We find Emily Dickinson in the garden, which, as it turns out, was where she was all along.

 

“When she was alive, people knew her as a gardener first and a poet second, if they knew her as a poet at all,” says the Washington-based Dickinson scholar Judith Farr.

Six years ago, Farr wrote “The Gardens of Emily Dickinson” after she realized that “experts” were failing to comprehend that the unnamed subjects of Dickinson’s poems were not dead women or regiments of Russian soldiers, but tulips and other flora dear to her heart.

The book, in turn, inspired the show at the New York Botanical Garden.   Adrian Higgins, Washington Post Staff Writer

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/05/26/AR2010052604781.html

see also: http://harvardpress.typepad.com/hup_publicity/2010/05/recreating-emily-dickinsons-gardens.html

I.

New feet within my garden go,
New fingers stir the sod;
A troubadour upon the elm
Betrays the solitude.

New children play upon the green,
New weary sleep below;
And still the pensive spring returns,
And still the punctual snow!

Emily Dickinson

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