Could you tell me how to grow?

21 novembre 2010 § Lascia un commento

25 April 1862

Mr Higginson,

Your kindness claimed earlier gratitude-but I was ill-and write today, from my pillow.
Thank you for the surgery- it was not so painful as I supposed. I bring you others-as you ask-though they might not differ-
While my thought is undressed-I can make the distinction, but when I put them in the Gown – they look alike, and numb.
You asked how old I was? I made no verse-but one or two-until this winter – Sir-
I had a terror-since September-I could tell to none-and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid- You inquire my Books-For Poets-I have Keats-and Mr and Mrs Browning. For Prose – Mr Ruskin – Sir Thomas Browne – and the Revelations. I went to school-but in your manner of the phrase-had no education. When a little Girl, I had a friend, who taught me Immortality-but venturing too near, himself-he never returned-Soon after, my Tutor, died – and for several years, my Lexicon – was my only companion-Then I found one more-but he was not contented I be his scholar-so he left the Land.
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-and the noise in the Pool, at Noon – excels my Piano. I have a Brother and Sister – My Mother does not care for thought-and Father, too busy with his Briefs – to notice what we do – He buys me many Books – but begs me not to read them-because he fears they joggle the Mind. They are religious-except me-and address an Eclipse, every morning-whom they call their “Father.” But I fear my story fatigues you-I would like to learn-Could you tell me how to grow-or is it unconveyed- like Melody-or Witchcraft?
You speak of Mr Whitman-I never read his Book-but was told that he was disgraceful-
I read Miss Prescott’s “Circumstance,” but it followed me, in the Dark-so I avoided her-
Two Editors of Journals came to my Father’s House, this winter- and asked me for my Mind-and when I asked them “Why,” they said I was penurious – and they, would use it for the World –
I could not weigh myself-Myself-
My size felt small- to me- I read your Chapters in the Atlantic- and experienced honor for you-I was sure you would not reject a confiding question-
Is this- Sir-what you asked me to tell you?

Your friend,
E – Dickinson.


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