The Hexadecimal Emily

[ed. note: some of the images of Emily Dickinson’s original writings have been digitally enhanced to bring out the faded text.

We have great respect for Emily Dickinson and the scholars who study her words, her life, and her times. But we also realize that Ríe Para No Llorar. Ridemus ne fleamus. We laugh so we don’t cry.]

One of the challenges for academics is establishing a cataloging system for Emily Dickinson‘s poems. She did not give her poems titles (except for a few exceptions); she just let the words speak for themselves.

The most common cataloging system was established by Thomas H. Johnson.

Thomas Herbert Johnson (April 27, 1902 – January 3, 1985) was an American scholar, teacher, editor, and bibliographer who specialized in American literature.

Wikipedia

Johnson, who went on to become one of the definitive scholars of Emily Dickinson, and had interesting beginning to his academic career:

Early life
During his first semester as a freshman at Dartmouth College, Johnson failed three of his five courses. Given a second chance, he then took ten courses during the 1920–21 academic year, earning four C’s, three D’s, and three E’s. He then wrote to President Ernest Martin Hopkins requesting another chance. Hopkins responded that, while finding Johnson’s letter compelling, he would not deviate from the school’s policy. Johnson wrote to Hopkins, “My greatest, my earliest ambition has been swept away from me because of my own carelessness… only I am to blame.” Johnson began teaching at a rural school in Readsboro, Vermont at age 19.

In late 1922, with the help of President Hopkins, Johnson entered Williams College as a freshman. His academic record remained undistinguished until his senior year. By the time Johnson graduated from Williams in 1926, he had been elected to the Gargoyle honors society and served as the president of the college’s theatrical group, Cap and Bells.

Wikipedia

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Anyhow….

Let’s do a binary tribute to Emily.

I recall a fellow engineering student complaining angrily, bitterly, and with gusto that he had to take an English class. The fact that it was a technical writing class did not mitigate his ire.

So let’s make this easy for the techno Emily-a-phobes. We will present a series of Emily’s poems, selecting the ones numbered by the power of two, with the Johnson catalog system converted to hexadecimal. We’ll include pictures to enhance the engineers’ attention span.

Here’s the table in the form we want:

Johnson	Hex	First line
J1	0x001	“Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine”
J2	0x002	“There is another sky”
J4	0x004	“On this wondrous sea”
J8	0x008	“There is a word”
J16	0x010	“I would distil a cup”
J32	0x020	“When Roses cease to bloom, Sir”
J64	0x040	“Some Rainbow — coming from the Fair!”
J128	0x080	“Bring me the sunset in a cup”
J256	0x100	“If I’m lost—now”
J512	0x200	“The Soul has Bandaged moments”
J1024	0x400	“So large my Will”

J0x001  Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine
J0x002  There is another sky
J0x004  On this wondrous sea
J0x008  There is a word
J0x010  I would distil a cup
J0x020  When Roses cease to bloom, Sir
J0x040  Some Rainbow — coming from the Fair!
J0x080  Bring me the sunset in a cup
J0x100  If I'm lost—now
J0x200  The Soul has Bandaged moments
J0x400  So large my Will

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J0x001 Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine

While reading our first entry, we were overcome with a sense of divine guidance. From a conversation with Elder G:

WLBOTT: G, check out the first two lines of J0x1001, and tell me if you notice anything interesting.

Elder G: Yes! The first two lines of J1 are:

“Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!”

TWINE. Elder JZ, we have selected Dickinson’s very first Johnson-numbered poem using an absurd powers-of-two computer algorithm, and line two contains twine.

Even better, Dickinson doesn’t merely mention twine. She commands the Nine Muses to unwind the solemn twine.

That is perilously close to a WLBOTT mission statement.

WLBOTT: G, this is a sign from God, no?

Elder G: Elder JZ, I believe the scholarly terminology is “suspiciously convenient textual evidence.”

Consider the chain of events. We choose Johnson rather than Franklin. Then we invent a completely arbitrary selection rule based on powers of two. Then we convert those numbers to hexadecimal, because apparently Dickinson studies needed more CPU architecture. And the very first poem produced by our algorithm says:

“Unwind the solemn twine…”

At this point, Elder G created a nice, non-hand-of-God image to temper our divine fervor:

Upon reflection of Elder G‘s remarks, we concluded that Emily was sending a coded message to WLBOTT across time and space. This makes sense, because in the past, the only time I’ve received epiphanies has been from The Angry Fist of God, with an unambiguous message: Cut It Out.

This is probably closer to Emily’s intent:

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Anyhow, Back to the Poem

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!

Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.
The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,
No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.
The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,

Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown.
Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?
There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,<br>And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower
And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum
And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!

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J0x002 “There is another sky”

The original manuscript of “There is another sky” is not a standalone poetry sheet, but rather the closing lines of an October 17, 1851, letter sent to her brother, Austin Dickinson.

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields—
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

In reading Emily’s poem J2: “There is another sky”, we note that Emily mentions Austin. Austin is the World Headquarters for WLBOTT. Yet another coincidence? I think not!

Elder G brings us back to what we consider “reality”:

Elder G: I regret to inform you that the evidence is becoming difficult for the WLBOTT Department of Responsible Skepticism to contain.

In J2, “There is another sky,” Dickinson writes near the end:

“Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!”

And the poem is indeed associated with Austin Dickinson, Emily’s older brother, to whom she sent it.

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Bonus Content: J0x003 Sic transit gloria mundi

“Sic transit gloria mundi” is a Latin phrase that means “thus passes the glory of the world”.

Sic transit gloria mundi is a Latin phrase that means “thus passes the glory of the world”. In idiomatic contexts, the phrase has been used to mean “fame is fleeting”.

The phrase was used in the ritual of papal coronation ceremonies between 1409 (when it was used at the coronation of Alexander V) and 1963. As the newly chosen Pope proceeded from the sacristy of St. Peter’s Basilica in his sedia gestatoria, the procession stopped three times. On each occasion, a papal master of ceremonies would fall to his knees before the Pope, holding a silver or brass reed, bearing a tow of smoldering flax. For three times in succession, as the cloth burned away, he would say in a loud and mournful voice, “Pater Sancte, sic transit gloria mundi!” (“Holy Father, so passes worldly glory!”). These words, thus addressed to the Pope, served as a reminder of the transitory nature of life and earthly honours.

Wikipedia

"Sic transit gloria mundi,"
 "How doth the busy bee,"
"Dum vivimus vivamus,"
 I stay mine enemy!

Oh "veni, vidi, vici!"
 Oh caput cap-a-pie!
And oh "memento mori"
 When I am far from thee!

Hurrah for Peter Parley!
 Hurrah for Daniel Boone!
Three cheers, sir, for the gentleman
 Who first observed the moon!

Peter, put up the sunshine;
 Patti, arrange the stars;
Tell Luna, tea is waiting,
 And call your brother Mars!

Put down the apple, Adam,
 And come away with me,
So shalt thou have a pippin
 From off my father's tree!

I climb the "Hill of Science,"
 I "view the landscape o'er;"
Such transcendental prospect,
 I ne'er beheld before!

Unto the Legislature
 My country bids me go;
I'll take my india rubbers,
 In case the wind should blow!

During my education,
 It was announced to me
That gravitation, stumbling,
 Fell from an apple tree!

The earth upon an axis
 Was once supposed to turn,
By way of a gymnastic
 In honor of the sun!

It was the brave Columbus,
 A sailing o'er the tide,
Who notified the nations
 Of where I would reside!

Mortality is fatal—
 Gentility is fine,
Rascality, heroic,
 Insolvency, sublime!

Our Fathers being weary,
 Laid down on Bunker Hill;
And tho' full many a morning,
 Yet they are sleeping still,—

The trumpet, sir, shall wake them,
 In dreams I see them rise,
Each with a solemn musket
 A marching to the skies!

A coward will remain, Sir,
 Until the fight is done;
But an immortal hero
 Will take his hat, and run!

Good bye, Sir, I am going;
 My country calleth me;
Allow me, Sir, at parting,
 To wipe my weeping e'e.

In token of our friendship
 Accept this "Bonnie Doon,"
And when the hand that plucked it
 Hath passed beyond the moon,

The memory of my ashes
 Will consolation be;
Then, farewell, Tuscarora,
 And farewell, Sir, to thee!

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J0x004 “On this wondrous sea”

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J0x008 “There is a word”

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J0x010 I would distil a cup

I would distill a cup,
And bear to all my friends,
Drinking to her no more astir,
By beck, or burn, or moor!

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J0x020 When Roses cease to bloom, Sir

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J0x040 Some Rainbow — coming from the Fair!

The Robins stand as thick today
As flakes of snow stood yesterday—
On fence—and Roof—and Twig!
The Orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover - Don the Sun!
Revisiting the Bog!

Without Commander! Countless! Still!
The Regiments of Wood and Hill
In bright detachment stand!
Behold! Whose Multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas—
Or what Circassian Land?

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J0x080 Bring me the sunset in a cup

Also, who laid the Rainbow's piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite —
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?

Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who'll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away,
Passing Pomposity?

My mom used to use blue-lined stationary like this to write letters.

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J0x100 If I’m lost—now

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J0x200 The Soul has Bandaged moments

The soul has moments of escape -
When bursting all the doors -
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings opon the Hours,

As do the Bee - delirious borne -
Long Dungeoned from his Rose -
Touch Liberty - then know no more -
But Noon, and Paradise

The Soul's retaken moments -
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the song,

The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue -

I noticed the marking at the top left and thought it was “25-11”, and wondered if this was a “dd/mm” marking by Emily. But it turns out:

• the mm/dd/yyyy format was pretty well established in America by the time of Emily’s life
• the notation was actually “85-11”, not “25-11”

I can picture some grad student getting a big pile of papers from someone’s estate, and they are assigned to catalog them, not knowing how important they would become in the future.

As Elder G explains:

Older librarians and manuscript curators routinely did things directly on documents that would make a modern conservator reach for the smelling salts: accession numbers in pencil, ownership stamps, library marks, labels, repairs with materials we’d now avoid, and sometimes even annotations. The guiding philosophy was often identification, organization, and scholarly access, rather than preserving every artifact in an untouched state.

And Dickinson’s archive had an unusually complicated history. After her death in 1886, her poems weren’t discovered as a tidy author’s archive labeled THE COMPLETE WORKS OF EMILY DICKINSON: PLEASE HANDLE WITH COTTON GLOVES. There were fascicles, loose sheets, letters, drafts, scraps and multiple versions. Her sister Lavinia found the enormous cache of poems, and the subsequent editorial history involved Mabel Loomis Todd, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Susan Dickinson, Martha Dickinson Bianchi and others. Eventually the manuscripts became divided principally between Amherst and Harvard.

In retrospect, we should have held an emergency session of the ASCII Executive Committee early in the process.

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J0x400 So large my Will

A perhaps playful poem to bring us to 2¹⁰.