Oh, Emily Dickinson and her Poems...

Oh, how poetry is hard to analyze...  I'm sure if you've read my thing on Chanting the Square Deific, you already know about my opinions on poetry.  They're mixed, to say the least.  While it requires skill to write, I--oh, forget it.  I need to stop digressing.  It's annoying, sort of.

Either way, what was the poem?  Something about being in grass.  Oh, A Narrow Fellow in the Grass.  There we go.  Honestly, there couldn't be a worse poet for me to analyze.  Of all the poets I need to read over, it has to be Emily Dickinson.  I could actually appreciate some of Whitman's stuff, but this is just ridiculous.  I know, I know, I'm probably just not looking into it enough and she's a genius or something, but still.  Whitman's stuff is great because of the way he does it.  Dickinson just isn't enjoyable to me at all...

I can appreciate some subtle nuances that Dickinson places throughout the poem, as well as her linguistic skills.  She's very eloquent, I'll give her that, but otherwise I'm not sure.  Her poems give off a rhythmic vibe, and yet when you speak with them, you're thrown off because of it.  If I hear a rhythm, I demand to hear a rhyme!  But then, that's not what poetry's all about, is it?  It's all in the way it's written, what with its pentameters and all that.  Bollocks, I say.  That's right, bollocks.

Oh!  I almost saw some Jesus reference, but that's probably my imagination.  I look for Jesus too much in poems...  But that's what so many are about!  For some reason, it feels as if Dickinson is speaking of Jesus in different periods of his life, but who knows.  Barefoot child, whip-lash; her breath gets tight when she meets him.  Hey, who knows.