Emerson: Philosopher-Poet

Write it on your heart
that every day is the best day in the year.
He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day
who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.
Finish every day and be done with it.
You have done what you could.
Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in.
Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day;
begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit
to be cumbered with your old nonsense.
This new day is too dear,
with its hopes and invitations,
to waste a moment on the yesterdays.
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The little verse above embodies the basic transcendental philosophy for which Emerson is well known and well respected, but for his poetry Emerson is not so well respected. His critics have called his verse didactic and often harsh. And though it is probably true that he shone brighter as a philosophical writer than as a poet, he could write poems that rival any other well crafted pieces of poets more esteemed in the craft than he. ________________________________________________

Days
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.
I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp,
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I, too late,
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.
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His poem, "Days," is one of his best and one that is often anthologized and discussed by scholars and critics. Interestingly, "Days" might be considered a more poetic version of the little verse above, "Write it on your heart." I can imagine Emerson converting "Write it on your heart" into "Days" by simply dramatizing the claims, making them move. For example, in "Days" we have the days behaving as people, "Daughters of Time." Next he makes them move in an endless parade, "file." He has them bring gifts ranging from precious gifts to worthless ones. Next he has himself simply watching from a chaotic state, "pleached garden," and quickly taking a few bits from the offerings, and then he notices that the day is almost gone, and he has made little effort to take the most precious gifts. Finally he sees that he is too late; the day is ending, and the daughter of time is unhappy with him, because on her face he sees scorn.

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