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Natalie Bradford

May 6, 2019

The Threshold of Freedom and Loneliness in Dickinson’s poem 656

In poem 656, Emily Dickinson imagines a a trip to the sea in which the speaker balances

feelings of loneliness against the freedom that being alone gives her. Her awareness of the

constraints that come with giving oneself over to others and engaging with society battles against

her desire for connection. There is acknowledgement of the idea seen elsewhere in Dickinson’s

works that to be in touch with divinity is to be out of touch with the mundane. Though the

speaker finds companionship in ideas, in the man of the sea constructed by her imagination, he

cannot be permanent. The speaker comes to no revelation at the end of the poem, but must

continue to negotiate the space of man and the space of the divine, as well as her own loneliness

and desires.

At the outset of the poem, the speaker’s description of her visit to the sea almost casts

some doubt as to whether the visit actually occurred or if it happened only in the speaker’s mind.

The imagery of a house is invoked in the mermaids coming out of the “basement” to observe the

speaker as well as in the frigates sailing “in the Upper Floor” (3-5). Though “basement” is likely

a reference to the depths of the ocean and the “Upper Floor” is merely the sea above those

depths, there is still a faint suggestion that the speaker has not left her home and is simply

imagining all that she experiences. Even assuming that she has actually gone to the seaside, her

viewing it in terms of a house reinforces her isolation as it indicates the perspective through

which she sees—trapped in a house and kept apart from the world. This perspective seems

paradoxical considering the opposing characteristics of a basement and the sea: basements are
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close and confined, while seas are wide and open. From this, it may be inferred that the speaker

feels herself bound by her surroundings.

The sea itself evokes loneliness, or a sense of being adrift. It is easy to imagine being

isolated at sea, but it is powerful as well. It is somewhat of a liminal space, on the edge between

land and the deeper ocean. Dickinson often treats such liminal spaces as sites for self-reflection,

for productively looking at oneself from the outside, or from a new perspective. The idea of

observation, or reflection, is reinforced with the mermaids, who “came out to look at” the

speaker (4). As the mermaids are examining the speaker, she is examining herself and

considering how others see her. To be under observation by mermaids must be subversive for a

woman in the stringently paternalistic society of nineteenth century New England. Mermaids

possess the same vivacity as the sea and are generally conceived to be wild, free, fierce, and

dangerous. They are tempting songstresses with no pressures from patriarchal societies; they

consume men. This raises questions as to how the speaker views herself. Is she, or does she wish

to be, a mermaid? The speaker and mermaids are already connected by their gazes as they look

upon each other, perhaps this is indicative of something more being between them.

The ships that the speaker sees are presented as inimical in nature, oppositional to what

she has come to the sea to achieve. The fact that they are frigates, ships for war, rather than some

merchant ship or leisure boat, first hints at this. War is combative and destructive, not creative

and reflective, the mood which the speaker seems to be in. The reference to the frigates is

synecdochical, as the term “frigate” is intended to stand in for all that is aboard the ship,

including the men presumably sailing it. Later in the stanza, these men are said to have

“Extended hempen hands” to the speaker (6). The description of the hands as “hempen,” or made

from hemp fiber, indicates that they are not hands at all, but are ropes. Ropes are containing,
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limiting, and controlling. It is not surprising that the speaker is not moved by these men

extending their rope-like hands as she does not seek the control and condescension that they

offer her. Instead, she is moved by the freedom offered to her by the ocean. The phrasing of this

line—that the ship “extended hempen hands”—gives the appearance of an offer of help, but

because these are ropes, not human hands, the offer does not seem appealing, but rather

threatening. If she accepts the offer and the frigates help her, she will be ensnared.

The supposition that she is in need of help to begin with is troublesome, especially when

considered alongside the line, “presuming me to be a mouse” (7). It is assumed that the speaker

is a mouse—small, helpless, demure, and meek, because she is a woman or because she is alone,

but the speaker rejects this. For it to be “presumed” connotes a degree of audacity on the part of

the supposer, as if making such an assumption reaches beyond their station. If the extension of

hands, or help, is conditional upon the speaker being a mouse, then her rejection of the help may

also be her rejection of any sort of mousiness. Rather than aligning herself with the mouse or

with those who see her thus, she aligns herself with the sea, a symbol of great power. The frigate

also assumes that she is “aground,” as a ship run aground or beached. Again, the speaker is

presumed to be helpless and in need of rescue. For her to be aground also indicates that she may

be out of place, that she belongs at sea but has mistakenly come ashore, as generally only things

which are meant to remain in the depths are described as “aground.” The diction also carries with

it the idea of “being grounded,” as in, while on land, the speaker is rooted, well-balanced, held in

place and constrained by what is sensible. This is the opposite of what is suggested by the ocean,

a sense of being adrift and free.

The speaker, however, is not affected by the invitations of these hempen-handed men.

Even if she is out of place on land, she will not chose to go to sea on the terms of men, but on her
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own terms. It is the sea itself, personified, that is capable of moving her. Her description of her

initial interaction with the sea, as it “went past (her) simple shoe…/ And past (her) Boddice -

too,” creates a degree of eroticism as the tide reaches her beneath her clothing (10-12). This is

further achieved with the line, “And made as He would eat me up,” as the speaker expresses a

feeling of being consumed “wholly” by the sea (13-14). Not only is she consumed by these

shared erotic desires, but it seems that she feels herself fueling growth and being taken up by

something larger and greater than herself in being eaten up “as a Dew / Opon a Dandelion’s

sleeve” (14-15). This, along with the capitalization applied to the personified sea, seems to

confer upon it some degree of divinity. In referring to it as “He” and “Man,” the speaker is

perhaps connecting it to the Judeo-Christian god. Like a god, the sea is a wild, passionate

creative force and the speaker is desperately seeking a connection to that force to pull her out of

the realm of mundanity.

As she draws back from the sea, she remarks, “And He - He followed,” (17). That the

sea, a vast and powerful symbol, would follow the speaker, who has just been mistaken for a

mouse assigns to her freedom, if not power, as she leads, rather than following. The repetition of

“He” emphasizes this, making it clear that it is the sea, that follows her. Upon reaching “the

Solid Town,” the sea takes his leave of her. Describing the town as “solid” leaves room for

various interpretations. “Solid” may simply be not liquid, making the town the opposite of the

sea. It may be solid as in whole, or undivided, casting it as conformist in nature. It might also be

that the town is solid because it is tangible, associating it with the material and the literal. Each

interpretation links the town, as well as society, with the mundane, in great contrast to what the

speaker sought from the sea. This can be seen there being “No One He seemed to know” in the

town (22). The sea recognizes no one in this place, sees no commonality between itself and those
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in the town as it seems to have found in the speaker. The speaker loses her connection with the

divine in the town both literally, as the sea leaves her, and figuratively, as she is no longer in a

space conducive to that sort of connection. The town, and it’s rupture of her isolation, infringes

on her creative freedom and imposes on her the standards of sense.

Before the sea leaves her, however, her shoes “would overflow with pearl” and the sea

bows to her “with a Mighty look” (20-23). She is not left completely cut off, but with a valuable

reminder of the connection that she found, in the pearls. She is also left an impression of her own

power. Of course the sea itself is mighty, but for it to bestow upon the speaker “a mighty look”

seems to acknowledge some similar strength within her, especially as it is given alongside a bow,

a sign of deference. The speaker’s power, that which drew the attention of mermaids and

distinguished her from a mouse, though she is so much smaller than sea, has been acknowledged

by someone else, which in turn seems to have actualized it.