The soul selects her own society poem. 11+ Best Poems For The Soul Everyone Should Read 2022-10-25
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The poem "The Soul Selects Her Own Society" by Emily Dickinson is a powerful and thought-provoking piece that explores the idea of individuality and the role that society plays in shaping our identities. Dickinson uses vivid imagery and powerful language to convey the idea that the soul is the ultimate arbiter of its own fate, and that it is ultimately responsible for choosing its own path in life.
One of the key themes of the poem is the importance of individuality. Dickinson suggests that the soul is a unique and self-determined entity that is not influenced by the expectations or demands of society. She writes, "The Soul selects her own society - / Then - shuts the Door -" This line suggests that the soul is the master of its own destiny, and that it chooses its own path in life without regard for the expectations or judgments of others. This idea is further reinforced by the image of the soul "veiling her face" and "clos[ing] the Valves of her attention" to the outside world, implying that the soul is able to shut out the distractions and influences of society in order to focus on its own goals and desires.
Another key theme of the poem is the idea of isolation and solitude. Dickinson suggests that the soul often seeks out solitude and isolation in order to better understand itself and its place in the world. She writes, "The Soul that hath a guest / Must entertain him" and "The Soul that hath a guest / Does not deny her guest." These lines suggest that the soul is willing to open itself up to others, but only on its own terms and in its own time. This idea is further emphasized by the image of the soul "veiling her face" and "clos[ing] the Valves of her attention," which suggests that the soul is able to shut out the outside world in order to focus on its own thoughts and feelings.
Overall, "The Soul Selects Her Own Society" is a powerful and thought-provoking poem that explores the idea of individuality and the role that society plays in shaping our identities. Dickinson uses vivid imagery and powerful language to convey the idea that the soul is the ultimate arbiter of its own fate, and that it is ultimately responsible for choosing its own path in life.
The Soul selects her own Society by Emily Dickinson
Final thoughts One of the most important problems of philosophy is the reality of the soul and its distinction from the body. I am content to follow to its source Every event in action or in thought; Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot! My Soul Is Dark by George Gordon Byron My soul is dark — Oh! Nothing like a "Chariot. Be Still, My Soul, Be Still by Alfred Edward Housman Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle, Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong. A body that could never rest, Since this ill spirit it possest. } A living man is blind and drinks his drop. First, she knows that the soul exists because of her own arbitrariness.
The "Soul" in Emily Dickinson's "The Soul selects her own Society" (303)
Let me glide noiselessly forth; With the key of softness unlock the locks—with a whisper Set ope the doors, O soul! Select my own social circle?. A formulation more fitting to his thinking: You wouldn't know what a right is unless you took full responsibility for it. Well, there is one qualification. If I'm right, one reason we want love is to know we can love. And she speaks of it as the whole of her, one encompassing her present self and its choices. . On the other, the independence which recognizes a divine majority, is skeptical of Emperors, and can choose one object of love has a sacred quality.
Many find it fashionable to mock Kant, but that's his logic on display. Dickinson does make it sound like her heart, a part of her living within. Today her poetry is rightly appreciated for its immense depth and unique style. Maybe the Soul selects her own society out of love or some higher calling. The Soul selects her own Society 303 Emily Dickinson The Soul selects her own Society — Then — shuts the Door — To her divine Majority — Present no more — Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing — At her low Gate — Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling Upon her Mat — I've known her — from an ample nation — Choose One — Then — close the Valves of her attention — Like Stone — Of course, Dickinson, even when choosing her own society, does not fail to remind herself of the cost of company, a cost not unlike isolation: I've known her — from an ample nation — Choose One — Then — close the Valves of her attention — Like Stone — Anthony Hecht's comment about the "Valves. I've never been big on soul talk, but Dickinson is earnestly probing what this thing could possibly be. And in its tranquil autumns We halt to re-enforce Our tattered scarlet pennons With valor and resource.
Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation; All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain: Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation— Oh why did I awake? Till snows of mercy cover The dream that shall come true, When time makes all things wondrous, And life makes all things new. What matter if I live it all once more? Dickinson invokes it to play God, to select an elect. Hecht wonders briefly if "heart" could substitute for it, but then sees that Soul introduces more divine matters. I am far from selecting anyone or anything. What is this absorbs me quite? On the one hand, those of us who know fundamentalism recognize the awful outline of a certain sacrality. The mystery of the soul is probably one of the questions that has plagued mankind the most.
Dickinson’s Poetry: “The Soul selects her own Society—”
Dickinson, of course, is on much darker territory. Maybe it is overshadowed by dysfunction. Strong is your hold, O love! And there shall fall,—how gently! We've known those who justify horrible behaviors by repeatedly and insistently invoking their spirituality. It alone is the source of love, love in its limiting glory, love as choosing against choice. She only allowed those closest to her to read her work and experience her inner conciseness.
All you know is you're not you yet. You're capable of higher love, but you're also capable of decisions you don't understand and feelings that make no sense. I myself am fascinated with the word "Soul. Tell me, my soul, can this be death? It has its new-born Aprils, With gladness in the air, Its golden Junes of rapture, Its winters of despair. But it could be that the Soul itself is the question. Second, the arbitrariness, the existence of a true self, tells us nearly nothing.
From undiscovered regions Only the angels know, Great winds of aspiration Perpetually blow, To free the sap of impulse From torpor of distrust, And into flowers of joyance Quicken the sentient dust. This song of soul I struggle to outbear Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole, And utter all myself into the air: But if I did it,—as the thunder-roll Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there, Before that dread apocalypse of soul. One job application for the next schoolyear is complete; two more need to be done soon. Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason, I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun. I have good friends, but there are still long stretches of loneliness and powerlessness. With wide-embracing love Thy spirit animates eternal years Pervades and broods above, Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears Though earth and moon were gone And suns and universes ceased to be And Thou wert left alone Every Existence would exist in thee There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since thou art Being and Breath And what thou art may never be destroyed. Maybe it is dysfunctional.
The Soul will not be moved by an Emperor. Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? People believe in many gods, spirits, and life after death, therefore the beliefs around the soul also differs. A door, a low Gate, a mat, stone. But when she did it was anonymous. From nowhere of a sudden Loom sudden clouds of fault, With thunders of oppression And lightnings of revolt. Even though until this day, nobody really know exactly what a soul is, but poets had been writing about it forever.
