There is a word
Which bears a sword
Can pierce an armed man.
It hurls its barbed syllables,—
At once is mute again.
But where it fell
The saved will tell
On patriotic day,
Some epauletted brother
Gave his breath away.~Emily dickinson
Wherever runs the breathless sun,
Wherever roams the day,
There is its noiseless onset,
There is its victory!
Behold the keenest marksman!
The most accomplished shot!
Time’s sublimest target
Is a soul “forgot”!
I like the way this poem is a riddle that contains its own answer–it reminds me a little of the Old English riddle poems. Dickinson’s subject is a weighty one–the forgetting of souls. Some of Dickinson’s poems express a fear that the poet will slip into obscurity, but this one feels different–she’s being more philosophical here, I think. The forgotten soul is time’s target, ironically, in that time does not remember it. It’s a strange elision.
Whether she’s talking about herself or souls in general, though, there’s also a poignancy to this poem. The image of the wounded soldier forgotten on the battlefield clinches this, but it’s something many (most? all?) of us think about–who will remember us when we are gone? Will anyone? Does what we do now matter?
The Emily Project 