Emily Dickinson d May 15, 1886. She spent most of her life as a kind of recluse, hermit, or "stationary pilgrim" in her family home in Amherst, MA. Only after her death, and the discovery of 1,775 poems, was it clear how she had spent her time. Deceptively simple, they reflected
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a complex personal approach to the world. Many addressed her relationship with God--on her own terms, wavering between doubt and faith. With a great eye for nature, she saw the universe in a grain of sand. All things were a harbor opening on the great expanse of eternity.
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Death was a friend and guide, conductor to new life: "the supple Suitor / That wins at last." Her poems were "My letter to the World / That never wrote to me."
"I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you --Nobody--Too?"
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I appreciate this memorial about my father by @ggrenwald above any I have read today--for his comprehensive review of his bio & history, for his attention to themes generally overlooked about his post-Vietnam life, but particularly for deep appreciation of his human qualities.🙏
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Here's my @RollingStone article on Daniel Ellsberg, the heroic Pentagon Papers leaker who died today at 92:
"We’re Told Never to Meet Our Childhood Heroes. Knowing Daniel Ellsberg Proved That Wrong"
rollingstone.com/politics/polit
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