Under the Microscope- There’s a certain Slant of light
It is a strange thing to feel the weight of something that has none.
Emily Dickinson plays with this contradiction in “There’s a certain Slant of light”.
“There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons –
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes –
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are –
None may teach it — Any –
’Tis the Seal Despair –
Get Emma Brown’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air –
When it comes, the Landscape listens –
Shadows — hold their breath –
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death –”
In the first stanza, she talks about a heavy slant of light that seeps into her room on a winter afternoon. Referencing winter implies that this light is cold and barren; it is not warm, and it holds nothing. In the following line, she says it is as heavy as cathedral tunes. This shifts the focus onto something divine; this feeling is both oppressive and godly.
She confirms this in the next stanza by calling it “Heavenly Hurt”; this pain is scarless, but make no mistake, it was sent from the heavens. Its mark is internal — it leaves fractures on our souls, not meant to harm but to confuse us: “Internal difference, Where the Meanings, are — “
This is not something that can be taught or learned — it is an ancient right of the divine to leave a mark of despair like this. This mark is a punishment, an order sent from an emperor; an order that was “Sent us of the Air — “
In her final stanza, Dickinson describes this slant, this oppression, this confusion, as a force so piercing that the landscape falls quiet. The world around her turns so silent that even hidden shadows hold their breath. Relief does not come when the feeling leaves — the punished are left feeling as distant and empty as the eyes of a corpse.
The poem’s meaning and entanglement with divine punishment are chilling on their own, but Dickinson is known for her use of em dashes and capitalization, both of which feature heavily in this piece. Em dashes are frequently used in poetry to create friction, to upheave a thought before it comes to realization, and to suspend the reader. I think Dickinson intends all of these; however, I think she has another motive in her punctuation. With divine inspiration woven into this work, the em dashes not only work to stop a thought before it finishes, but also imply that words cannot express this feeling — that this oppression is something so unique, so ethereal, that manmade words cannot accurately describe the weight that is binding her.
Dickinson does something similar with capitalization. While she is known for this technique, I think it resembles something deeper than mere importance here. She capitalizes words like Slant, Air, Distance, and Heft. Rather than simply placing significance on these words, she places divinity on them. Air, meaning something coming from the heavens; Heft, the heavy weight that comes out in cathedrals; Distance, the empty look on a corpse. Finally, Slant, the only thing that changes this string of light into something cold, something punishing. It is also important to note that while she highlights the word Slant, she does not highlight the word light. This is interesting because light in poetry and creative works typically symbolizes God. However, she does not find God in the light; she finds it in the slant. She finds God, or lack thereof, in the twistedness and corruptness of nature.
Perhaps that is what makes Dickinson’s poem so unsettling. We spend so much of our lives trying to give names to things we cannot understand, to interpret things that refuse interpretation. Yet Dickinson suggests that some experiences cannot be translated into language. They can only be felt: the inexplicable weight of something that leaves a hollow in its wake.
