What's That Word?

In yesterday’s post I mentioned Dickinson’s robust vocabulary, and in other recent posts I’ve shared a variety of words from her poems which were new to me.  Some of the unknown-to-me words in November posts included “marge,” “stint,” “rill,” and “kirtle.”
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At times, I come across an unfamiliar word used by Dickinson, but then – after I look up its meaning – I realize that it’s a word that would have been completely understood by anyone living in the mid-1800s. An example,  Dickinson’s ode to the bubble bee opens with the line, “Bees are Black with Gilt Surcingles.”

What’s a “surcingle”?

A “surcingle” is a wide strap that runs over the back and under the belly of a horse, used to keep a blanket or other equipment in place.  People in the 1800s would have known the meaning of that word immediately; those in 2025 – not so much – unless they’re part of the horsey-set.

Sometimes people who study or read about Dickinson pick up new vocabulary words.

A few days ago my wife thumbed through my book “Emily Dickinson’s Gardening Life:  the Plants and Places That Inspired the Iconic Poet,” by Marta McDowell.  After reading something that caught her eye, she said something like, “I learned a new word today from your Dickinson book.”

“What word is that?” I asked.

“Susurrate.”

Susurrate?  I gotta admit – that one was new to me too.  The definition – from Dictionary.com – states, “(of leaves, wind, etc.) make a whispering or rustling sound.”

Later on, I checked the online Dickinson archive to see which poem it was that included the word “susurrate.”

And the poem?  Well…
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There isn’t one.  Dickinson never used the word “susurrate” in any of her poems.

I checked the book to see what my wife had read, and there it was, “susurrate.”  In a section on Dickinson and her family, McDowell wrote this:

“Austin, like their father, was a great planter of trees. As a teenager, he planted a grove of white pines near their house.  Dickinson reported their progress to her brother, then away at school. ‘We all went down this morning, and the trees look beautifully,’ she wrote. ‘Every one is growing, and

when the west wind blows, the pines lift their light leaves and make sweet music.’  If you stand quietly under a pine and wait for the wind, a needle – its light leaves – whisper.  Susurrate.” 

The OED lists “susurrate” as extremely rare – and “chiefly literary” – though surprisingly, its use per million words in written English has increased since the 1800s.  The entry dates the word back to a dictionary from 1623, but then jumps to 1957 for its first example of usage. 

Of course, as I stated above, Dickinson never used the word “susurrate” in any of her poems; however, she did use a number of synonyms for the word, including whisper, murmur and buzz – so in a day or two, I’ll explore her use of those onomatopoeic terms – but not tomorrow.

No, tomorrow I’ll fill you in on a crime spree I uncovered from Amherst back in the 1850s. I stumbled upon a string of criminal offenses when searching for Dickinson’s letter to Austin.
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For now, slide the bolt unto the door – and stay tuned!