Amherst, Brave Amherst

THE LIFE AND MIND OF EMILY DICKINSON--Genevieve Taggard--Knopf ($4). Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, foremost woman poet of her country, wrote thousands of poems, never published one during her lifetime. Since her death (1886) her poetry and the secrets of her spinster life have gradually been coming to light.

When her family allowed some of her poetry and letters (carefully edited) to be printed, rumor grew that Emily had had an unhappy love affair, but who the man was nobody knew for certain. Biographer Genevieve Taggard says she has discovered him, has sworn statements to prove it. Says she: his name was George Gould, a lanky Amherst undergraduate (he was 6 ft. 8 in.), later an eloquent divine of Worcester, Mass. Emily loved him, would not marry him against her father's wishes. After twelve years he took a wife; Emily died a virgin at 55.

Emily's father was Amherst's leading citizen. A puritanical lawyer who "never played," never kissed his children goodnight, never gave them any sign of affection, would leave the table if Emily talked too much or too well, he once startled Amherst by ringing the firebell because he wanted the citizenry to observe a beautiful sunset. Emily's brother left home but Emily and her sister Lavinia were life-long sacrifices on the altar of filial piety. For years Emily never went outside the garden gate, but all the time she wrote poems secretly, lived intensely her seismographic life. She was small, with dark reddish hair, eyes the color of brown sherry; not pretty, excessively shy.

When Emily's father died, she had grown into the habit of being a recluse. Hypersensitive about venturing into the unreal daily world, she finally would not address her many letters, had her sister do it for her, or else pasted printed addresses on the envelopes. Though she seemed to live in a vacuum, says Biographer Taggard: "We think it now the busiest spot in the 19th Century!"

No humorless, cranky old maid was Emily Dickinson. Hers was feminine intelligence at its keenest, and many a masculine ponderosity drew her inner smile. Said she: "I believe the love of God may be taught not to seem like bears." Unable to discover the Devil, she concluded: "He must be making war on some other nation." Her definition of poetry is famed among present-day poets: "If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire ever can warm me I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head was taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?"

Author Genevieve Taggard, herself no mean poet, spent ten years getting the material for this book. Born in Waitsburg, Wash., she was educated at the University of California, was one of the founder-editors of The Measure: A Journal of Verse (1920-26). Biographer Taggard teaches English Literature at Mount Holyoke College. Other books: Words for the Chisel, Travelling Standing Still.

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