I believe that a life spent without passion - any passion - is not worth living. People around me don't have to understand or share my passion, just like I don't have to understand or share theirs. But as long as there is Passion and everything revolves around it - just like the Sun - it ends up brightening Humanity.
I am also someone who dives deeply into what I get passionate about. I go all in, sometimes to the point of mental and physical exhaustion. I have been spending hours every night reading and researching Dickinson lately. I forget to sleep and barely take the time to eat - I feed on her poems and letters instead.
Recently, after noticing this sudden interest in America's greatest poet, someone asked me:
What did you learn from Emily Dickinson?
I paused for a second - and the only answer that came to mind was:
It's like there's a magical door that opens up onto this ethereal World - but for which only a few people hold the key.
What I meant was that I could not explain and find the words to make this person understand what it is like to enter Emily Dickinson's world and to start such an intimate journey with her. It is an extremely personal, powerful, deep, intense, idiosyncratic answer that only people who walk on a similar path can truly hear and understand.
I wanted to share everything I wrote above for a specific reason. Recently, I had a conversation with a fellow Dickinson fan on Twitter. The story she shared with me was about how Emily Dickinson impacted her own life and what she learned from the poet. This story was so moving, uplifting and heart-warming that it will forever be on my mind.
It is a private story and I don't need to share more details to illustrate what I want to emphasize: this person shares the same passion I have about Dickinson, we both feel and understand so much more than the apparent meaning of words arranged in stanzas - we both hold the key to Emily Dickinson's World.
After our conversation, my Twitter friend wrote a poem about the impact Emily Dickinson can have on one's Life. When I read it, I felt like she was able to put words on the emotions I had been feeling since I discovered Dickinson. I found myself connecting so much with her writing that I also found it hard to breathe at times.
Still, the most beautiful part of it is that she wrote it in Portuguese first since she is Brazilian, and translated her original poem into English after that. It amazes me to see that we are two non-native English speakers deeply connecting through the power of words and our mutual passion for Dickinson - a Brazilian poet writing in English to a French recipient.
Below is the English translation of "I used to say your name", followed with the original, Portuguese version. The second stanza blew my mind, as she uses a similar analogy of holding a key to Dickinson's World. This is also the first poem someone ever wrote for me - which makes it even more special...
*********
I used to say your name,
with a twinkle in my eye,
before even listening
to your single melody
of mythological epigraph
but unique frequency,
only known by whom
have the window key
where she lands every day
to tell you a different secret
heard by her in the forest
where she flys without fear.
but she lives on the sea,
where no one can ever reach
and those who came close,
were drowned by the waves,
for only the shipwrecked soul
can see the glowing arc
of her silver flame
that surrounds the mind
and light up your existence
by every millisecond,
like the beam of a lighthouse
following you on the boat,
whatever be light or dark,
by any time and any space,
the white sentry bird
will not let you escape.
her wings have scars
and surface thorns,
acquired at the harvest
of her perennial roses,
intact in history –
by timeless dreams,
dreamed by the poetess
of cardinal virtues.
reverent protagonism to those who get her signal and open their own windows to hear a song that's immortal.
*****
Já dizia seu santo nome,
com certo brilho no olhar,
antes mesmo de ouvir
o seu canto singular
de epigrafe mitológica
mas frequência singela,
conhecida só por quem
possui a chave da janela
em que pousa todo dia
para contar um segredo
que ouviu la na floresta
aonde voa sem medo.
Mas sua casa é no mar,
onde ninguém já alcançou
e os que perto chegaram,
a tempestade os afundou,
pois só a alma naufragada
enxerga o arco incandescente
de sua chama prateada
que circunda pela mente
e ilumina tua existência
a cada milésimo de segundo,
como o feixe de um farol
a te seguir pelo mundo,
esteja claro, esteja escuro,
por todo e qualquer lugar,
a ave branca de sentinela
não te deixará escapar.
Suas asas tem cicatrizes
e espinhos superficiais,
adquiridos na colheita
de suas rosas perenais,
intactas na história –
sonhos atemporais,
sonhados pela poetisa
de virtudes cardinais.
Protagonismo reverente
àqueles que ouvem o sinal
e abrem suas janelas
para o seu canto imortal.
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