The Curious Life of Emily Dickinson

I wrote this for Texas History Day. Unfortunately, I never made it. Hope you enjoy it!

 

Characters:

Emily Dickinson        Costume: Nightgown and white slippers

         

Emily: (Holding paper with poem on it) Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all. I wrote this for a newspaper. When I saw what they had done to it, I was so angry! They completely destroyed the poem. Thank goodness I did not sign my name. I would have been terribly embarrassed. Why must these people ruin my poems? I just wish they would leave them alone. What did I do to them?

(Shies away)

(Looking around) In the four corners of my room, I feel safe.  At the brink of interaction, I shut down. My family does not understand. When company visits, I scarcely leave my room. I’ll send my regards in tiny notes, but I end it there. I’m just shy.

(Sighs) My dear family and their religion. They do hope for me to join the church. I would, if I didn’t feel so uneasy. My family has pushed so hard on me to join the church. I just wished they realized that I don’t want to.  (Laughs quietly) But they’re too stubborn to even try suggesting quitting.

 (Emily coughs)

How much I disgust this sickness! This sickness is eating away at my being, leaving only an empty shell of who I am. My dearest friends and family, my “estate”, have been lost to sickness throughout my life. Each time I lose someone, a piece of my heart is taken with them. As if my heart were a burning fire, and my friends and family were the supporting ashes that floated away with the wind.

 (Picks up a couple letters from desk)

I guess Vinnie went and got my letters. She knows that I love getting them. It’s my way of staying intact with my “estate”… and the world. One of my fears is that something will happen to my friends and family and I won’t get anymore letters. It’s a silly fear, I know. But I just can’t help it.

(Flips through letters)

-Gasp- He wrote me! He wrote me back! (Tears open letter) “Dear, Emily... (Mumbles) Master… Oh, Master I wish we could meet again. I’ve missed you so much. (Look at the audience) My Master is so dear to me. He knows me so much better than anyone! He make me feel special…loved. I just can’t describe it in words.

My poems and writings are also important to me. They let me open my soul and pour my entire self out. (Smile) I smile and grin when I think about them. But I would never have them published. The few that have been published have ended in disaster. No one will let my work be the way that it’s intended to be. It’s sad and I so hate it. Susan, of course, encourages me to (in a mimicking voice) do my best, never give up, and to keep on trying. It’s the same routine every time. When I get the nerve to publish a piece, it is automatically shattered by editors and critics. Although there is that one unbelievable moment where I did publish a poem and people actually thought that it was Ralph Waldo Emerson writing it. Vinnie was so happy and elated that I just had to smile and join in her celebration. But I pray that when I die, my poems will only be read by family and friends. I hope that eager critics and editors will not lay one hand on them after my death.

(Casually walks around)

My woes, there are so many. So many that I cannot keep count. It’s pitiful in some ways. But there are some outcomes in life that surprise me. When I see the smiles of children, I simply give in and love them with all my heart. My “estate” also fills me with joy. My poems give me happiness. And simply being alive is great bliss.

 

Reviews

[Emily B]

I was curious at the timtle. And so I came. Once in a while a piece like this pops up paying homage to that other dear Emily. Mostly the writers of those pieces miss the mark. They can't put their finger on that indefinable spirit that makes her such a poetic genius. Not just in her time, but in ours as well. I wonder if you've read "The Belle of Amherst" by Stephen Luce. Your work is a little reminiscent of his stage play.

I feel a deep kinship with Miss Emily. I even co-authored a little, imaginative piece that peeks in on a hypothetical meeting between her and Walt Whitman. It's called "Gracious Conversations." I enjoyed your work very much. :)

[Elvina CZq]

This is very interesting. I'm not really into screenplay reading, but this one just somehow caught my attention to it. Still, there's one thing though. Maybe it's just me, but it would better if you put up some space in that text. It makes it quite difficult to read when everything is 'jammed' into single space. Overall, I still enjoy it :)