In life, she was better known for the cakes she made than for the impressive poems she wrote... Today she is one of the most relevant American poets of all time.
After her death, the family discovered in her room more than 1750 poems written on small pieces of paper. However, in her entire life she did not publish more than 10 poems, sometimes anonymously.
Her poems defy language and manifest in an original, metaphorical and mysterious way. It was because of her originality and because she was a woman that her texts were often rejected by editors.
A Phoebe—nothing less—
The little note that others dropt
I fitted into place—
I dwelt too low that any seek—
Too shy, that any blame—
A Phoebe makes a little print
Upon the Floors of Fame—
She spent her life surrounded by woods and meadows. Her deep relationship with nature was revealed by the collection she kept of flowers and leaves in a herbarium and by its constant presence in her poetry.
She also had a love for solitude. Supposed madness! Any woman who did not obey the pre-established rules of behavior was categorized (and still is) with the bias of madness. For social interaction, her genius was inadequate. Therefore, it was in isolation that she found her safe and free territory.
She is Emily Dickinson.