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

Signs, Symbols, Souvenirs

BUNTING ON THE FRONT DOOR
WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Happy Flag Day!
~ As seen on Amazon ~

"Within the operation of the souvenir, the sign functions not so much as object to object, but beyond this relation, metonymically, as object to event / experience. The ribbon may be metonymic to the corsage, but the corsage is in turn metonymic to an increasingly abstract, and hence increasingly 'lost,' set of referents: the gown, the dance, the particular occasion, the particular spring, all springs, romance, etc.

" . . . the souvenir . . . will still exist as a sample of the now - distanced experience, an experience which the object can only evoke and resonate to and can never entirely recoup" (136).

from On Longing:
Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic,
the Souvenir, the Collection
by Susan Stewart [previously]

Sorting through my grandparents' belongings, I felt the truth of Stewart's words when I came across dozens of funeral ribbons. Many of them are inscribed, in my grandfather's handwriting, with names, dates, and other small notations pertaining to the deceased. In the case of these memorial ribbons, the "lost referent" is so much more than the particular event. Every ribbon evokes not only a long - ago funeral, wake, or graveside service but also the entire life span of each and every loved one represented. Truly, as Stewart observes, the souvenir in this case can evoke but never recoup the distant experience of a completed human life.

In her essay "Language and Thought," American philosopher Susanne K. Langer (1895 – 1985) provides this insightful distinction: "The difference between a sign and a symbol is, in brief, that a sign causes us to think or act in face of the thing signified, whereas a symbol causes us to think about the thing symbolized':

"To us who are human, it -- i.e., 'purely sign using' -- does not sound very glorious. We want to go places and do things, own all sorts of gadgets that we do not absolutely need, and when we sit down to take it easy we want to talk. Rights and property, social position, special talents and virtues, and above all our ideas, are what we live for. . . . because we can use not only signs but symbols.

"A symbol differs from a sign in that it does not announce the presence of the object, the being, condition, or whatnot, which is its meaning, but merely brings this thing to mind. . .symbols . . . call up . . . a conception of the thing they 'mean.'

" . . . Because we have not only the ability but the constant need of conceiving what has happened to us, what surrounds us, what is demanded of us . . . our hopes and fears . . . Our whole reaction depends on how we manage to conceive the situation . . . we must construe the events of life." [emphasis in original]

This is what the dried flowers and ribbons do; they "bring to mind" the deceased, and the loss, and the passage of time. Beyond reminding us of the day of mourning, they help us conceive what has happened to us and those around us. They represent our hopes and, particularly in the face of death, our fears. Langer says that "what we cannot conceive is chaos, and fills us with terror." To restore order, we construe a narrative of death and remembrance. In addition to what we can remember (or not), every souvenir ccontributes to that narrative. All the funeral mementoes, prayer cards, program leaflets and newspaper clippings are samples, symbols of the dearly departed.

In Jennifer Saint's recent novel Ariadne, the character Dionysus beautifully conveys his understanding of human mortality. Despite his power and immortality, he wonders, just as we do:

"Why mortals bloomed like flowers and crumbled to nothing. Why their absence left a gnawing ache, a hollow void that could never be filled. And how everything they once were, that spark within them, could be extinguished so completely yet the world did not collapse under the weight of so much pain and grief. . . . I have felt the gaping wound and the bruised, ragged edges of grief. I know that human life shines more brightly because it is but a shimmering candle against an eternity of darkness, and it can be extinguished with the faintest breeze" (176 - 79).

I fanned the collection of funeral ribbons into a colorful arc and perceived them not as signs, referring "to actual situations, in which things have obvious relations to each other that require only to be noted" but as symbols, referring "to ideas, which are not physically there for inspection, so their connections and features have to be represented" (Langer, emphasis added). Thanks to the writing of Susan Stewart, Susanne K. Langer, and Jennifer Saint, I was able to see each preserved ribbon as the souvenir of a shimmering candle, a shining spark of human life that had been dear to those before me, whether I knew them or not.

[For more from Langer, see Safe Home & Dreamscape]

Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, June 28

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

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

Transportation Has Undone So Many

I had not thought death had undone so many.
T. S. Eliot ~ from The Wasteland

GRIEVOUSLY UNACCUSTOMED, UNCEREMONIOUS

Notation on the back, in my mother's handwriting:
"Aunt Bessie's & Dick's DeSoto, hit head - on
between Glenrock & Douglas, Wyoming
Both killed instantly ~ August 16, 1956"

from the CDC Childhood Injury Report

"Injuries due to transportation were the leading cause of death for children.
The highest death rates were among occupants of motor vehicles in traffic.
There were also a substantial number of pedestrian and pedal cyclist deaths among children.
Combining all unintentional injury deaths among those between 0 and 19 years, motor vehicle traffic–related deaths were the leading cause.
The leading causes of injury death differed by age group.
For children less than 1 year of age, two–thirds of injury deaths were due to suffocation.
Drowning was the leading cause injury death for those 1 to 4 years of age.
For children 5 to 19 years of age, the most injury deaths were due to being an occupant in a motor vehicle traffic crash."

**********

The sadness of these statistics,
calls to mind the response of novelist
Alice Hoffman, when asked at an interview,
"Yet we don't wish for tragedy, right?"

"We don't have to wish for it! Terrible things happen out of the blue. We become the people that we are because of the tragedies that we experience, but that is not our whole story, just a piece of it."

**********

Lest we forget . . .

Great Grandfather Heidemann
Great - great Uncle Henry Heidemann
Great Uncle Harry
Great Aunt Bessie
Dick
Cousin Gary
Cousin Chase
Uncle Leonard
Jean S.
Scotty M.
Kenny H.
Jeff O.
Clarence F.
Sue S.
Steve H.
Joan E.
Cindy S.
Gail B.
Pete M.
Michele
Lee's cousin Earl
Leslie's son
Earl's nephew
Sherry's boyfriend
Betty (Conductron)
Bob T.
Brooke D.
Somayah
receptionist (ND)
4 students (ND)
2 students (UK)
secretary's 2 children & mother (ND)
Stephen's son George K
Carolyn B.
Marton's advisor
Jeanne's brother
friend of A & S
cousin of J
Terry's brother - in - law
Steve's sister
Christian B.
Evette

. . . and others . . .

RIP

**********

And to conclude,
a couple of In Memoriam tunes from Kansas:

People of the South Wind

There are some who can still remember
All the things that we used to do
But the days of our youth were numbered
And the ones who survive it are few

Oh, I can still see the smiling faces
When the times were so good
Oh in the all familiar places
I'd go back if I could

To the people of the south wind
To the people of the southern wind
To the people of the south wind
To the people of the southern wind

Well it's a hard thing to face the music
But it's somethin' everybody's got to do
So I hope that I can always remember
All the crazy times we had to go through

Now it's a dream that is slowly fading
Oh I don't want it to go
All of the memories are evading
And I want you to know

It's the people of the south wind
It's the people of the southern wind
It's the people of the south wind
It's the people of the southern wind

Now we've traveled all across the oceans
And we've seen what there is to see
But I guess it's not the proper solution
'Cause it's all about the same to me

Now I look back and it makes me wonder
Why we just couldn't see
All of the battles we fought and won there
Oh I wish that I could be

With the people of the south wind
With the people of the southern wind
It's the people of the south wind
You're the people of the southern wind

It's the people of the south wind
It's the people of the southern wind
It's the people of the south wind
You're the people of the southern wind

It's the people of the south wind
You're the people of the southern wind
It's the people of the south wind
You're the people of the southern wind

*********

Dust in the Wind

I close my eyes
Only for a moment and the moment's gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes with curiosity
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind

Same old song
Just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do
Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind

Now don't hang on
Nothin' lasts forever but the earth and sky
It slips away
And all your money won't another minute buy

Dust in the wind
All we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
Everything is dust in the wind

~ Lyrics to both by Kerry Livgren ~

*********

See also: Handful of Dust, Sunset & Evening Star.
and Descent Into Kansas

Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, June 14

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Descent Into Kansas
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

Sunset and Evening Star

RESURRECTION LITURGY
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

In my Father's house are many mansions:
if it were not so, I would have told you.
I go to prepare a place for you.
And if I go and prepare a place for you,
I will come again, and receive you unto myself;
that where I am, there ye may be also.
~ John 14:2-3 (KJV) ~

My mother Mary (1931 - 2020)
with her father Paul (1895 - 1983) and middle-brother John (1932 - 1983)
~ November 1981 ~

My mother's funeral service is one of the many across the world that was held belatedly this year. For the past decade, Mother's Day has seemed to work better than Thanksgiving or Christmas for our family reunions, even during the year of COVID. Despite the pandemic, we all met up in Southeast Kansas to visit my mom's for Mother’s Day 2020, and she died a month later, on June 15, 2020. So Mothers Day 2021 seemed an obvious choice for the service, especially since it didn’t really seem safe to plan the service any sooner, with all of us traveling from various locations.

Mary Elisabeth Lindsey Carriker
January 21, 1931 — June 15, 2020

Earlier Tributes on blog & facebook

A long-time resident of Caney, Mary was born on January 21, 1931 in Peru, Kansas, to Paul J. and M. Rovilla Heidemann Lindsey. She attended grade school in Peru, high school in Caney (Class of 1948), and college in Bethany, Oklahoma. She worked for Foster Petroleum, Phillips Petroleum, and Continental Can Company for several years before marrying Willard M. Carriker, also of Caney, in 1960.

Willard, Mary, and their six children lived for a year in Mountain Home, Idaho, before settling in Neosho, Missouri (1962 - 1967) and in the St. Louis area (1967 - 1984), where Mary worked in human resources for several companies and Willard worked in quality control for McDonnell Douglas. They returned to Caney for retirement in 1984.

All of her life, Mary loved to read and write and play the piano. Upon returning to Caney, she played for both the Church of the Nazarene and the United Methodist Church. She completed an Associate of Arts degree in 1995 at Coffeyville Community College, volunteered for the high school debate team, and delivered Meals on Wheels.

Aaron wrote: "Mom was an avid arm-chair traveler. She loved to sit and look at maps and reminisce about trips she'd taken or talk about trips she would like to take. Or look at a map and follow along as you told her about a trip you'd taken. She also liked to compare old road maps to new ones, to see how much things had changed over the years. Another of her hobbies was star-gazing. She loved to go out and look at the stars and point out the different stars and constellations."

Mary is survived by her children David (Marion) of Independence, Peggy Rosenbluth, Bruce, Kitti (Gerry McCartney), Diane (Tom Burrows), and Aaron (Pam); nine grandchildren: Hans (Chantel) Carriker, Jerrod (Amanda) Rosenbluth, Daniel Rosenbluth, Anna (Joe) Lesher, Sara Carriker, Ben (Cathleen) McCartney, Sam McCartney, Aaron Burrows, and Jessica Kimbrel; fourteen great - grandchildren, and many loving nieces and nephews.

She was preceded in death by her husband Willard (in 1987) and their infant daughter Hope (in 1964); also her brothers Dwight, John, and Earl; her son - in - law Ron Rosenbluth, and grandson - in - law Dave Kimbrel. Mary's memorial service was held on Monday, May 10, 2021.
Memorial contributions can be made to
The AWOL Humane Society of Independence
P.O. Box 290
Independence, KS 67301
www.independenceks.gov/230/Animal-ControlAWOL-Humane-Society

****************
I know that my redeemer lives,
and that in the end he will stand on the earth.
And after my skin has been destroyed,
yet in my flesh I will see God;
I myself will see him with my own eyes —
I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me!
~ Job 19:25-27 (NIV) ~
Music Video Tribute
The Holy City ~ sung by Larry Ford

For we know in part and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three;
but the greatest of these is love.
~ 1 Corinthians 13:9-13 (NKJV) ~

****************
I am Resurrection and I am Life, says the Lord.
Whoever has faith in me shall have life, even though he die.
And everyone who has life, and has committed himself to me in
faith, shall not die for ever.

As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives
and that at the last he will stand upon the earth.
After my awaking, he will raise me up;
and in my body I shall see God.
I myself shall see, and my eyes behold him
who is my friend and not a stranger.

For none of us has life in himself,
and none becomes his own master when he dies.
For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord,
and if we die, we die in the Lord.
So, then, whether we live or die,
we are the Lord's possession.

Burial of the Dead: Rite II
Book of Common Prayer (p 491)

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

Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 -1892)

****************
Music Video Tribute
The Lord's Prayer ~ sung by Jim Nabors

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come
Let this blest assurance control
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate
And has shed His own blood for my soul

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought
My sin, not in part, but the whole
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

[additional stanza]
But Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend
Even so, it is well with my soul!

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

lyrics by Horatio Gates Spafford (1828-1888)
music by Philip Bliss (1838 – 1876)

For dust thou art,
and unto dust shalt thou return.
~ Genesis 3:19 (KJV) ~
Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, May 28

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

Earth - Proud

EARTH LAUGHS IN DAFFODILS
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

~ Fair Daffodils ~

Such an unusual poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
and so perfect for Earth Day & Arbor Day.
Perhaps you've always thought, as I have,
that Earth is laughing with us; but, no!
According to Emerson, Earth is laughing at us!
Read on . . .

HAMATREYA

Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint,
Possessed the land which rendered to their toil
Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool, and wood.
Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm,
Saying, “’Tis mine, my children’s and my name’s.
How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees!
How graceful climb those shadows on my hill!
I fancy these pure waters and the flags
Know me, as does my dog: we sympathize;
And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil.”

Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds:
And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough.
Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;
Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet
Clear of the grave.
They added ridge to valley, brook to pond,
And sighed for all that bounded their domain;
“This suits me for a pasture; that’s my park;
We must have clay, lime, gravel, granite-ledge,
And misty lowland, where to go for peat.
The land is well, —lies fairly to the south.
’Tis good, when you have crossed the sea and back,
To find the sitfast acres where you left them.”

Ah! the hot owner sees not Death, who adds
Him to his land, a lump of mould the more.
Hear what the Earth say:—

EARTH-SONG
“Mine and yours;
Mine, not yours.
Earth endures;
Stars abide—
Shine down in the old sea;
Old are the shores;
But where are old men?
I who have seen much,
Such have I never seen.

“The lawyer’s deed
Ran sure,
In tail,
To them and to their heirs
Who shall succeed,
Without fail,
Forevermore.

“Here is the land,
Shaggy with wood,
With its old valley,
Mound and flood.
But the heritors?—
Fled like the flood's foam.
The lawyer and the laws,
And the kingdom,
Clean swept herefrom.

“They called me theirs,
Who so controlled me;
Yet every one
Wished to stay, and is gone,
How am I theirs,
If they cannot hold me,
But I hold them?”

When I heard the Earth-song
I was no longer brave;
My avarice cooled

Like lust in the chill of the grave.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, (1803 - 1882)
American essayist, poet, transcendentalist

A few connections:

1.
Emerson: "Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds:
And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough. . . . "

A. E. Houseman: Is My Team Ploughing

“Is my team ploughing,
That I was used to drive
And hear the harness jingle
When I was man alive?”

Ay, the horses trample,
The harness jingles now;
No change though you lie under
The land you used to plough.

“Is football playing
Along the river shore,
Now I stand up no more?”
With lads to chase the leather,

Ay the ball is flying,
The lads play heart and soul;
The goal stands up, the keeper
Stands up to keep the goal.

“Is my girl happy,
That I thought hard to leave,
And has she tired of weeping
As she lies down at eve?”

Ay, she lies down lightly,
She lies not down to weep:
Your girl is well contented.
Be still, my lad, and sleep.

“Is my friend hearty,
Now I am thin and pine,
And has he found to sleep in
A better bed than mine?”

Yes, lad, I lie easy,
I lie as lads would choose;
I cheer a dead man’s sweetheart,
Never ask me whose.

2.
Emerson: "Ah! the hot owner sees not Death, who adds
Him to his land, a lump of mould the more."

E. L. Doctorow: from Homer and Langley

"We had a joke, Langley and I: Someone dying asks if there is life after death. Yes, comes the answer, only not yours" (100 - 01).

3.
Emerson: " . . . boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;
Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet
Clear of the grave.
They added ridge to valley, brook to pond,
And sighed for all that bounded their domain . . . "

Percy Bysshe Shelley: "Ozymandias"

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away. [ellipses in original]

4.
Emerson:“They called me theirs,
Who so controlled me;
Yet every one
Wished to stay, and is gone,
How am I theirs,
If they cannot hold me,
But I hold them?”

Mikhail Bulgakov: from The Master and Margarita

"I'm sorry . . . but in order to be in control, you have to have a definite plan for at least a reasonable period of time. So how, may I ask, can man be in control if he can't even draw up a plan for a ridiculously short period of time, say, a thousand years, and is, moreover, unable to ensure his own safety for even the next day? . . . Yes man is mortal, but that isn't so bad. What's bad is that sometimes he's unexpectedly mortal, that's the rub! And, in general, he can't even say in the morning what he'll be doing that very night."

*******************
So that's why Emerson allows the flowers to laugh at the boastful -- not lovingly because we Earthlings are so adorable, but in dismay because we are so willfully confused. We have trouble understanding that the planet can turn repeatedly from night to day without us. We think the world is ours when it is not. We cannot tell a baby step from a giant stride. We seem perpetually surprised by our mortality, despite ceaseless evidence to the contrary.

These words from my favorite Canadian band of the 1970's provide a timely reminder of our universal laughability:

"You took me by surprise
I didn't realize that you were laughing . . ."
~ The Guess Who ~

*******************
Previous Daffodil Posts

HAPPY EARTH DAY!
"Earth laughs in flowers" ~ Emerson

Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, May 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

Mindful

BEAUTIFUL BACKYARD GARDEN
WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Thriving Decorative Trellis
Cultivated by my brother & sister - in - law,
Dave & Marion

"In the mornings
I drank the dew that fell from the magnolia:
At evening
ate the petals that dropped from chrysanthemums.
If only my mind can be truly beautiful,
It matters nothing that I often faint for famine.
I pulled up roots to bind the valerian
And thread the fallen clusters of the castor plant;
I trimmed sprays of cassia for plaiting melilotus,
And knotted the lithe, light trails of ivy."

Excerpt from "Lament on Encountering Sorrow / Li Sao"
Found in the Songs of Ch'u / Qu Yuan (340 - 278 BC)
This eloquent nature lyric, from so many centuries ago, captures with poetic accuracy the concepts of contemporary mindfulness: cultivating awareness, observing the present moment, returning perpetually to moments of peace, approaching nature without judgment; and remaining curious, calm, and kind.

For many of us, gardening provides the one true path, for others, arranging flowers or merely picking them. Not much of a gardener myself, beyond raking and weeding, I was nevertheless delighted when my friend Len responded, upon reading the above - quoted lines:

"Thank your for sharing this, Kitti; it's beautiful and apt. Before I reached the source I thought it was your own first-person experience in the garden."

How I wish! Yet, I can honestly say that it is my experience in the library, or sitting on a lawn chair, in the garden, re-reading my favorite notebooks of poetry. How fortunate I was, nearly 40 years ago, before I ever knew of "mindfulness" (well, I kind of did know), to jot down Qu Yuan's ancient "Lament." Though he speaks of "fainting for famine," his "lithe, light," lilting imagery is nearly mouth - watering, his flowery descriptions so delicate and delicious! His words remain true to the present day, re - minding the reader of the time - honored quest for peace and beauty of mind: "If only my mind can be truly beautiful . . . ."

Silver Carpet Lamb's Ear
Once again, courtesy of Marion & Dave!

Thanks to my friend Nikki for sharing
these wise words from the ever mindful Mary Oliver (1935 - 2019):

“Teach the children. We don’t matter so much, but the children do. Show them daisies and the pale hepatica. Teach them the taste of sassafras and wintergreen. The lives of the blue sailors, mallow, sunbursts, the moccasin-flowers. And the frisky ones–inkberry, lamb’s-quarters, blueberries. And the aromatic ones–rosemary, oregano. Give them peppermint to put in their pockets as they go to school. Give them the fields and the woods and the possibility of the world salvaged from the lords of profit. Stand them in the stream, head them upstream, rejoice as they learn to love this green space they live in, its sticks and leaves and then the silent, beautiful blossoms. Attention is the beginning of devotion.”

Also by Mary Oliver:

Mindful

Everyday
I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world —
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant —
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these —
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, April 28

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