Maybe it was my own unlikeability that I hadn’t liked, and then at some point (my late thirties) that changed. Then I watched the first season of Dickinson a year ago. I love Emily Dickinson’s poems intensely and even obsessively - precisely for the exact sensation of being expected and out-maneuvered - but I always claimed to not like her very much.
There’s always the plunge there’s no anticipating her and these two statements do not contradict each other. She’s digging a trapping pit, covering over it with branches and leaves. Because I know that as much as I may think I’ve found a route connecting through a series of poems, or even into one poem, by Emily Dickinson, she’s always there ahead of me. Don’t think you’ll know anything based on this. I told myself, looking at Dickinson Season 2’s ten poems: don’t over-interpret. The show runs on Apple+, and we’re willfully reading that plus-sign as welcoming our variants. We hope you’ll join us in watching the second season and read along with us here. We are grateful to Alena Smith for sharing this season’s poems with ahead of time. We-Erica Fretwell, Emily Ogden, and Johanna Winant-wanted to write some words for each other, as friends, offering our own variations on the poems, the show, and each other’s readings. Dickinson’s creator and showrunner, Alena Smith, offered us her Emily Dickinson-funny, sexy, angry, desperate, secure, beloved, loving-and while it joined other recent adaptations of Dickinson on film, this variant also felt new. Just over one year ago (“Since then - ‘tis Centuries -and yet/Feels shorter than the Day”), the first season of Dickinson dropped. Similarly, many of us have our own variations on Emily Dickinson. But also, many poems included a little plus-sign at the end of a word, or line, or whole stanza, and at the bottom of the page, she offered another word, or line, or stanza to read in its place. These manuscripts were done there were no mistakes or corrections. When Emily Dickinson died, nearly two thousand poems were found sewn in booklets called fascicles, written out as fair copies.
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