When I attended East Los Angeles Junior College from September 1967 until June of 1969, I was fascinated by the college bookstore. When I had time, I browsed through the store incessantly. Besides the required books for my several courses each semester, I was amazed at the other books there, especially the paperback poetry volumes and anthologies, many of which were edited by Oscar Williams. I bought at least three which I still have: American Verse from Colonial Days to the Present (75 cents), Immortal Poems of the English Language (90 cents), and Major British Poets ($1.75).
While those prices may seem meagre by today's standards, you must remember that, as a senior in high school, working at a rod and gun club, I made but $1.25 per hour, which was taxed, of course. Then when I was at East L.A., I made $1.35 per hour at the wallpaper warehouse where my father worked as a wallpaper salesman on the road.
I became familiar with so many poets such as Housman and Frost and, of course, Emily Dickinson, while pouring through those books.
Sometimes I wonder if this poem of hers does not reflect my entire life. From very early on, I read this poem and it strongly resonated. I would not realize until later how much it would continue to resonate. My failed military career, my continued failure to meet the right someone, my failed literary career, my failure to obtain a job that I really enjoyed doing such as teaching.
So it always would seem to be that she captured those feelings with the first two lines:
"Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed."
Perhaps success is actually counted by having simply endured, despite the failures and the lack of overall success financially or personally or professionally.
I suppose we each have to discover for ourselves if we have succeeded in life or not.
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