“There is another Loneliness”, by Emily Dickinson assumes I am acquainted with at least two species of loneliness.

There is another Loneliness
That many die without —
Not want of friend occasions it
Or circumstances of Lot

But nature, sometimes, sometimes thought
And whoso it befall
Is richer than could be revealed
By mortal numeral —

The loneliness everyone experiences when robbed of companionship can be remedied by almost any attempt at conversation. Even in extreme loss, I’ve known friends who, following a divorce or other breakup, simply walk around a mall to keep from “going crazy.”  I am more inclined to dive into a long novel, or, (surprise) dig into a poem. But, I too, have days — today being one of them — when I am so in the mood for casual chit-chat I feel like I could make an anarchist feel peaceful. Without interaction with others I will invite that familiar loneliness.

The poem concentrates on loneliness “That many die without — ” experiencing.  This brand of solitude, aloneness as a fundamental ingredient, is as individual as the exact shape of a nose. It is “Not (a) want of friend… “. Even circumstances such as heredity, ill-fortune, death and disaster are outside its purview. 

“But nature.. ”. No one to blame. The idea that “.. nature, sometimes, sometimes thought” is no explanation. No analysis.

But that’s what people do. Isn’t that what poems are about? more»

Not attempting to explain, it would seem, is the explanation. “And whoso it befall” must rely on nature thinking.

Nature. Thinking.

For she “Is richer than could be revealed” by friendships galore or families standing by. Because “By mortal numeral — ” we are in the realm of mortal solutions.

Those of us afflicted with loneliness as a fundamental trait must wait for natural forces. For Nature to think.

Digest A Poem A Day — Accept What Comes Your Way

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