SPIT-TAKE WARNING: This post comes with one of the funniest lines I think I've ever read from Dickinson -- so be forewarned: Do not be caught off guard with a mouthful of water, coffee, mimosa or margarita when reading it. You might just end up spraying your libation all over yourself and others!
HYPERVENTILATING WARNING: This post also comes with an extremely cogent and piercing observation by Dickinson about human vulnerability, and you might just find yourself gasping for air in awe when you read it. Having an oxygen tank nearby is highly recommended.
HYPERVENTILATING WARNING: This post also comes with an extremely cogent and piercing observation by Dickinson about human vulnerability, and you might just find yourself gasping for air in awe when you read it. Having an oxygen tank nearby is highly recommended.
Two days ago, I stumbled upon information about Mabel Loomis Todd’s father, Eben Jenks Loomis. Mabel Todd was the first editor of the posthumous publications of Dickinson’s poetry, and evidently her father helped with the editing – for at least on one poem (“It will be summer – eventually”); perhaps more?
In the fall of 1884, Eben Loomis and his Mary visited their daughter Mabel in Amherst on at least two occasions. At one point (again, perhaps more?) they dropped by the Homestead, Dickinson’s home, and visited with Dickinson’s sister Lavinia. They never met the poet, though I tend to think they tried to coax her out of her room. At best they probably heard her voice wafting down from a distant room or hallway.
In the fall and winter of 1884 and in early 1885, Dickinson sent the Loomises a handful of letters. I published three of them in yesterday’s post (HERE). In half of the letters, she seems to apologize (albeit craftily) and/or to express regret for not having been available to meet them; in a couple of the letters, she thanks them for various gifts.
In this letter dated November 19, 1884, Dickinson quotes from 2 Timothy, 1:12, and thanks the Loomises for an unidentified offering – and I have to say that it contains one of the most hilarious lines I think I have ever read from Dickinson! The witty wisecrack comes right at the start when Dickinson refers to her “meeting” with the Loomises as an “atmospheric acquaintance,” one “recently and delightfully made” (and “absolute as Ether”).
LOL – I can just picture the Loomises at the Homestead with their daughter Mabel and Emily’s sister Lavinia, all hollerin’ up the stairwell – and Dickinson calling back from behind her bedroom door, hence, an “atmospheric acquaintance.” I could not contain my laughter after reading that opening line!
Here’s the letter:
Dear Friends,
The atmospheric acquaintance so recently and delightfully made, is not, I trust, ephemeral, but absolute as Ether, as the delicate Emblem just received, tenderly implies. Thank you for the Beauty – thank you too for Boundlessness – that rarely given, but choicest Gift. To “know in whom” we “have believed”, is Immortality.
Oh what a Grace is this,
What Majesties of Peace,
That having breathed
The fine – ensuing Right
Without Diminuet Proceed!
With trust,
E. Dickinson –
According to Dickinson scholar Thomas Johnson, this next letter – from December 1, 1884 – “was written to thank the Loomises for a copy of The Story of Ida. Written by Francesca Alexander, it was published in 1883, with a preface by Ruskin.”
Again, I can just picture Mabel and her mother and father dropping by the Homestead with another “offering” in hopes of luring the elusive wren* from her nest (in July 1862, Dickinson described herself to Thomas Wentworth Higginson as “small, like the Wren, and my Hair is bold, like the Chestnut Bur- and my eyes, like the Sherry in the Glass, that the Guest leaves”).
Here’s the letter:
Dear friends –
The etherial Volume is with us - In sweet and rapid evidence the assurance comes.
The Thank you in my heart obstructs the Thank you on my Lips.
How little of our depth we tell, though we confide our shallowness to "every passing Breeze-"
I hope the Ones are well, who bear such loveliness. By their tints ye shall know them.
The Hands I never took, I take anew, still wondering at my privilege.
With love,
E. Dickinson –
WOW! Take a look at that third line of the letter: “How little of our depth we tell, though we confide our shallowness to ‘every passing Breeze.’” What a cogent observation about human vulnerability and superficiality, laid out in a single, pithy line of a short letter to a couple she never met – that we humans tend to guard our profound and genuine emotions in silence, yet we freely broadcast our trivial and everyday thoughts, our “shallowness,” to anyone who will listen. Once again, is Dickinson cunningly letting the Loomises know that she does not (and will not) know them*, that they cannot tempt her from her room with gratuitous gifts? To drive the point home, Dickinson concludes her letter with “The Hands I never took, I take anew.”
Finally, in January 1885, Dickinson sent this letter to the Loomises to thank them for a Christmas card she had received from them:
Dear friends –
I thought as I saw the exultant Face and the uplifted Letter,
Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy,
And I am richer then than all my Fellow Men-
Ill it becometh me to dwell so wealthily
When at my very Door are those possessing more,
In abject poverty –
And what is Ecstasy but Affection and what is Affection but the Germ of the little Note?
A Letter is a joy of Earth –
It is denied the God –
Emily,
with Love.
Hmm…isn’t she explaining to the Loomises once again that the best they’ll ever get from her is a “little Note”?
And maybe they finally got the point, because from this point forward, I don’t believe there were any further interactions or gifts – and no further correspondences.
In the fall of 1884, Eben Loomis and his Mary visited their daughter Mabel in Amherst on at least two occasions. At one point (again, perhaps more?) they dropped by the Homestead, Dickinson’s home, and visited with Dickinson’s sister Lavinia. They never met the poet, though I tend to think they tried to coax her out of her room. At best they probably heard her voice wafting down from a distant room or hallway.
In the fall and winter of 1884 and in early 1885, Dickinson sent the Loomises a handful of letters. I published three of them in yesterday’s post (HERE). In half of the letters, she seems to apologize (albeit craftily) and/or to express regret for not having been available to meet them; in a couple of the letters, she thanks them for various gifts.
In this letter dated November 19, 1884, Dickinson quotes from 2 Timothy, 1:12, and thanks the Loomises for an unidentified offering – and I have to say that it contains one of the most hilarious lines I think I have ever read from Dickinson! The witty wisecrack comes right at the start when Dickinson refers to her “meeting” with the Loomises as an “atmospheric acquaintance,” one “recently and delightfully made” (and “absolute as Ether”).
LOL – I can just picture the Loomises at the Homestead with their daughter Mabel and Emily’s sister Lavinia, all hollerin’ up the stairwell – and Dickinson calling back from behind her bedroom door, hence, an “atmospheric acquaintance.” I could not contain my laughter after reading that opening line!
Here’s the letter:
Dear Friends,
The atmospheric acquaintance so recently and delightfully made, is not, I trust, ephemeral, but absolute as Ether, as the delicate Emblem just received, tenderly implies. Thank you for the Beauty – thank you too for Boundlessness – that rarely given, but choicest Gift. To “know in whom” we “have believed”, is Immortality.
Oh what a Grace is this,
What Majesties of Peace,
That having breathed
The fine – ensuing Right
Without Diminuet Proceed!
With trust,
E. Dickinson –
According to Dickinson scholar Thomas Johnson, this next letter – from December 1, 1884 – “was written to thank the Loomises for a copy of The Story of Ida. Written by Francesca Alexander, it was published in 1883, with a preface by Ruskin.”
Again, I can just picture Mabel and her mother and father dropping by the Homestead with another “offering” in hopes of luring the elusive wren* from her nest (in July 1862, Dickinson described herself to Thomas Wentworth Higginson as “small, like the Wren, and my Hair is bold, like the Chestnut Bur- and my eyes, like the Sherry in the Glass, that the Guest leaves”).
Here’s the letter:
Dear friends –
The etherial Volume is with us - In sweet and rapid evidence the assurance comes.
The Thank you in my heart obstructs the Thank you on my Lips.
How little of our depth we tell, though we confide our shallowness to "every passing Breeze-"
I hope the Ones are well, who bear such loveliness. By their tints ye shall know them.
The Hands I never took, I take anew, still wondering at my privilege.
With love,
E. Dickinson –
WOW! Take a look at that third line of the letter: “How little of our depth we tell, though we confide our shallowness to ‘every passing Breeze.’” What a cogent observation about human vulnerability and superficiality, laid out in a single, pithy line of a short letter to a couple she never met – that we humans tend to guard our profound and genuine emotions in silence, yet we freely broadcast our trivial and everyday thoughts, our “shallowness,” to anyone who will listen. Once again, is Dickinson cunningly letting the Loomises know that she does not (and will not) know them*, that they cannot tempt her from her room with gratuitous gifts? To drive the point home, Dickinson concludes her letter with “The Hands I never took, I take anew.”
Finally, in January 1885, Dickinson sent this letter to the Loomises to thank them for a Christmas card she had received from them:
Dear friends –
I thought as I saw the exultant Face and the uplifted Letter,
Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy,
And I am richer then than all my Fellow Men-
Ill it becometh me to dwell so wealthily
When at my very Door are those possessing more,
In abject poverty –
And what is Ecstasy but Affection and what is Affection but the Germ of the little Note?
A Letter is a joy of Earth –
It is denied the God –
Emily,
with Love.
Hmm…isn’t she explaining to the Loomises once again that the best they’ll ever get from her is a “little Note”?
And maybe they finally got the point, because from this point forward, I don’t believe there were any further interactions or gifts – and no further correspondences.
*In a letter to Thomas Wentworth Higginson in July 1862, Dickinson said, "You ask of my Companions Hills- Sir-and the Sundown-and a Dog-large as myself, that my Father bought me-They are better than Beings-because they know-but do not tell." I suspect Dickinson viewed the Loomises as part of that multitude of "Beings."
By the way, you can see copies of the six letters I’ve shared yesterday and today on the Amherst College Library’s “Digital Collections” page, HERE.
And here’s something a bit odd: I found Dickinson's letter of December 1884 presented in Russian on this site, HERE. I threw that third line into Google translate just to see how it would translate back into English, and I got this:
And here’s something a bit odd: I found Dickinson's letter of December 1884 presented in Russian on this site, HERE. I threw that third line into Google translate just to see how it would translate back into English, and I got this:
Finally this portrait of Eben Jenks Loomis by Edwin Burrage Child is in the collection of the Smithsonian; however, it is not currently on display:
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