Kris Van der Bijl

How much control does a writer have after their work is published? In an example of Emily Dickinson, an editor gave her poem “The Chariot” its title after her Death. This is not uncommon in Dickinson’s oeuvre. Most of her poems were not written for publication purposes. Many later, anthologised poems came from letters to friends and families. Later, editors began using the poem’s first line as the title. However, the poems that were given titles often keep them. I see it as an insult to the character Death in the poem. My work on this blog is entirely irrelevant, so I’d propose my own poem title. The poem is an excellent example of how poetry and literature function as an eternally trapping world.

In “The Chariot”, we follow the deceased speaker to what appears to be their new home. They refer to “A swelling of the ground”, likely a grave. Death takes them there. Death picks the speaker up, and they accept, noting that Death stopped “kindly”. This adverb slows the mouth as one reads it, forcing it to stand out. Note how one seems to breathe in on it. Attention is given to the description of why Death stopped for the speaker. Death seems to be doing the speaker a favour by picking them up to die. The adverb draws attention to the act. One can question whether Death had no malicious intent in stopping for the speaker. 

Could ”kindly” be disingenuous? It seems more to be a word that the speaker feels they should say, like a word of thanks for the favour that Death is doing. It’s not that the speaker was avoiding Death. Instead, because the speaker was too busy living, they had to be reminded by Death that they needed to die. I’d argue that the speaker seems to thank Death for thinking of them. It’s possible that the speaker is happy to pass and is grateful for Death’s civility. It is also possible that the speaker is so fearful of Death that they pretend to go graciously.

The speaker and Death do not travel alone. Immortality is there, too. This is significant, as Death and Immortality do not seem well suited for each other. Death is opposed to Immortality because Death feeds off mortality. Death gains pride from consuming mortals in whatever way is necessary. I see now that this puts Death in a negative light. Something about what Death is doing, like kindly squeezing the Death of the speaker into an undoubtedly tight schedule, seems to suggest that Death is a hard and prideful worker. Is Death in charge of themselves, or are they part of a machine? Is Death a cog? I like to visualise Death picking up a paycheck at the end of the week, earning commission on each body they bring in, and working hard to get their kids through school. I mean that Death seems mechanical, but is – like taxes – inevitable. 

Part of my Death-is-working-for-the-man rhetoric comes from the placement of Death with Eternity. Death transports the speaker, with Immortality, to Eternity, in the shape of a swelling in the ground. But Death does not seem to go there themselves. Eternity is the realm that Death appears unable to reach it. Indeed, it seems impossible for Death to do so. For one to die, an end is implied. Eternity is that infinite or unending time, meaning no end, i.e. no death. Death has no place in Eternity, but the speaker does. For them, Eternity is the grave at the end of the poem. Death is working for the speaker. His function in the poem is to move the speaker towards their eternal resting place. Death works for the Immortality of the speaker. Death is working to transport someone to Eternity without ever being capable of entering it. I find that terrible. 

What seems to be the most anxiety-inducing of Death’s position is that their job is eternal. This is to say that Death cannot die. Who can take themselves if they were to die? And even if Death can self-transport themselves to Death, can they enter Eternity? Death works endlessly for Eternity. Despite having the closest relationship in the poem with Eternity, they will never enter the realm.

This is all arbitrary, but someone must stand up for Death. The crux of my disdain for the poem’s speaker arises from her description of the “”swelling of the ground””. I began with this image. The speaker focuses on its decay, noting how “”the cornice was but a mound””. The lack of a roof in line fifteen explains why the cornice is now a pile of dirt; hence, the reader is given an up-down surveillance of the speaker’s new grave. I have stipulated that this is their new home, their grave, and is an eternity. Death takes them to this place, but they cannot enter it. Death probably drops the speaker and searches for the following deceased person on their list.

I’m interpreting the swelling as a grave. Might I call it a barrow? According to Britannica, the definition of a barrow is “an ancient burial mound”. The reason for this imposition is what this essay is about. I do not like the title of the poem. That it was imposed by an editor fuels my hatred. Why not call it “”the barrow””? Death is somewhat less made fun of. A chariot is a bit insulting to Death. Chariot implies pride, and Death’s position as the worker for Eternity, for Eternity, seems utterly un-prideful.

Quite seriously, though, I posit with the term “barrow” that the mound which the speaker travels towards can simultaneously be that which she travels on. There is then no disjunction between Death and movement, between final resting places and travelling to rest, between living and dying because, in essence, Death’s journey is liminal. Death is a carrier of dead souls. Death is implicit in the act of dying, yet is never directly there. Death could only arrive after a death. Death – again, it would seem – is in a bad place. Death is Death but can never be dead because Death cannot arrive without a death. Death has no time, is, in fact, denied time from Eternity, and cannot stop. Death can pick up the speaker, cycle it to the mound (barrow), drop it at Eternity, and repeat.

My lazy argument exploits a function of poetry and literature at large. Each reading of a text enacts repetition. The characters of the texts live in a world where they do the same thing repeatedly (perhaps read eternally). Their plight in life is to exist between two covers, nearing the reality of a world external to them but never able to achieve it. The self-awareness brought on by postmodern texts has aided readers in understanding a character’s eternal plight, but Dickinson appears to have a sense of understanding. I’d argue that she repeatedly shows Death’s eternal struggle to do the same thing. The speaker, who is picked up and taken to a grave, does not struggle, for their only task is to wait for Death and die. Death, a character who functions to propel the speaker towards the end of the poem, is the one who must do the endless transporting. The speaker needs to verbalise the events. It is Death who carries them out.