Author Archives: elli

Speaking the Unspoken: A Queer Reading of Sophie Jewett’s “I Speak Your Name”

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by Elli Batchelor

When scouring the list of potential poems for this assignment, I felt an instant connection to Sophie Jewett’s “I Speak Your Name” and knew I had to explore it in more detail. There is little to no scholarship about this poem, even though Sophie Jewett does have some biographical information available on the Internet as well as some other entries on the Poetry Foundation website. The lack of information about this specific poem is disappointing because I found myself absolutely captivated by it, despite its apparent simplicity. What drew me to this poem, in particular, is its queerness.

As a queer person myself, I interpreted “I Speak Your Name” as a tender account of a woman’s private love for her female friend and it evokes many personal feelings about discovering my own sexuality. It has been a rather common joke that most queer people undergo some sort of intense homoerotic friendship in their younger years, something that does not quite resemble platonic companionship or a concrete romantic relationship but a mystifying connection that exists somewhere in the middle. This poem speaks to this experience of liminality and threads a metaphorical balance between distance and closeness throughout.

The first line of the poem “I speak your name in alien ways” implies both the speaker’s familiarity with the poem’s subject, who we later learn is named Margaret, as well as introducing the idea that something about this action feels foreign to the speaker (Jewett 1). Perhaps this refers to a confession of sorts, so it’s the first time that the speaker addresses any feelings out loud and it feels alien to her, or it could be implied that the subject is now married and her name is thus literally different. The first stanza continues to carry a bittersweet tone, as Jewett refers to November smiling and crying simultaneously. She references seasons and nature quite a bit in this stanza and the next, which could be a testament to her unwavering love for her friend no matter the conditions or how much time has passed. She mentions November and autumn the most, along with accompanying imagery. While there is no real backing to this, fall has become associated with gay women in modern pop culture. There are jokes about how queer women always pick autumn as their favorite season, and there is also the massively popular song “We Fell in Love in October” by girl in red, which became a sort of mainstream gay pop culture staple in recent years and always resurfaces at that time of year. While obviously there is no substantial connection between autumn and “being gay”, it is interesting that the autumnal imagery is so consistent throughout a 19th-century poem that deals with forbidden queer yearning.

The last stanza is probably my favorite and what really sold me on this queer interpretation. It’s tinged with religious guilt and trauma, which I know a lot of queer people relate to very intimately. She asserts that because of her love, “God set / His sea between our eyes” (Jewett 10-11). She may view their distance as a punishment from God, which her desire brought about. However, she notes that she is not worried by this. She believes Margaret’s “soul’s truth” will meet her “soul’s demand”, which is “more near than hand in hand” (Jewett 12-13). Here again, we see this balance between physical and metaphorical distance and the idea that their relationship functions on a liminal plane. The last two lines are by far my favorite, as she writes, “And low to God, who listens, Margaret, / I speak your name” (Jewett 14-15). The act of speaking Margaret’s name mirrors an act of love, in the way that Jewett repeatedly calls upon it throughout the poem. The use of her real name here has a strong emotional effect since we finally get to know the name that is spoken so often. The commas offsetting it also make these words feel like a whisper uttered on a pillow before bed, like a private act that only the two of them know about. I can’t decide how exactly I want to take these two lines, however, both of my interpretations are equally devastating. She could be quietly praying to God for her lover, in the face of a society that does not accept her desire. Or perhaps she is speaking her lover’s name quietly so God will not hear, as she believes He will condemn her love. Either way, this queer desire is something that cannot exist freely, even though it appears to be reciprocated. I cannot help but see myself in this poem, as I remember moments when I too felt such intense desire mixed in with a sense of impossibility. I had to experience everything in secret, struggling to name what exactly I was feeling. This sense of complicated yearning is reflected in this poem and I foresee myself returning to this poem in the future, as both a queer person and lover of 19th-century poetry with distinctly queer undertones (thank you, Emily Dickinson). I am thankful for the introduction to a new poet!

The poem in its entirety:

I SPEAK your name in alien ways, while yet
November smiles from under lashes wet.
In the November light I see you stand
Who love the fading woods and withered land,
Where Peace may walk, and Death, but not Regret.

The year is slow to alter or forget;
June’s glow and autumn’s tenderness are met.
Across the months by this swift sunlight spanned,
I speak your name.

Because I loved your golden hair, God set
His sea between our eyes. I may not fret,
For, sure and strong, to meet my soul’s demand,
Comes your soul’s truth, more near than hand in hand;
And low to God, who listens, Margaret,
I speak your name.

 

Works Cited:

Jewett, Sophie. “I Speak Your Name.” Poetry Nook.

“We Fell in Love in October.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 26 Mar. 2024, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_Fell_in_Love_in_October.

 

The Art of Death and Dying

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by: Elli Batchelor

Death, as a process and state of being, has always been a concept that has mystified and intrigued me. As a person who has never subscribed to any organized religion, I do not have a vision of an afterlife that brings me any semblance of comfort or sort of crutch to depend on when faced with the imminency of death. Thus, I have always been deeply infatuated with different interpretations of life’s conclusion, especially of what comes after, and I tend to gravitate towards media that includes a thematic exploration of this concept.

Dickinson does not shy away from death in her poetry, which is what makes her one of my favorite poets. “I Heard a Fly Buzz – When I Died” is a forever favorite of her work and one I often dwell on despite its relative simplicity. The poem begins with the following stanza:

 

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –

The Stillness in the Room

Was like the Stillness in the Air –

Between the Heaves of Storm –

From the perspective of the person who passed, Dickinson imagines the transitional period between life and death. With so many potential directions for this concept, it is interesting that the focus is shifted to a fly, rather than something broader and more abstract. The presence of an annoying pest disturbing the solemnity of a funeral procession is both ironic and brings about a sense of mundanity, which I honestly find refreshing. Instead of focusing on the dramatics of death, it is simplistic and normalized. I have always especially liked the opening line’s juxtaposing statements, as there should be no sensation after death and the speaker’s death thus comes as a surprise. The matter-of-fact and casual tone contributes to this as well. I have always been a big proponent of normalizing death, and I am even in a class about it now, yet Dickinson does it in such an artful and effective way that leaves me in awe every time. The idea of stillness between “Heaves of Storm” also sticks with me no matter how many times I read it, since I imagine it as both the literal “calm before the storm” and the pause between labored breaths. As the speaker dies, they are no longer breathing and can only hear the fly’s buzz. I appreciate its attention to the sensory experience, so I can imagine myself taking the place of the dying person. 

The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –

And Breaths were gathering firm

For that last Onset – when the King

Be witnessed – in the Room –

I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away

What portion of me be

Assignable – and then it was

There interposed a Fly –

Here, Dickinson shifts her attention to the funeral’s visitors, who have finished grieving and are ready to depart. “The King” she references is likely God, and the funeralgoers await his presence in the room. Personally, I imagine this as the way society views dying, as an entirely solemn, dramatic process that involves the presence of a higher power or savior. Instead, a fly disrupts the peace and the speaker’s musings about their will. The fly taking the place of God in the room is just a little bit silly and is yet another tactic of de-glorifying death. I can almost feel the annoyance of the speaker, and for a poem about such a taboo topic, it feels like the perfect balance. It makes me wonder if I too will be cognizant of such things when I die and if I can be stirred by something as mundane as a pesky fly. 

With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz –

Between the light – and me –

And then the Windows failed – and then

I could not see to see –

 

This last stanza is one of my favorites. I specifically adore the line, “With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz”. It is really enjoyable to read aloud and the description finally qualifies the sound of the fly, to the point that I can picture the scene in my head. Yet, the descriptors are not typically associated with sound, which makes this especially interesting. Her signature dashes also mimic the uncertainty of the speaker and the fly, which makes the poem a sensory experience in multiple dimensions.  

 

Dickinson’s poems are instantly recognizable and I appreciate how she has truly carved out a distinct artistic voice for herself. However, what I appreciate most about this one is her ability to tackle something as widely stigmatized as death, and explore its ramifications in a beautifully casual way. As a lover of all things Gothic, I will always revisit this poem.