A proper Emily Dickinson "expert" once compared two of my poems to that of Amherst's own after some poetry gala shindig in college. I think I died that day. From joy. Not that I want to write like her, but because Emily's writing is vibrant. I would have to say that was the highlight of my life. All I am now is a lowly housewife with two young sons and a secret desire to pack up a few of my belongings and start a new life in another country. I'll never be reborn as a poet again, but I'll never exist in this lifetime as one either.
Personally, I feel that any poem written after all the Greats that came prior to 1995 (I'm stretching it, too, since I haven't found any modern poets to really steal my heart or "dazzle my magpie brains"), is solely written as a journal entry forthe writer, in verse form. It's all been said and done before.
I'm having a tremendously miserable day.