The Genius of Emily Dickinson

Tell all the truth but tell it slant —

Success in Circuit lies

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased

With explanation kind

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind —

It's odd that, of all Emily Dickinson's poems, this one feels so clear. Dickinson is noted for poetry that is full of ambiguity, unusual meter and rhyme manipulations, and pictures that appear cryptic and occasionally out of place. It's poetry teeming with "slant truth," or poetry that puts the idea that appears to be spelled out here in *perfect* meter and *matching* rhymes into practiceIt's remarkable to me that the poem that best reflects her philosophy is one in which she abandons it. On first reading, it looks that Dickinson is so determined to make her point that she repeats it four times. First, the most direct assumption is in line 1. Tell the whole truth, but tell it indirectly, she begs. Then, in line 2, she explains it another way: Success in expressing the truth requires a roundabout, rather than a direct, trip. She describes the inadequacy of that direct approach in lines 3 and 4. The shock of straight truth is too bright for our frail and unsteady delight capacity. In other terms, it will short-circuit us. Finally, in lines 5–8, she emphasizes the idea once again by utilizing lightning as a metaphor. Finally, in lines 5–8, she emphasizes the idea once again by utilizing lightning as a metaphor. The fear of truth, she adds, must be gradual, like a parent explaining lightning to their children, rather than the lightning itself, which would blind the spectator if looked at directly. The idea is crystal evident after these four phrasings: the truth is something worth telling the world, yet it cannot be stated directly. If the writer expects to be successful, it must come from an unusual angle.

But, you know what? It can’t be that simple. Emily Dickinson is always hiding something up her sleeve.

Let us go back and read it again. ["Tell all the truth, but tell it slant --" Dickinson inserts the seed of ambiguity right away in the first line, which appears to be the most obvious. It has arrived. The word "all": does it mean "all the truth," as in "the whole truth," or "all the people," as in "tell everyone the truth?" It's a little ambiguity, but it opens up a fracture in the poem that foreshadows what's to come. "Success in Circuit lies" Things become a little wackier in the second line. The word "lie" stands out like a sore thumb in a poem on truth. The language begs us to read it as "reside or be found." Success is found through detours. However, the speaker appears to be unaware that she is also saying "Circuit lies." In effect, the phrase contains its own contradiction. "Circuit" is a key image in Dickinson's work, frequently contrasted with "Circumference," where Circuit represents life as we know it and Circumference is the outer limit of experience, the teetering, often terrifying boundary between what humans can comprehend and infinity, or Truth with a capital T. Dickinson has a highly ambiguous connection with Circumference, saying at times that it is safer to stay within one's Circuit and at other times declaring, "My business is Circumference," as she once wrote in a letter. She manages to distill that ambivalence into four words without losing any of its richness. "Too bright for our infirm delight The Truth's superb surprise" The first thing you notice is that the sentence is flipped around so that the final word can be "surprise." Dickinson claims that the truth is a surprise, one that is too bright for our delight (literally de-light), an emotion that is inherently weak and feeble. It's around this time when things start to go a little off the rails. Because if truth is a surprise, a word that originally meant an unexpected attack, a surprise too bright for us, how can anyone grasp it in the first place to repackage it in a slanted or indirect manner? The word "surprise" at the end of this phrase almost feels ominous, as if you've returned to the poem only to find "As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind "The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind --" She compares telling the truth about the slant to adults reassuring children about lightning. Except that it isn't the children who are at ease here. It's the lightning, according to this slightly perplexing grammar. Does an explanation, no matter how nice, genuinely lessen the force of the lightning? It occurs to me that children, with fragile emotions, facing a surprise onslaught from something so light it will blind them have reason to be afraid. A kind explanation can only provide a "comforting but preposterous fiction," a conclusion emphasized by the word "dazzle gradually," which sounds great with its assonance but is ultimately oxymoronic. Things can't dazzle slowly. When something dazzles, such as lightning, it does so all at once. So, where do we go from here? Somewhere between the blindness of never seeing the truth and the blindness of actually seeing it. This, I believe, was Dickinson's intention all along. She basically wrote a poem that contradicts itself. This is not as straightforward as it appears. She was fully aware that a gentle exposition of her ideology would not suffice. The theory had to *be* the poem. Dickinson's lightning is that impression of the text being destabilized from inside, fluctuating from meaning to denial of meaning. Dickinson is walking out onto the Circumference, catching a glimpse of truth in an unsteady realm where language fails. And it's stunning.