"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture
and, if possible, speak a few reasonable words." ~Goethe

~ also, if possible, to dwell in "a house where all's accustomed, ceremonious." ~Yeats

Monday, June 28, 2021

Uncle William Birkinbine Miller

A GENTLEMAN AND A SCHOLAR
~ BORN 160 YEARS AGO TODAY ~
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS
William Birkinbine Miller
June 28, 1859 - November 8, 1893
Uncle Will's Funeral Flowers
Cause of death: colon cancer at age 34

Uncle Will was the eldest brother of my Great - Grandmother Anna Mary Miller Heidemann (1862 - 1923). Anna Mary's little daughter -- my Grandmother Rovilla (1891 - 1966) -- was only 2 years old at the time of Will's death, yet, through the decades, she became the keeper of his memory, passing on to my mother and me the remaining souvenirs of his short life and literary temperment. Though Will had long "gone from all touch," Rovilla kept his "unseen presence within the borders of day" (William Soutar).

First among the tokens
is this small New Testament,
a present from Will to Anna in 1879:
1879
On the back page, he has written:

"Wm B. Miller is my name
Kleinfeltersville is my dwelling place
Richland is my station
Remember me if this you see
When I am far away and gone
My bones laid low in the grave
With a tombstone o'er my head and feet.
Sandville
March 14th 1879
To My Sister Annie M. Miller"

Fans of James Joyce surely remember when Stephen attends Clongowes Wood Boarding School, and a classmate named Fleming writes in Stephen's geography notebook:
“Stephen Dedalus is my name,
Ireland is my nation.
Clongowes is my dwellingplace
And heaven my expectation.”


~from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

It never occurred to me, when first studying Joyce, that Stephen's little book rhyme had a been in use for decades by generations of previous school - children, including my own ancestors!

Additional Souvenirs:
Above and below, Rovilla has noted
-- in her own beautiful cursive script --
these samples of Will's signature and handwriting
Fragments of Poetry


In her sorrowful poem of resignation, "Dirge Without Music," American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950) describes the extent of loss we have no choice but to endure when a loved one dies:

"A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—
They are gone. . . ."


Contemporary comedian Bill Maher
puts it this way:

"Earth is a time share;
we can't all be here at the same time;
That's just the way it works."

So true. The fact is, even if William Birkinbine Miller had lived a long life, his path and mine on this planet would have been very unlikely to cross, considering that we were born 98 years apart. Yet, here's the thing, "a formula, a phrase, a fragment" does indeed remain. Thanks to Will's handwritten inscription, I see a quirky sense of humor, a brother who loved his sister, and a handful of place names whose significance I can pursue further if I wish.

Thanks to a page torn from his English literature notebook over a century ago, I'm lucky enough not only to see Uncle Will's very own handwriting but also to know a few of his favorite romantic poems, though not necessarily his intention: studying for a test, memorizing for a recitation, creating a Valentine, proposing marriage to Aunt Emma? Or maybe just like me, he loved making connections!

1. from Tamerlane ~ Nicholas Rowe (1674 - 1718)

Selima, Daughter of the Emperor:
So when some skilful Artist strikes the Strings,
The magick Numbers rouze our sleeping Passions,
And force us to confess our Grief, and Pleasure.
Alas! Axalla, say—dost thou not pity
My artless Innocence, and easie Fondness?
Oh! turn thee from me, or I die with blushing.


Axalla, an Italian Prince:
No—let me rather gaze, for ever gaze,
And bless the new-born Glories that adorn thee;
"From every Blush, that kindles in thy Cheeks,
Ten thousand little Loves, and Graces spring,
To revel in the Roses" . . .


2. To His Mistress, Objecting to Him ~ Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674)

You say I love not, 'cause I do not play
Still with your curls, and kiss the time away.
You blame me, too, because I can't devise
Some sport, to please those babies in your eyes;
"By Love's religion, I must here confess it,
The most I love, when I the least express it."

Shall griefs find tongues; full casks are ever found
To give, if any, yet but little sound.
Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know,
That chiding streams betray small depth below.
So when love speechless is, she doth express
A depth in love, and that depth bottomless.
Now, since my love is tongueless, know me such,
Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much.


3. The Lady's Yes ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 - 1861)

"Yes!" I answered you last night;
"No!" this morning, Sir, I say!
Colours, seen by candle-light,
Will not look the same by day.

When the tabors played their best,
Lamps above, and laughs below —
Love me sounded like a jest,
Fit for Yes or fit for No!

Call me false, or call me free —
Vow, whatever light may shine,
No man on your face shall see
Any grief for change on mine.

Yet the sin is on us both —
Time to dance is not to woo —
Wooer light makes fickle troth —
Scorn of me recoils on you!

"Learn to win a lady's faith
Nobly, as the thing is high;
Bravely, as for life and death —
With a loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards,
Point her to the starry skies,
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from courtship's flatteries."


By your truth she shall be true —
Ever true, as wives of yore —
And her Yes, once said to you,
SHALL be Yes for evermore.


[4.] The final stanza, as written out by Uncle Will is actually the opening stanza of another poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

"A Man's Requirements"
:
"Love me Sweet, with all thou art,
Feeling, thinking, seeing;
Love me in the lightest part,
Love me in full being."


****************

Happy 160th Birthday Uncle Will!
What a privilege it is to honor your request from so long ago:

"Remember me if this you see
When I am far away and gone . . . "

The Miller Family
My Great - great Grandparents
Henry Wise Miller
(May 27, 1834 ~ October 29, 1915)
&
Elizabeth Birkinbine Miller
(February 28, 1938 ~ March 28, 1925)

& their children, standing back row L to R:

Alice Elizabeth (1866 - 1946), Henry Kitzmiller (1860 - 1933),
William Birkinbine (1859 - 1893), Anna Mary (1862 - 1923),
between his parents is the youngest, Jacob George (1870 - 1936)
& not pictured is eldest sister Celestial Rebecca (1858 - 1936)

Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, July 14

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

1 comment:

  1. Note to self: Working on this post, I was delving into my "Critical Theory Since Plato," trying to find that quote where Aristotle says we look upon the tragic hero and say to ourselves: "It is he; it is I." I might not be remembering that precisely, but I wanted to share it with Sam to go along with some Eminem lyrics that he sent for me to read. Everything fits together at some point, right?! [March 2021]

    ReplyDelete