Well, I have say that I truly admire the imagination and creativity in Miss Emily Dickinson. She must have felt strange and out-of-place knowing that she had that ability, and no real outlet for it. I recognize her extraordinary gifts and talents, but I have to say, her poems do not speak to me. It may be because I am more of a "left-brain" person and her poems are very free and almost abstract in a way, compared to more formal works. I do not like the irregular rhythms and near rhymes, even when I do find a rhythm in a longer poem, there is always one line that is off, and it drives me crazy.
There are some poems that start off so beautifully, but then end oddly or seem to go nowhere, such as number 670. Perhaps I am just too dense to understand, I don't know. I admire her talent for seeing what I cannot, and for putting into words what others appreciate. I liked the beginnings and the idea of 732: "She rose to his requirement", "To take the honorable work/Of woman and wife", but it felt like ended oddly to me. She seems to have a certain penchant for death, and with her history of staying at home, it seems like she suffered from some form of depression, like so many writers and poets. For example, no. 49,death; 67, death; 241, death; 258, death; 280, death; 287, 303, 341, 414, 449, 465, 510, and so on... all about death. Truly depressing if you ask me!
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