"Better Than a Million Words": Avian Symbology in the Poems of Emily Dickinson
By Hannah Arnold
Birds have long been cherished and admired by humankind. They inspire artists, captivate scientists, and amuse all. Their freedom to fly might stir some primitive desire held by every earthbound creature. Whatever the reason for their allure, countless artists and writers have chosen to use them allegorically in their work; birds are symbols withwhich they can convey impactful truths. Emily Dickinson, one of the most highly esteemed American poets of the nineteenth century, had a special fondness for birds in this way; the feathered creatures are at the heart of over two hundred of her poems (Schuman and Hodgman xvi).
Dickinson maintained a lifelong love of birds and often expressed concern for their wellbeing. Her body of work is consequently touched by these tender feelings. In her poems, birds function as dynamic symbols; they act as conduits through which two expanding scopes of truth are revealed. The first functions on a personal level, entailing analysis of Dickinson’s kinship with birds and its implications for her dualistic self-identity. The second level of truth is of the broadest kind and involves birds acting as a breed of prophet, messengers whose songs convey philosophical truths about Dickinson’s idea of “circumference” and the relationship between creator and created.
Before analysis avian symbology is possible, the importance of birds to Emily Dickinson must be more fully understood. Schuman and Hodgman’s introduction to their book, A Spicing of Birds, is a concise and excellently crafted glimpse into the poet’s relationship with birds and, in turn, their influence on her poetry. They aptly describe Dickinson as an “intimate of birds”: a person who keenly understands and appreciates the animals. This closeness likely came as a natural result of Dickinson’s life on her father’s fourteen-acre farm, a pastoral paradise that doubtless housed a variety of birds (Schuman and Hodgman xiv).
Despite the lack of a widely accessible field guide, Dickinson identifies and distinctly characterizes twenty-six species of birds in her poems (and likely knew more), proving her knowledge to exceed that of many people today (xiii). She also knew their behaviors, migration patterns, and preferred habitats (xvi). Alongside Dickinson’s vast scientific knowledge of birds existed a deep emotional attachment. Birdsong struck a chord with her, and she held it in high esteem, writing, “One note from one Bird / Is better than a million words / A scabbard holds (has-needs) but one sword” (qtd. in Schuman and Hodgman xviii). The foundational point of this introduction is that “birds were an inseparable part of Dickinson’s world” (xxii), and echoes of their songs are found woven all throughout her poetry.
Evidently, the significance of birds to Emily Dickinson’s life and work is not to be overlooked or understated—especially considering the proliferation of bird symbolism in her poems. Dickinson entrusts expression of her complex personal identity to her feathered friends, ironically opting to use animals to profess her humanity to her audience. She uses birds to embody her search for harmony between contradictory facets of her identity—that of both an empirical naturalist and a poetic lyricist. In his 2019 article “Dickinson’s Lyric Ornithology”, professor Jefferey Simons explains how Dickinson manages to successfully synthesize a naturalist’s empirical sense of observation with a poet’s sense of humanity (1). She accomplishes this through what he calls her distinct “lyric ornithology”; she does not allow her birds to become completely anthropomorphized nor does she allow them to remain a species wholly separate from our own (2). Simons argues that Dickinson takes a three-step approach in her lyric ornithology; first, she gives a literal description which includes scientific details like taxonomy and observations of song, flight, nesting, and migration patterns. Second, the bird adopts a symbolic meaning within the context of the poem. Lastly, the scientific and allegorical blend together to create a rich, multidimensional meaning (6).
The approach posited by Simons can be observed in many of Dickinson’s bird-themed poems. “A Bird came down the Walk” begins with factual, literal observations about the bird, including his diet, movement, and reaction to his surroundings:
He bit an Angleworm in halves…
…
And then he drank a Dew…
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass (Dickinson 69).
Near the middle and end of the poem, the bird takes on a more symbolic meaning as he notices the poet and takes flight: his eyes were like “frightened Beads, And he unrolled his feathers / And rowed him softer home – / Than Oars divide the Ocean” (69). The bird embodies the transient, fleeting beauty of nature as he flees from his admirer. Simons’ third step then entails a blending together of the scientific literal and the poetic figurative. The “hardware” of the bird, his feathers, grant him the ability to escape, yet his flight is marked by such deliberate softness, instead of the expected panic and frenzy. This paradoxical image evolves from basic naturalistic observation, but also could not exist without it; the naturalist and the poet each need the other.
Analyzing “A Bird came down the Walk” through the lens of Simons’ lyric ornithology demonstrates Dickinson’s ability to successfully reconcile two seemingly opposed facets of her identity. In bird symbolism, Dickinson finds great poetic value—she uses birds to express the truth of her complicated identity, all the while proving the ability of philosophical contradictions to enrich rather than hinder. As contemporary Walt Whitman wrote in “Song of Myself”: “Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes)” (66). This idea of a vast, enfolding identity is present in Dickinson’s exploration of herself and her place in the world.
Another specific aspect of Dickinson’s individuality explored through bird symbolism is her identity as a creator of poems. Michael Bird’s 2004 article, “Dickinson's at Half Past Three, a Single Bird”, analyzes the eponymous poem, exploring similar themes of dualism as Simons’ “Lyric Ornithology” as in “A Bird came down the Walk”, Dickinson’s approach in “At Half Past Three, a single Bird” is uniquely dualistic, synthesizing allegorical and scientific descriptions. For example, she starts by attributing human-like qualities to the bird, describing its song as a “cautious melody” marked by shyness or hesitation (qtd. in Bird 204). The second stanza introduces more scientific language to describe the bird’s song, using the words “experiment” and “test” (qtd. in Bird 205).
However, Bird identifies the reconciliatory factor, recognizing it as an irrepressible urge to create—a phenomenon that drives the poet and the scientist alike. Bird further argues that by personifying the bird in the first place, the bird can be read as a symbol for the poet herself (204). Thus, Dickinson’s metacognition—her idea of what it means to be a poet—is shown through her use of bird symbolism.
In terms of conveying her personal truths, birds prove to be a very useful literary tool for Emily Dickinson. They provide a method of weaving together her scientific, analytical mind and her lyrical, poetic genius. When Dickinson shifts focus from a personal level to a more broad, philosophical level, her use of birds as symbols does not lose its value; in this realm as well do they serve an important purpose. Dickinson conveys her ideas of “circumference” and the relationship between creator and created through birds.
First, Dickinson’s concept of “circumference” needs a clearer explanation. Bird’s article brings this idea of circumference into view. At the end of the poem, the sun sets and the bird is gone—“At Half past Seven, Element / Nor Implement, be seen”. However, Dickinson continues, “And Place was where the Presence was / Circumference between” (qtd. in Bird 205). The bird itself fades away, but its song detaches from it and actually begins to exist on its own. In his explanation, Bird refers to Dickinson scholar William R. Sherwood’s understanding of circumference, which is to “describe and define an area of comprehension” (qtd. in Bird 205); thus, in this poem, it would seem that Dickinson uses the idea of circumference to establish a clear division between creator and created.
When this idea of circumference being a “barrier” between creator and creation is viewed in context with the whole article, it has implications for Dickinson’s personal identity. As a poet, her own work is subject to this division. In poems like “at Half Past Three, a Single Bird”, it seems as though Dickinson recognizes that a creator cannot remain in control of their creation eternally. This, then, raises the question of exactly when the separation begins—when something “created” becomes something “born”, taking on an independent life of its own.
In 2014, poet and scholar Stanley Plumly penned the article “Wings” for The Kenyon Review; in it, he also weighs in on Dickinson’s idea of this complex relationship. He reaches a similar conclusion as Bird does in analyzing the poem “The Robin is a Gabriel”. In it, the robin starts off as the angel Gabriel, donning the guise of a holy messenger, then quickly changes identities; he becomes a member of the “Working Classes”, then a “New England Farmer”, then a “small but sturdy Residence” (Dickinson 292). The robin’s mutability is rapid and spontaneous, and this, Plumly argues, is the hallmark of Dickinson’s commitment to symbolism (170). She places her trust in the natural world which surrounds her, letting its symbols, for the most part, speak for themselves.
“For Dickinson,” Plumly writes, “the ur and ultimate subject is almost always poetry itself—self-referential, a thing made, but a thing made of multiples. The complexity in Dickinson derives from the simultaneity of her imagination, the at-onceness” (170). Plumly recognizes the wonderful liveliness which exists in Dickinson’s work, and, like Bird, realizes the degree of deliberate self-awareness she possesses. However, her creations seem to have a wild life of their own, and she concedes to give voice to every part of them, even if they are capricious like the robin.
Once again, Dickinson proves her mastery in walking the fine line of contradiction and forcing difficult questions. Is she (or any other creator) in control of their creation, or rather controlled by it? Birds, the wild creatures who unreservedly revel in their freedom of flight, are the perfect tools for grappling with these questions, and Dickinson puts them to exquisite use.
There is truly no doubt of the affection Emily Dickinson felt towards her beloved birds—an affection so intense that it entwined itself with her very being. Schuman and Hodgman even record that Susan Dickinson, Emily’s sister-in-law and probable lover, wrote in her obituary for the poet: “‘So intimate and passionate was her love of Nature, she seemed herself a part of the high March sky, the summer day and bird-call’” (xxii). The appearance of birds in Dickinson’s poems reflect this close connection, revealing the fascinating duality of her mind as both highly scientific and artistically poetic. While birds are external agents of nature, they contribute greatly to Dickinson’s heightened self-awareness, and she even manages to encapsulate the enigmatic term “circumference” with one single bird. To Dickinson, birds are very much “kindred spirits”, faithful companions who help her make sense of herself as well as the world at large. It is only natural that through both the musicality and meaning of her poems, we can hear echoes of birdsong—better than a million words.
Dickinson maintained a lifelong love of birds and often expressed concern for their wellbeing. Her body of work is consequently touched by these tender feelings. In her poems, birds function as dynamic symbols; they act as conduits through which two expanding scopes of truth are revealed. The first functions on a personal level, entailing analysis of Dickinson’s kinship with birds and its implications for her dualistic self-identity. The second level of truth is of the broadest kind and involves birds acting as a breed of prophet, messengers whose songs convey philosophical truths about Dickinson’s idea of “circumference” and the relationship between creator and created.
Before analysis avian symbology is possible, the importance of birds to Emily Dickinson must be more fully understood. Schuman and Hodgman’s introduction to their book, A Spicing of Birds, is a concise and excellently crafted glimpse into the poet’s relationship with birds and, in turn, their influence on her poetry. They aptly describe Dickinson as an “intimate of birds”: a person who keenly understands and appreciates the animals. This closeness likely came as a natural result of Dickinson’s life on her father’s fourteen-acre farm, a pastoral paradise that doubtless housed a variety of birds (Schuman and Hodgman xiv).
Despite the lack of a widely accessible field guide, Dickinson identifies and distinctly characterizes twenty-six species of birds in her poems (and likely knew more), proving her knowledge to exceed that of many people today (xiii). She also knew their behaviors, migration patterns, and preferred habitats (xvi). Alongside Dickinson’s vast scientific knowledge of birds existed a deep emotional attachment. Birdsong struck a chord with her, and she held it in high esteem, writing, “One note from one Bird / Is better than a million words / A scabbard holds (has-needs) but one sword” (qtd. in Schuman and Hodgman xviii). The foundational point of this introduction is that “birds were an inseparable part of Dickinson’s world” (xxii), and echoes of their songs are found woven all throughout her poetry.
Evidently, the significance of birds to Emily Dickinson’s life and work is not to be overlooked or understated—especially considering the proliferation of bird symbolism in her poems. Dickinson entrusts expression of her complex personal identity to her feathered friends, ironically opting to use animals to profess her humanity to her audience. She uses birds to embody her search for harmony between contradictory facets of her identity—that of both an empirical naturalist and a poetic lyricist. In his 2019 article “Dickinson’s Lyric Ornithology”, professor Jefferey Simons explains how Dickinson manages to successfully synthesize a naturalist’s empirical sense of observation with a poet’s sense of humanity (1). She accomplishes this through what he calls her distinct “lyric ornithology”; she does not allow her birds to become completely anthropomorphized nor does she allow them to remain a species wholly separate from our own (2). Simons argues that Dickinson takes a three-step approach in her lyric ornithology; first, she gives a literal description which includes scientific details like taxonomy and observations of song, flight, nesting, and migration patterns. Second, the bird adopts a symbolic meaning within the context of the poem. Lastly, the scientific and allegorical blend together to create a rich, multidimensional meaning (6).
The approach posited by Simons can be observed in many of Dickinson’s bird-themed poems. “A Bird came down the Walk” begins with factual, literal observations about the bird, including his diet, movement, and reaction to his surroundings:
He bit an Angleworm in halves…
…
And then he drank a Dew…
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass (Dickinson 69).
Near the middle and end of the poem, the bird takes on a more symbolic meaning as he notices the poet and takes flight: his eyes were like “frightened Beads, And he unrolled his feathers / And rowed him softer home – / Than Oars divide the Ocean” (69). The bird embodies the transient, fleeting beauty of nature as he flees from his admirer. Simons’ third step then entails a blending together of the scientific literal and the poetic figurative. The “hardware” of the bird, his feathers, grant him the ability to escape, yet his flight is marked by such deliberate softness, instead of the expected panic and frenzy. This paradoxical image evolves from basic naturalistic observation, but also could not exist without it; the naturalist and the poet each need the other.
Analyzing “A Bird came down the Walk” through the lens of Simons’ lyric ornithology demonstrates Dickinson’s ability to successfully reconcile two seemingly opposed facets of her identity. In bird symbolism, Dickinson finds great poetic value—she uses birds to express the truth of her complicated identity, all the while proving the ability of philosophical contradictions to enrich rather than hinder. As contemporary Walt Whitman wrote in “Song of Myself”: “Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes)” (66). This idea of a vast, enfolding identity is present in Dickinson’s exploration of herself and her place in the world.
Another specific aspect of Dickinson’s individuality explored through bird symbolism is her identity as a creator of poems. Michael Bird’s 2004 article, “Dickinson's at Half Past Three, a Single Bird”, analyzes the eponymous poem, exploring similar themes of dualism as Simons’ “Lyric Ornithology” as in “A Bird came down the Walk”, Dickinson’s approach in “At Half Past Three, a single Bird” is uniquely dualistic, synthesizing allegorical and scientific descriptions. For example, she starts by attributing human-like qualities to the bird, describing its song as a “cautious melody” marked by shyness or hesitation (qtd. in Bird 204). The second stanza introduces more scientific language to describe the bird’s song, using the words “experiment” and “test” (qtd. in Bird 205).
However, Bird identifies the reconciliatory factor, recognizing it as an irrepressible urge to create—a phenomenon that drives the poet and the scientist alike. Bird further argues that by personifying the bird in the first place, the bird can be read as a symbol for the poet herself (204). Thus, Dickinson’s metacognition—her idea of what it means to be a poet—is shown through her use of bird symbolism.
In terms of conveying her personal truths, birds prove to be a very useful literary tool for Emily Dickinson. They provide a method of weaving together her scientific, analytical mind and her lyrical, poetic genius. When Dickinson shifts focus from a personal level to a more broad, philosophical level, her use of birds as symbols does not lose its value; in this realm as well do they serve an important purpose. Dickinson conveys her ideas of “circumference” and the relationship between creator and created through birds.
First, Dickinson’s concept of “circumference” needs a clearer explanation. Bird’s article brings this idea of circumference into view. At the end of the poem, the sun sets and the bird is gone—“At Half past Seven, Element / Nor Implement, be seen”. However, Dickinson continues, “And Place was where the Presence was / Circumference between” (qtd. in Bird 205). The bird itself fades away, but its song detaches from it and actually begins to exist on its own. In his explanation, Bird refers to Dickinson scholar William R. Sherwood’s understanding of circumference, which is to “describe and define an area of comprehension” (qtd. in Bird 205); thus, in this poem, it would seem that Dickinson uses the idea of circumference to establish a clear division between creator and created.
When this idea of circumference being a “barrier” between creator and creation is viewed in context with the whole article, it has implications for Dickinson’s personal identity. As a poet, her own work is subject to this division. In poems like “at Half Past Three, a Single Bird”, it seems as though Dickinson recognizes that a creator cannot remain in control of their creation eternally. This, then, raises the question of exactly when the separation begins—when something “created” becomes something “born”, taking on an independent life of its own.
In 2014, poet and scholar Stanley Plumly penned the article “Wings” for The Kenyon Review; in it, he also weighs in on Dickinson’s idea of this complex relationship. He reaches a similar conclusion as Bird does in analyzing the poem “The Robin is a Gabriel”. In it, the robin starts off as the angel Gabriel, donning the guise of a holy messenger, then quickly changes identities; he becomes a member of the “Working Classes”, then a “New England Farmer”, then a “small but sturdy Residence” (Dickinson 292). The robin’s mutability is rapid and spontaneous, and this, Plumly argues, is the hallmark of Dickinson’s commitment to symbolism (170). She places her trust in the natural world which surrounds her, letting its symbols, for the most part, speak for themselves.
“For Dickinson,” Plumly writes, “the ur and ultimate subject is almost always poetry itself—self-referential, a thing made, but a thing made of multiples. The complexity in Dickinson derives from the simultaneity of her imagination, the at-onceness” (170). Plumly recognizes the wonderful liveliness which exists in Dickinson’s work, and, like Bird, realizes the degree of deliberate self-awareness she possesses. However, her creations seem to have a wild life of their own, and she concedes to give voice to every part of them, even if they are capricious like the robin.
Once again, Dickinson proves her mastery in walking the fine line of contradiction and forcing difficult questions. Is she (or any other creator) in control of their creation, or rather controlled by it? Birds, the wild creatures who unreservedly revel in their freedom of flight, are the perfect tools for grappling with these questions, and Dickinson puts them to exquisite use.
There is truly no doubt of the affection Emily Dickinson felt towards her beloved birds—an affection so intense that it entwined itself with her very being. Schuman and Hodgman even record that Susan Dickinson, Emily’s sister-in-law and probable lover, wrote in her obituary for the poet: “‘So intimate and passionate was her love of Nature, she seemed herself a part of the high March sky, the summer day and bird-call’” (xxii). The appearance of birds in Dickinson’s poems reflect this close connection, revealing the fascinating duality of her mind as both highly scientific and artistically poetic. While birds are external agents of nature, they contribute greatly to Dickinson’s heightened self-awareness, and she even manages to encapsulate the enigmatic term “circumference” with one single bird. To Dickinson, birds are very much “kindred spirits”, faithful companions who help her make sense of herself as well as the world at large. It is only natural that through both the musicality and meaning of her poems, we can hear echoes of birdsong—better than a million words.
Works Cited
Bird, Michael. “Dickinson's at Half Past Three, a Single Bird.” The Explicator, vol. 62, no. 4, 2004, pp. 204–206., doi:10.1080/00144940409597222.
Dickinson, Emily. Final Harvest: Emily Dickinson's Poems. Edited by Thomas H. Johnson, Little, Brown & Company, 1961.
Plumly, Stanley. “Wings.” The Kenyon Review, vol. 36, no. 3, 2014, pp. 167–172. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/24242200.
Schuman, Jo Miles, and Joanna Bailey Hodgman. “Introduction: Emily Dickinson, Intimate of Birds.” A Spicing of Birds: Poems by Emily Dickinson. Edited by Schuman and Hodgman, Wesleyan University Press, 2010, pp. xiii-xxii.
Simons, Jefferey. "Dickinson's Lyric Ornithology." The Emily Dickinson Journal, vol. 28 no. 1, 2019, p. 1-22. Project MUSE, doi:10.1353/edj.2019.0000.
Whitman, Walt. The Portable Walt Whitman. Edited by Michael Warner, Penguin Group, 2004.
Dickinson, Emily. Final Harvest: Emily Dickinson's Poems. Edited by Thomas H. Johnson, Little, Brown & Company, 1961.
Plumly, Stanley. “Wings.” The Kenyon Review, vol. 36, no. 3, 2014, pp. 167–172. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/24242200.
Schuman, Jo Miles, and Joanna Bailey Hodgman. “Introduction: Emily Dickinson, Intimate of Birds.” A Spicing of Birds: Poems by Emily Dickinson. Edited by Schuman and Hodgman, Wesleyan University Press, 2010, pp. xiii-xxii.
Simons, Jefferey. "Dickinson's Lyric Ornithology." The Emily Dickinson Journal, vol. 28 no. 1, 2019, p. 1-22. Project MUSE, doi:10.1353/edj.2019.0000.
Whitman, Walt. The Portable Walt Whitman. Edited by Michael Warner, Penguin Group, 2004.