Maybe it’s because I don’t know the first thing about 19th century poetry (in fact, excluding local authors, Pushkin and The Raven, these are the first 19th century poems I’ve ever read), but I was surprised to find how metaphysical these are. The back cover says they’re about death and nature, but I think they’re more about life after death, and nature is almost always used as a metaphor for the inconstancy of life, of earthly delights – basically a metaphor for maya. Maybe it’s Romanticism? They struck me as markedly mystic, dealing with the Absolute, residing in the inner self and withstanding the unstable, uncontrollable, „dreary“ physical world, illuminating the night „darkening“ around the lyrical subject. Emily Bronte seems to have had an unwavering inner centre that gave her firm confidence in who she was. Enviable by any day’s standards.
The poems are pretty intense, dealing with violent passions – albeit mainly ones of the soul. They vocalise agonies of grief, despair, loss, wishes for death, renunciation of the fickle world, transcedental visions, and manage to remain unsentimental throughout. She seems to have been one fierce lady – no less than what could be expected from the person who created Heathcliff.