came to bad grammar,” wrote Todd’s daughter Millicent Todd Bingham in her book Ancestor’s Brocades, The Literary Debut of Emily Dickinson, “there was room for difference of opinion.”

According to Bingham – in discussing the poem “I died for Beauty but was scarce” – “Colonel Higginson usually stood for correct usage. And yet,” she reported, “he it was who preferred ‘lain’ when ‘laid’ was correct” (Bingham added, “Emily always misused that past participle”).

Concerning that poem, Bingham wrote, “My mother particularly disliked this mistake. In her letter of December 29, 1890, to Colonel Higginson she asks, ‘And do you think it best to leave the ungrammatical use of ‘lain’ instead of ‘laid,’ in ‘When one who died for truth was lain’?’ As Colonel Higginson preferred ‘lain,’ it so appeared. But his preference was often challenged, not only in the poem, ‘I died for beauty,” but in others as well. Each time the word appeared it gave rise to argument and each time he prevailed.”

Higginson’s “lain” prevailed when the poem was first published in 1890, and it survives to this day in the Johnson, Franklin, and Miller editions.

More on the “lie vs. lay” tomorrow.

Close Encounters of a Poetic Kind

7/6/2025

I have now returned home after trips to New York City and Baltimore, and my “Close Encounters of a Poetic Kind” experience occurred while visiting the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue at 42nd Street. I was there with one of my daughters while my wife and other daughter were running errands, and we were all going to meet up at the Metropolitan Museum later in the day.

While at the library, we visited the library’s “first-ever permanent exhibition” highlighting items from their world-renowned collections. For example, we saw a First Folio of Shakespeare printed in 1623, music composed in Mozart’s handwriting (from Symphony No. 32 in G Major), and the original Winnie the Pooh and friends (all pictured below).

Info on the library’s free exhibit, “Treasures,” is HERE.

When we exited the exhibit on the first floor, I told my daughter that we should run up to the third floor just to take a quick peek at the study and research rooms because they are spectacularly beautiful; however, when we got up there, I saw that the rooms are now roped off and one cannot go in unless conducting research and/or studying (I assume with an appointment). We could look in only from an allocated spot several feet from the entry doorway.

We peered in to see as much as we could see, and then as we were about to leave, I had an idea. I walked up to one of the guards and asked if I could go in. I told her that I published daily posts about Emily Dickinson, and I wondered if the library had a copy of the first edition of Dickinson poem published posthumously in 1890.

I gave a bit of background – about the number of poems Dickinson wrote, how they were discovered after her death, how lucky we are that her sister didn’t burn them, etc. – and the guard was so intrigued that she agreed that I must see a copy of the book – IF the library had one!

She then discreetly ushered my daughter and I into the main study area, and she told me to speak with a reference librarian.

LOL – we were in, and my heart was pounding!

I gave a similar spiel to the reference librarian, and she was equally fascinated, so she began her online search. Alas, thousands of entries popped up when she typed in “Dickinson,” so I suggested that she run a more specific search for the name “Mabel Loomis Todd,” and that did the trick.

She showed me her screen as the search narrowed, and I saw a book published by Todd and Higginson in 1890 and whisper-screamed, “That’s it!”

“No,” she said, “this says ‘sixth edition.”

I explained that the first printing of “Poems” had six printings in 1890, and that that book – edited by Todd and Higginson and published by Roberts Brothers of Boston – was indeed a first edition.

She got so excited she looked into this a bit more, and it seemed that the library seemed to have a first edition from the first printing.

She printed the information, handed it to me, and pointed to some doors on the far wall of the research room.

“See those doors?” she said. “Go there. That’s our rare book collection. Buzz to get in, and tell them that I sent you.”

Needless to say, my heart was palpitating wildly, though I tried to exhibit a calm and professional aspect on the outside. Inside, I was doing the Snoopy dance.

My daughter walked to the doors, but we could not figure out how to “buzz” ourselves in, so we returned to the reference librarian to ask.

She looked at the doors and then looked at us, and I could tell by the look on her face that “Houston, we have a problem.”
“Oh, I forgot,” she said. “Today is Monday, and the rare books room is closed on Mondays.”

OOOOOHHHH NOOOOOO!

Alas, I could not return the next day as the hour of our train departure would not allow sufficient time to see the book! Woe was me!

BUT – I have all the info I need for my next visit to New York – so that is something to look forward to!

As my daughter and I exited the study area, the guard came running over to see what I had found out. LOL – she was as disappointed as I was – but I told her I’d stop by to see her on my next visit!

A.I. Yi Yi

6/26/2025

This will be the final post for a little more than a week – until about July 6 – as I’ll be on the road going here and there.

For today, I have a bit of an odd post, and it has to do with an AI-generated response to a question I posed to Google yesterday.

Yesterday’s post centered on Dickinson’s poem “The night was wide, and furnished scant.” The third stanza of that poem reads “No Squirrel went abroad / A Dog's belated feet / Like intermittent Plush, be heard / Adown the empty street.”

In a letter to Mabel Loomis Todd about the third line in that stanza, Thomas Wentworth Higginson wrote, “I had altered ‘Like intermittent plush’ to ‘In intermittent plash,’ thinking it must be plash – but as you say it is not, I have altered it back to your reading.”

When I came across that letter, I googled something like “When was Dickinson’s poem ‘The night was wide, and furnished scant’ first published?” I wanted to see where Todd and Higginson landed with that poem – did they print it with “plash” or with “plush.”

Here’s the answer I got back in the way of a Google AI overview:

“‘The night was wide, and furnished scant’ is a poem by Emily Dickinson, and it was first published in 1896 in the first volume of her collected works, titled ‘Poems by Emily Dickinson.’ It was written six years earlier, in 1863.”

Of course, there are various things wrong with that response, and the first and most obvious one is that “six years earlier” than 1896 is not 1863 – that would be 1890.

The second error is not one that most readers would pick up on – and that is that the first volume of “Poems by Emily Dickinson” was not published in 1896; the first volume was published in 1890.

The third error took a bit of research. I knew that the poem could NOT have been published in the first volume from 1890 because the letter from Higginson to Todd was dated August 1891. Therefore, I checked the “second series” of poems published in 1891, and voila – there it was.

The moral of the story with A.I.: Always Investigate.

Irritable Vowel Syndrome

6/25/2025

Recent posts have been about Emily Dickinson’s handwriting, and one back on June 12th (HERE) – about “A bird came down the walk” – mentioned Dickinson’s use of the word “plash.” Well, today’s post combines these two topics: Dickinson’s handwriting AND her use of the word “plash” – or is it “plush”?

In the June 12th post, I included the following:

One doesn’t come across the word “plash” all that often – at least I don’t – and “plash” is the sound produced by liquid striking something or being struck. Dickinson used a form of the word in three poems:

Plashless: A Bird came down the Walk

Plashing: A Prison gets to be a friend

Plash: I’ve known a heaven like a tent

And then I came across this letter from Thomas Wentworth Higginson to Mabel Loomis Todd as they discussed their editing of Dickinson’s poetry for their volumes of her work yet to be published; here is a portion of the letter about the poem “The night was wide, and furnished scant”:

Dublin, N.H.
Aug 18, 1891

Dear Friend

Also, I had altered “Like intermittent plush” to “In intermittent plash,” thinking it must be plash – but as you say it is not, I have altered it back to your reading.

Ever yrs.
T.W.H.

Every edition of Dickinson’s poems I have checked has the word as “plush” – though I tend to agree with Higginson that “it must be plash.” LOL.

I’ve included the handwritten manuscript of the poem below. What do you think? Is it “plash” – or is it “plush”?

The Write Stuff

6/23/2025

April 16, 1862: I took [Emily Dickinson's letter of the previous day] from the post office in Worcester, Mass., where I was then living. It was postmarked "Amherst," and it was in a handwriting so peculiar that it seemed as if the writer might have taken her first lessons by studying the famous fossil bird-tracks in the museum of that college town.
~ Thomas Wentworth Higginson

Yesterday I posted info related to Emily Dickinson’s handwriting – and how it changed over the years. Most scholars suggest that changes in Dickinson's handwriting may have corresponded to changes in her vision. However, I also found this: “others speculated that significant changes in her handwriting paralleled shifts in Dickinson's psychic equilibrium.”

Here’s an article I found that explores Dickinson’s handwriting, and it share various samples of her penmanship, HERE.

I’ve also posted two samples below. I picked two poems at random. The first is “Garlands for Queens may be” from 1858. The second is “Apparently with no surprise” from 1884. It’s difficult to make a thorough comparison, though, because I don’t have info related to the sizes of the papers – but you can definitely see a much neater and tighter script in the first sample (and notice in the second sample how she wrapped the final word "God" around to the side of the page).

Creative Writing

6/22/2025

In yesterday’s post, I referenced Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s April 1862 article in The Atlantic entitled “Letter to a Young Contributor.” This is the article to which Emily Dickinson wrote to Higginson to ask, "Are you too deeply occupied to say if my Verse is alive?” – and she included four of her poems with her letter.

In the opening line to his article, Higginson states his purpose: “My dear young gentleman or young lady, —for many are the Cecil Dreemes of literature who superscribe their offered manuscripts with very masculine names in very feminine handwriting, —it seems wrong not to meet your accumulated and urgent epistles with one comprehensive reply, thus condensing many private letters into a printed one.”

It is that bit about the “feminine handwriting” that I thought I’d touch on today – but with no regard to feminine or masculine – just plain ol’ handwriting. Emily Dickinson’s handwriting.

In her book “Ancestors’ Brocade, The Literary Debut of Emily Dickinson,” Millicent Todd Bingham shared this passage from her mother Mabel Loomis Todd’s journal about receiving Emily Dickinson’s booklets of poems (delivered to her for editing by Dickinson’s sister Lavinia):

“They looked almost hopeless from a printer’s point of view. The handwriting consisted of styles of three periods, absolutely different one from another. All were written in a hand which to most persona is exceedingly difficult to read, and many words were liable to be mildly misconstrued. The poems were written on both sides of the paper, interlined, altered and the number of suggested changes was baffling.”

Most scholars suggest that changes in Dickinson's handwriting may have corresponded to changes in her vision.
Of course, Todd in her journal mentioned “styles of three periods,” and I found this (not from Todd herself):

Early Period (1850s):
Dickinson's handwriting in the 1850s, especially in her fair-copy drafts, was small, flowing, and modeled after the exemplary hands in penmanship copybooks. Letters within words were often linked, and upper and lowercase letters were clearly distinguishable. This suggests a desire for neatness and legibility in her early work.

Middle Period (1860s):
The 1860s mark a period of intense poetic experimentation for Dickinson, and her handwriting reflects this shift. Her script became more irregular, with wider spacing between words and letters, and an increased slant. The traditional forms of her earlier hand were abandoned, and the alignment on the page became less consistent.

Late Period (1870s onwards):
In the later years, Dickinson's handwriting continued to evolve, becoming more personal and expressive. While the general characteristics of her middle period style persisted, the writing became even looser and more individualistic. She also increasingly favored pencil over pen in her later years.

More on Dickinson's handwriting tomorrow.

How Queer

6/21/2025

So this is a bit queer.

For the past few days, I’ve posted info from an October 1891 article in “The Atlantic” by Thomas Wentworth Higginson entitled “Emily Dickinson’s Letters.” In it, of course, he shared letters he’d received from Emily Dickinson; however, he also discussed some of the poems Dickinson had enclosed with her letters.

The very first letter Dickinson sent to him was dated April 15, 1862 (it begins famously, “Mr. Higginson, Are you too deeply occupied to say if my Verse is alive?”).

Dickinson wrote to Higginson in response to an April 1862 article in The Atlantic entitled “Letter to a Young Contributor.” I’ve always known of that article, but I’d never actually seen it to read it. I subscribed to The Atlantic this year, so I delved into the back issues to find it.

His advice to any “Young Contributor” opens thusly:

“My dear young gentleman or young lady, —for many are the Cecil Dreemes of literature who superscribe their offered manuscripts with very masculine names in very feminine handwriting, —it seems wrong not to meet your accumulated and urgent epistles with one comprehensive reply, thus condensing many private letters into a printed one. And so large a proportion of "Atlantic" readers either might, would, could, or should be "Atlantic" contributors also, that this epistle will be sure of perusal, though Mrs. Stowe remain uncut and the Autocrat go for an hour without readers.”

Does anything in that opening paragraph strike you? My first thought was, “Who the hell is Cecil Dreeme.”

I Google-searched the name as was completely surprised by what I found:

“Cecil Dreeme is a novel written by Theodore Winthrop and published posthumously by the author's friend George William Curtis in 1861, after author's death at the battle of Big Bethel on June 10, 1861. (The Battle of Big Bethel was one of the earliest land battles of the American Civil War which took place on the Virginia Peninsula, near Newport News.) The novel has been called ‘one of the queerest American novels of the nineteenth century.’”

Then came this surprise about the novel’s protagonist, Robert Byng: “Byng meets his mysterious and reclusive neighbor Cecil Dreeme, and the two strike up what scholars…have identified as a romantic friendship” – AND – “It is finally revealed that Cecil Dreeme, Byng’s friend ‘closer than a brother,’ has actually been a woman in disguise all along.”

LOL – of course. It was 1861, after all.

Once I read through all of this, Higginson’s opening statement made more sense.

A little more detail on the novel is provided HERE. Info about the author can be found HERE. If you are interested in reading the novel, I found a complete edition online, HERE.

Cliff Notes

6/19/2025

Part 1:

In October 1891, Thomas Wentworth Higginson published an article in The Atlantic entitled “Emily Dickinson’s Letters.”

Ten months earlier, he and Mabel Loomis Todd had prepared the first printing of Dickinson’s poems, and in this 1891 article he reported that the volume was “launched quietly and without any expectation of a wide audience; yet the outcome of it is that six editions…have been sold within six months, a suddenness of success almost without a parallel in American literature.”

Following the distribution of the first edition of “Poems,” Higginson said he was met with “a constant and earnest demand by her readers for further information in regard to her,” so he decided to print some of the letters she had sent to him.

“I have decided with much reluctance to give some extracts from her early correspondence…It seems to be the opinion of those who have examined her accessible correspondence most widely, that no other letters bring us quite so intimately near to the peculiar quality and aroma of her nature; and it has been urged upon me very strongly that her readers have the right to know something more of this gifted and most interesting woman.”

In addition to her letters, Dickinson would enclose some of her poems, and Higginson included some of those in his article. In recent posts I discussed two of those, “Your riches taught me poverty” and “A bird came down the walk.”

I have one more to share, about which Higginson said this, “Then came one which I have always classed among the most exquisite of her productions, with a singular felicity of phrase and an aerial lift that bears the ear upward….” – and that poem is…

** drum roll **

The focus of my post tomorrow! Alas, I have to run this morning – the start of a busy day! A Dickinsonian cliff hanger, if you will!

Stay tuned!

Part 2:

In October 1891, Thomas Wentworth Higginson published an article in The Atlantic entitled “Emily Dickinson’s Letters.” In it, of course, he shared letters he’d received from Emily Dickinson; however, he also discussed some of the poems Dickinson had enclosed with her letters.

“Then came one (poem),” wrote Higginson, “which I have always classed among the most exquisite of her productions, with a singular felicity of phrase and an aerial lift that bears the ear upward….” – and that poem is…

** drum roll **

“The nearest Dream recedes – unrealized.”

And just FYI, Higginson’s full quote about the poem is “Then came one which I have always classed among the most exquisite of her productions, with a singular felicity of phrase and an aerial lift that bears the ear upward with the bee it traces.”

The poem is WONDERFUL, and it so perfectly reflects what Julia Hejduk wrote of the poet in her 2020 article “An Acrostic Window on Emily Dickinson’s ‘I dwell in Possibility,” that Dickinson was “a poet of incarnation – of the small, concrete, and quotidian becoming a vessel for the infinite.”

On the surface, most of the poem depicts a boy chasing a bee – as boys are wont to do, chase bugs in attempt to capture them; and in this case, the bee might represent various entities – but the bee “Dips – evades – teases – deploys –” and then “lifts his light Pinnace” (i.e., a small craft) “to the Royal Clouds.”

Dayum!!! What an image!

Below: Use of the word "pinnace" over the years:

And the bee is “heedless of the boy” as he, bewildered, stares “at the mocking sky.”

LOL – I gotta add that years ago on a “Quote A Day” calendar, I came across the oddest, saddest quote about realizing one’s dreams from – of all people – Judy Garland – and I now wish I’d torn that page out to keep it because I cannot find that quote! Suffice it to say, the gist of Garland’s lamentation was truly a precis of this poem.*

Beyond the surface, Dickinson fashions the boy’s chase of the bee into a profound insight into the human experience of longing, hope and faith.

Following the poem, Higginson said, “The impression of a wholly new and original poetic genius was as distinct on my mind at the first reading of these four poems** as it is now, after thirty years of further knowledge; and with it came the problem never yet solved, what place ought to be assigned in literature to what is so remarkable, yet so elusive of criticism. The bee himself did not evade the schoolboy more than she evaded me; and even at this day I still stand somewhat bewildered, like the boy.”

* Maybe – just maybe – this is the Garland quote: ‘“We cast away priceless time in dreams, born of imagination, fed upon illusion, and put to death by reality.” I ran a couple of Google-searches and found this quote – but it’s not exactly as I remember it – but it comes close – so maybe this was it?

** The other three poems in the letter were “Safe in their Alabaster Chambers,” “We play at Paste,” and “I’ll tell you how the Sun rose.” Also, just FYI: a variant of this poem begins “The MADDEST Dream recedes – unrealized.”

And The Rest Is History

6/17/2025

PART 1:

In a couple of recent posts, I’ve shared poems and text from an article in The Atlantic by Thomas Wentworth Higginson from October 1891; the article, entitled “Emily Dickinson’s Letters,” details Higginson’s years of correspondence with the reclusive poet.

Here is the opening paragraph of that article:

“Few events in American literary history have been more curious than the sudden rise of Emily Dickinson into a posthumous fame only more accentuated by the utterly recluse character of her life and by her aversion to even a literary publicity. The lines which form a prelude to the published volume of her poems are the only ones that have yet come to light indicating even a temporary desire to come in contact with the great world of readers; she seems to have had no reference, in .all the rest, to anything but her own thought and a few friends. But for her only sister, it is very doubtful if her poems would ever have been printed at all; and when published, they were launched quietly and without any expectation of a wide audience; yet the outcome of it is that six editions of the volume have been sold within six months, a suddenness of success almost without a parallel in American literature.”

Hmm…that opening line, “Few events in American literary history have been more curious,” made me wonder – what other events in American literary history have been as curious?

I began to run a few Google-searches, and ended up going on a wild goose chase.

First, I searched, “suddenness of success in American literature,” a description Higginson included in that opening paragraph, but what I got was info related to themes in literature on “rags to riches” stories and the American dream.

Next I searched “major events in the history of American literature.” I got nothing but timelines of American literature with history and related facts.

Next, I searched “top ten events in the history of American literature.” Again, I got events in history that impacted literature – like the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, the Great Depression, etc.

I decided to add Dickinson’s name, and I then searched for “the discovery of Emily Dickinson's poetry and other events that changed American literature.” Well, I did get info related to the discovery and posthumous publication of Dickinson’s work – but only that among other events in the timeline of American literary history: Transcendentalism, the Harlem Renaissance, Modernism, etc.

Oh, I did get one mention of Harriet Beecher Stowe's novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin with info on how it had a significant impact in bringing the realities of slavery to a wider audience and how it influenced public opinion and the abolitionist movement.

Next I tried “unusual events in the history of American literature.” All I got were historic events that inspired iconic American novels.

What I was hoping to find were events like the story of John Kennedy Toole and “A Confederacy of Dunces”; the withdrawal from public life by J. D. Salinger; Harper Lee as a one-book wonder; Bob Dylan winning the Nobel Prize in Literature. I dunno – stuff like that. I’m sure there are others – these are just off the top of my head as I sit here typing this morning (and of course, none of those are as momentous as the discovery and publication of Dickinson).

What stunning literary events come to your mind?

PART 2:

And now for something completely different!

Yesterday I shared info from Thomas Wentworth Higginson October 1891 article in The Atlantic entitled “Emily Dickinson’s Letters.” He opened the article with this: “Few events in American literary history have been more curious than the sudden rise of Emily Dickinson” – so I wondered, what other curious events are out there in American literary history.

I dug around on the interwebs in search of any kind of Top Ten list, but I couldn’t find anything – well, except for a list I created years ago (which I’ll get to in a minute).

Oh, I did find one mention of the impact of Harriet Beecher Stowe's novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin, but other than that I got stuff on “rags to riches” stories, timelines in American literature, events in history that impacted literature (like the Civil War and the Great Depression), description of periods of literature (Transcendentalism, Modernism, etc.) – and that was about it.

I was hoping to find stories like that of John Kennedy Toole winning the Pulitzer Prize for “A Confederacy of Dunces”; the withdrawal from public life by J. D. Salinger”; Harper Lee as a one-book wonder; Bob Dylan winning the Nobel Prize in Literature; the discovery of Langston Hughes as he worked as a busboy in a restaurant.

One report that did pop up was the top ten list from the New Yorker’s “100 Most Important Events from the World of Poetry.” LOL – this was something I’d written years ago – so long ago, in fact, that I couldn’t remember if I’d based it on some true list compiled by the New Yorker – but no, I think I made that up too.

Anyway, I share with delight this morning the list I compiled years ago of the “Top Ten Events from the World of Poetry” – guaranteed to make you laugh (if not with me, then at me, to be sure)! Click HERE.

Oh – and take a look at this – I did find this too:

New Yorker poetry editor and the editor of “A Century of Poetry in The New Yorker” (Knopf, 2025), goes through the history of poetry appearing in The New Yorker, and what was left out.

Click HERE.

From Rags to Riches

6/16/2025

A couple of days ago I shared Dickinson’s poem “A Bird came down the Walk.” Dickinson scholar and editor R. W. Franklin said about this poem, “Three (one lost), variant, about summer 1862. The lost manuscript was sent to T. W. Higginson, probably in the fifth letter to him, written about August 1862. Higginson listed it for Mabel Todd on 13 May 1891 as one of the poems he had received (Bingham, AB, 129) and he published it in the October 1891 issue of the Atlantic Monthly.”

Dickinson did, indeed, enclose the poem in a letter to Higginson, but there is confusion as to which one. Franklin (above) said, “probably…the fifth,” Higginson said “the second,” but even scholar/editor Thomas Johnson refutes that:

“Higginson says in his Atlantic Monthly article introducing the letter…that the enclosed poems were two: "Your riches taught me poverty," and "A bird came down the walk." But the evidence after study of the folds in the letters and poems suggest that he was in error."

Higginson made his claim – about receiving the letter with the second letter – in an October 1891 article in “The Atlantic” entitled, “Emily Dickinson’s Letter,” and in that edition, he also printed “A Bird came down the Walk.” He also printed “Your riches taught me poverty,” and with that poem he made a very telling observation about the final line of the poem:

“Here was already manifest that defiance of form, never through carelessness, and never precisely from whim, which so marked her. The slightest change in the order of words — thus, 'While yet at school, a girl' — would have given her a rhyme for this last line; but no; she was intent upon her thought, and it would not have satisfied her to make the change.”

The poem, sent to her sister-in-law Susan in the form of a letter, is described as “an evocation of what Sue meant to the poet.” Paula Bennett, author of Emily Dickinson: Woman Poet as well other books on the poet, wrote that this was “the only poem in which Dickinson ever felt totally free to express in direct and undisguised form the love she felt for this extraordinary and very much underrated woman.”

For more information, click HERE.