I Cannot Live With You
I Cannot Live With You
I Cannot Live With You
"I Cannot Live With You" is one of Emily Dickinson‘s great love poems, close in form to the poetic
argument of a classic Shakespearean sonnet.¹ The poem shares the logical sensibility of the metaphysical
poets whom she admired, advancing her thoughts about her lover, slowly, from the first declaration to the
inevitable devastating conclusion. However, unlike most sonnet arguments or "carpe diem" poems, this
poem seems designed to argue against love. The poem can be broken down into five parts. The first explains
why she cannot live with the object of her love, the second why she cannot die with him, the third why she
cannot rise with him, the fourth why she cannot fall with him, and the final utterance of impossibility. The
poem begins with a sense of impossibility:
Moving from the abstraction of the first four lines, the second and third stanzas enter into the domestic
metaphor of china, which is described variously as discarded, broken, quaint, and cracked, put up on the
shelf and forgotten. If life is "behind the shelf," it is completely outside the experience of the china, as is the
speaker‘s life. The power of the first line is temporarily muted, and the reader is similarly trapped inside a
haunting verse of cups and shelves, eerie in their quietness. That the china is locked away by the sexton, a
representative of the official or practical face of religiosity, seems to imply that it is not only the domestic
sphere that the speaker is trapped in, but also the binds of the church, or at least the administrative daily
function of the church, which Dickinson viewed as being quite separate from the passion behind it.
The lines themselves alternate between long and short, and the disparity between the lines becomes more
dramatic in the second and third stanzas. The delicate, halting, "cracked" lines that describe the china seem
physically overwhelmed by the lines about the housewife or sexton. Between the second and third stanzas,
the enjambment (pausing on "cup") compounded with the dash, which emphasizes the pause and line break,
allows life to be hopefully like a "cup" for the fraction of a second it takes the reader to make it to the next
line, where it is discarded "of the housewife." This line reads as both "The housewife discards the cup" and
also "the Sexton puts away the cup discarded by the housewife," as if what is not good enough for marriage
is good enough for the church. "Quaint," incidentally, is a word that Dickinson used to describe herself in
letters, when writing about her reclusiveness; "half-cracked" is a word that T. H. Higginson, her poetic
correspondent, used to describe her.
In the second part of the poem, Dickinson imagines that the alternative to living with someone is dying with
them, but that also has been denied to her:
These stanzas express not only the fact that if she cannot live with her love she is dead, but also that the
"with" is taken from her—she can die, but not with him because death is necessarily a private act. First she
argues that she must wait to "shut the Other‘s Gaze down," which might literally mean to close his eyes, but
also the word "Gaze" implies that there is something sustaining about the act of looking upon another with
love; it is that which creates life, and it must be actively shut down for death to occur. She imagines that he
would not be strong enough to do that for her. Her second argument within this section is that, upon his
death, denied the "Right of Frost," she would long for death.
In the third section of the poem, Dickinson imagines the final judgment, and how it might be overwhelmed
by her earthly love:
She is unable to see or experience paradise because she is so consumed with her vision of him—not only
does his face "put out" the face of Jesus like a candle, but he "saturated her sight" so much in life that she is
unable to "see" paradise, meaning, perhaps that he distracted her from piety. The speaker‘s experience in this
poem is deeply linked to sight, and suggests that that which cannot be seen cannot be experienced. In the
stanza beginning "They‘d judge us," there is a complete breakdown of rhyme; when she writes "I could not,"
she does not rhyme, and the faltering echoes the broken fragility of the first lines. The pairing of "sordid
excellence" is both a metaphysical touch and a characteristic Dickinson moment of transforming an
abstraction into its opposite with an oddly chosen adjective.
In the fourth section of the poem, the speaker describes why she cannot be in hell with her lover:
And were You lost, I would be –
Though My Name
Rang loudest
On the Heavenly fame –
Just as she cannot see heaven because his face obscures her view, her perspective of hell is confined to being
without him. If she were saved and he were lost, then she would be in hell without him, and if they were
both saved, but saved apart, then that would also be hell. In admirable pursuit of the conclusion of this
radical argument, which has grown ever more impossible as she chases it, she passionately refuses to believe
that there is an alternative where they are both saved together or both condemned.
The final stanza acts structurally like the final couplet of a sonnet, finishing the argument, but leaving a
question for the reader to consider:
In the line "You there – I – here" we can see a perfect example of how the poet's dashes work to hold the
words and ideas of "you" and "I" apart.
As in a sonnet, the rhyme scheme tightens up quite a bit in this final section. Dickinson internally rhymes
"are" with "ajar," half-rhymes "apart" and "ajar," "despair" with "there," "here" and "prayer," then closes up
the stanza in rhyme. It is as if she intends the final rhyme to show the perfection of her argument in the
poem's conclusion. Additionally, those four words that she rhymes quite eloquently express the problem
itself, with prayer standing in for its close synonym, hope. The intricacy of the rhyme leaves "sustenance" as
unrhymed, underscoring that "White Sustenance" does not nourish. Incidentally, early publications of the
poem replaced "white" with "pale" as if softening the conclusion that she reaches by modifying the degree of
her language; "pale sustenance" seems somehow more sustaining.
However, even as she closes the argument, it opens up a little, because in this despair she has found a kind
of sustenance, however undernourishing it is. There is something holy about this kind of despair, and
"white" seems also to be "heavenly," as if in losing her hope for the afterlife, she has found a new earthly
devotion to replace it, and then elevated it to celestial levels. This stanza is notably the first time she uses the
word "We," capitalized for emphasis, and creates a paradox where "meet apart" seems possible, or at least
more possible than any of the other alternatives she has rejected throughout the poem. She claims that the
door is just "ajar" but then compares it to oceans, making "ajar" as wide open as the earth itself, and then
linking it to prayer, or hope. In this amazingly deft bit of wordplay, Dickinson reverses everything as she‘s
saying it—the lovers are apart but meeting; the door is ajar, like an ocean; and the speaker is somehow
sustained by despair. In a final touch, she ends the poem with an elongated endstop, printed as a dash, and
whether it is meant to be "ajar" or more definitively shut is as unanswerable as the final question of the
poem.
I’m ”wife”—I’ve finished that
I'm "wife"—I've finished that—
That other state—
I'm Czar—I'm "Woman" now—
It's safer so—
Lines 1-4
It‘s safer so —
The poem ‗I‘m ―wife‖ — I‘ve finished that —‘ begins with a proclamation to the conventional society.
Dickinson‘s speaker represents all those who are courageous enough to disobey the ancient norms. These
norms subjugate women as mere subjects of their masters, husbands. They are obliged to obey the
conventions.
The speaker does not want to live as someone‘s property. So, she says that she has finished being a ―wife‖.
This ―other state‖ is part of a woman‘s life. While they are born, they have to play the part of daughters.
Then they are under their fathers‘ control.
When they reach maturity, they are married to men who then turned out to be their new masters. From that
moment, they start to enter into the state of being a wife. Later, they act the role of a mother.
So, there are a number of stages in a woman‘s life. There is one thing common in each stage that is to please
men and be respectful to the patriarchal norms. Each is filled with the essence of ―otherness‖. It deters them
to grow as they want to be.
In the last two lines, the speaker declares herself the ―Czar‖ of her own mind. As she stopped being a wife,
now she can live only with the title ―woman‖. She thinks it is safer than being someone‘s better half. As a
single woman, she can think on her own and be the ruler of her mind.
Lines 5-8
In the second stanza, Dickinson points out the intricacies of a woman‘s life. In a patriarchal society, a girl is
an odd, unequal piece. She cannot match up with the boys. Hence, they are ordered to live behind the
protection of men. This idea of deterring a girl to lead a life like a man is presented with a concrete image of
the eclipse.
According to the speaker, girls‘ lives are eclipsed by men‘s domination. No matter how talented they are,
they are denied opportunities and any kind of advancements. Society thinks if they are freed to decide their
lives on their own, they cannot be a suitable match for men. This typical idea was the foundation of previous
centuries.
An eclipse does not happen regularly. It is an odd natural event. People generally don‘t think about this
event often. Likewise, they don‘t think about women‘s suffering. That‘s why, Dickinson writes, ―I think that
Earth feels so‖. According to her, some men may take pity on their state on women‘s fate as people do to the
―folks in Heaven‖ during an eclipse.
Lines 9-12
The third stanza begins with a contrast. In the first two lines, the poet says that the state of womanhood
somehow feels more comfortable than being a wife. The ―other kind‖ is painful for a woman who wants to
lead a life on her own.
This satisfying phase of the speaker‘s life does not last long. The little freedom she has as a single woman
quickly fades away. She cannot bear the taunts of society any longer. Hence, she chooses a different partner
and remarries.
The last line can be interpreted differently. Readers can take the whole poem just as a chain of thoughts. The
speaker is still the same. She was just thinking about how she would feel as a single woman. In reality,
nothing changed.
So, she says, ―I‘m ―Wife‖! Stop there!‖. This time the poet capitalizes the first letter of ―Wife‖ for the sake
of emphasis. Besides, it seems that the speaker is rebuking her mind to think in that way firsthand.
A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash—
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
I was first
to realize
that which rises
must fall
inevitably.
Like light
like dark
like you
I was first
to know.
Obeying you
or disobeying
means the same.
I was first
to know.
I was first
to touch
the tree of knowledge
first
to bite
the red apple.
I was first,
first–
first to distinguish
between modesty
and immodesty–
by raising a wall
with a fig leaf
I changed things
totally.
I was first.
I was first
pleasure,
my body
consoled
the first sorrow.
I was first
to see
your face
of a child.
Amidst grief and joy
I was first.
I first
knew
sorrow and pleasure,
good and evil,
made life
so uncommon.
I was first
to break
the golden shackles
of luxurious
pleasure.
I was never
a puppet
to dance
to your tune
like
meek Adam.
I was
rebellion
first
on your earth.
Listen, love,
yes, my slave,
I was the first
rebel–
banished from paradise,
exiled.
I learned
that human life
was greater
than paradise.
I was first
to know.
If you‟re even the slightest bit acquainted with modern Bengali poetry (and by
modern, I mean post-Independence), chances are, you‟ve heard of Kabita Sinha.
Born on 16th October, 1931 in Kolkata, Kabita Sinha was the daughter of Shailendra
Sinha and Annapurna Sinha. She was an avid reader, having spent most of her
childhood in her mother‟s paternal home, Andul, owing to its great library. As a
result, she started writing when she was very young.
She studied Botany at Presidency College, Kolkata (then Calcutta), but was unable to
complete her graduation there after marrying Bimal Roy Choudhury, who was an
author and editor himself, going against her family to do so. If that doesn‟t show you
that she was a rebel, the fact that she was involved in dissidence movements of the
1950s might. She was also a supporter of the liberation of Bangladesh. (unverified)
Sinha resumed her studies at Asutosh College, years later, and graduated with
distinction. She taught for a while before holding the position of assistant editor in
the state government of Bengal. She joined the All India Radio in 1965, and
eventually became the station director at Darbhanga in Bihar. From 1966 to 1967,
she co-edited the poetry magazine, Dainik Kabita, with her husband.
Her poems are often called modernist as they touch upon the ontological questions
of life. While this is true, a very obvious and apparent feminist aspect to her works
cannot be ignored.
I was first
to realize
that which rises
must fall
inevitably.
Like light
like dark
like you
I was first
to know.
Obeying you
or disobeying
means the same.
I was first
to know.
- Kabita Sinha, Ishwarke Eve (Eve Speaks to God), translated by Pritish Nandy.
The biblical character of Eve has been interpreted in many different ways
throughout history. In a piece titled „When the Silent Women Finally Spoke‟, Javaria
Nousheen speaks of how Eve has been held responsible for the fall of mankind, and
for persuading Adam to do the same. She points out that even in Milton‟s Paradise
Lost, Eve is shown as “a temptress and a vain woman” whose chief error is her
curiosity.
Kabita Sinha, in Ishwarke Eve, chose to create an Eve who was defiant, and one who
did not bow down to the whims of God. She created her own destiny, breaking free
from what she believed to be akin to prison, and bore the consequences of her
actions without complaint. Her depiction of Eve was fresh and made her a character
one to be looked up to instead of deigned. Nikhat Hoque, freelance writer at
Feminism in India, and Social Media Manager of British Bangladeshi Poetry
Collective, put it best when she said that Sinha‟s Eve goes “against the grain of what
has already been said about her.”
“When I first started reading it, I wondered what she (Sinha) meant when she said „I
was first‟,” Hoque said of Ishwarke Eve. “Because Adam came before Eve, and he
had someone (a partner) even before Eve, I believe. But as the poem goes on, we get
a grasp of what she means by „first‟. She means that Eve was the first to think.”
I was first
to touch
the tree of knowledge
first
to bite
the red apple.
I was first,
first–
first to distinguish
between modesty
and immodesty–
by raising a wall
with a fig leaf
I changed things
totally.
Kabita Sinha may not have been the first poet or writer in Bengali, but she holds the
distinction of being the first author to write about the issues of Bengali women stuck
in the traditional housebound role. She was perhaps the first poet in Bengali
literature to embrace feminism within her writing.
She created the path that poets like Taslima Nasreen and Mallika Sengupta would
walk on in the future, emboldened by the knowledge that Kabita Sinha had trodden
the same path before. Known mainly for her poems, she was also a novelist, radio
director, editor, and all-in-all path-breaker.
I was first.
I was first
pleasure,
my body
consoled
the first sorrow.
I was first
to see
your face
of a child.
Amidst grief and joy
I was first.
I first
knew
sorrow and pleasure,
good and evil,
made life
so uncommon.
Her novel Charjon Ragi Juboti (Four Angry Women) was published in 1956, and she
followed it with Ekti Kharap Meyer Golpo (The Story of a Bad Woman) in 1958 and
Nayika Pratinayika (Heroine, Anti-Heroine) in 1960. Her first book of poetry, titled
Sahoj Sundari (Natural Beauty) was released in 1965. Her next anthology was titled
Kabita Parameshwari (Poetry is the Supreme Being), and it is perhaps her most
well-known and appreciated collection of poetry, having poems like Ishwarke Eve
and Deho (Body). Among her other poetry compilations are Harina Bairi (Enemy
Deer, 1985), and her Shreshta Kabita (Selected Poems), published in 1987.
Sinha passed away on 17 October, 1998 in Boston, USA. According to Siuli Sarkar‟s
„Gender Disparity in India: Unheard Whimpers‟, “the first feminist poet of Bengali
Literature died unrecognized, „banished from paradise, exiled.”
I was first
to break
the golden shackles
of luxurious
pleasure.
I was never
a puppet
to dance
to your tune
like
meek Adam.
Kabita Sinha‟s 1984 novel, Paurush (translated into English as The Third Sex)
explores the issues that two marginalized women encounter; one is a widow, while
the other is a eunuch, or „Hijra‟.
The widow, Sarala, is forced to work at her husband‟s workplace, leaving behind her
role as a housebound wife to earn a living and support her in-laws. She has to endure
words of abuse both from her work-colleagues, and her in-laws, despite being the
one who supports them. She feels like she no longer belongs anywhere, all but
disowned by her own brother.
Nikhat Hoque spoke about the parallels between this novel‟s Sarala and the
protagonist from Tagore‟s Chokher Baali, Binodini, who are both widows. “In her
(Sinha‟s) text there is no „other man‟. There is no saviour that comes in to take her
away, whereas, in Chokher Baali, there are two of them. Sinha chooses to focus on
the individuality of the woman (Sarala).”
Sinha sprinkles in troubles that working women endure; sexual harassment and
discrimination. The rest of Sarala‟s story shows how she overcomes hardships, earns
self-respect, and becomes self-reliant, leaving her old life behind.
The transwoman, Sakhisona, rejects the traditional jobs that are assumed of the
trans community in India, prostitution, or „entertainment‟. She buys a sugarcane
juice-producing machine and dreams of building a life with Lakshman, who helped
her through all this. She is pulled out of her fantasy after learning that Lakshman is
in a relationship with someone else. She realizes that there is little space for her in a
society which rejects anyone that doesn‟t fit into their box of heteronormativity. She
returns to the Hijra community, determined to bring others within the community
into the mainstream and gain acceptance.
Both these women are trying to survive on the lowest rungs of a male-dominated
society. The problems they face may be different, but symptomatic of patriarchy.
Sinha, herself in a profession dominated by men, understood this, and her treatment
of the protagonists in her story is indicative of the same.
I was
rebellion
first
on your earth.
There are unconfirmed online accounts of Kabita Sinha having used an alias, i.e.
Sultana Chowdhury. Hoque, however, believes that this isn‟t entirely impossible. “I
haven‟t found any credible sources that back this, but it makes sense that she would
write under a pseudonym. She was someone who left her family and married against
their will. In the Bengali context, this would be very problematic and people would
not be encouraged to read her writing,” she says, adding that this could be another
reason, apart from the subject matter of her works that she isn‟t as widely read today
as she should be.
Kabita Sinha, along with her contemporaries in other languages, Amrita Pritam, and
Kamala Das, tried to write women as women would; distinct entities with minds and
bodies of their own, often trapped by what society deems good enough. Kabita Sinha
was very much like her protagonist in Ishwarke Eve; misunderstood by men, ahead
of her time, and supremely intelligent. She read between the lines, understood the
place that women were forced to occupy in society and then chose to fight it, the only
way she could; with her words. And she was the first to do so.
Listen, love,
yes, my slave,
I was the first
rebel–
banished from paradise,
exiled.
I learned
that human life
was greater
than paradise.
I was first
to know.