Last week I craned over glass cases at the Drawing Center on Wooster Street, examining the pencil script of Emily Dickinson creeping across scraps of envelopes, telegrams, and other bits of paper. I had never seen her handwriting before. I almost felt as if I were peering into the poet’s face, scanning her pores, and a few times averted my eyes in respect and some confusion. Did I have the right? What would she think of having her spontaneous drafts exposed for examination? The exhibit is closed now but I keep adding to it in my mind as I sit with the collected poems at night, re-reading, discovering.
Here is a link to exhibit specimens: http://www.drawingcenter.org/en/drawingcenter/5/exhibitions/6/current/501/dickinson-walser/
Here are two lines walking with me everywhere:
Then Sunrise kissed my Chrysalis–
And I stood up–and lived–
Emily Dickinson (#598, 1862)