My Understanding of Emily Dickinson

I had never read the poetry of Emily Dickinson, nor do I know much of her life before reading, “The Literature of the Late Nineteenth Century”.  After doing so, I have come to the realization that Emily Dickinson must have been a tortured soul.  Clearly, a genius of the English language, it seems that much of her time was spent in her Amherst, New York home, along with her mother, father and sister.  Her mother became an invalid, forcing her and her sister to take care of the household.  Since she never worked and rarely left the home, Dickinson spent much of her time reflecting on the world and time.  Death and love that never seems fulfilled seem to be running themes throughout her poems.  Always reaching and grasping, yet, never grabbing a hold of what ever the desire may be.  My understanding of Dickinson’s poetry is that it seems to hold more meaning and is meant to be understood only for herself; not a journey to be shared with others. For the reader, moments of clarity are seen and can be invigorating; but become clouded by her understanding of reality.  Reality is different for everyone, but what brings people together is a common understanding of a thought or feeling that has been shared by others.  In my limited understanding of poetry and the life of a nineteenth century woman, I fail to see the appreciation of her works.  My reality does not comprehend it.