Victoria on the Void

AUTUMNAL OWL
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

My friend Victoria Amador recently suggested that
bleak November was a good time to re-read
one of our favorite poems by one of our favorite poets:

In a Dark Time

In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood—
A lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That place among the rocks—is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.

A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is—
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.

By Theodore Roethke (1908 – 1963)

We had been comparing visits to our local cemeteries. For me, it was the small sad Confederate Cemetery, just down the street from our house, where I love taking a walk. For Victoria, it was Lakewood Cemetery, "the most beautiful in the Twin Cities. There's a bench next to the small lake, and it's perfect for reflecting on purpose and passion, restlessness and recklessness, strength and fragility; feeling rather vapid in a disturbing vacuum. How do you fill The Void?"

How do I do it? Reading, writing, swimming, looking after the grandkids. I just have to a - void that spiral of "Now, why am I doing this?" Oh yeah, that's right, so that they too may grow up strong, thoughtful and contemplative, and one day feel -- and find a way to fill -- The Void. Sigh . . .

As ever, in a dark time, there are the inestimable insights of the great writers and thinkers. Like as we, Ralph Waldo Emerson also faced The Void:

"After thirty, we wake up sad every morning,
excepting perhaps five or six, until the day of our death.”
Isn't it somewhat ennobling, right, to think that Emerson felt the same way, so long ago? And not necessarily from depression or even aging, though perhaps coming of age -- whenever it happens -- might have something to do with it. Emerson mentions the existential sadness kicking in at age thirty, the true end of childhood.

How did Jonathan Swift do it?
"I never wake without finding life more
insignificant than it was the day before."
from his letter to Lord Bolingbroke

How did E. M. Forster do it?
“Two people pulling each other into Salvation
is the only theme I find worthwhile."
~ from his Commonplace Book

Or Robert Frost / Brad McLaughlin?
"We've looked and looked, but after all where are we?
Do we know any better where we are,
And how it stands between the night tonight
And a man with a smoky lantern chimney?
How different from the way it ever stood?"
~from his poem "The Star-splitter"

How does Alithea / Tilda Swinton do it?
"Despite all the whiz-bang, we remain bewildered."
~ from the movie ~
Three Thousand Years of Longing

Petrified Wood, Statuette & Owl (above)
all from my brother Dave's back yard.

Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, December 14th
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

The Orion Connection

ORION THE HUNTER
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Why do so many depictions of Orion include his belt but not his sword?
Still, I like this one because it labels both Betelgeuse and Bellatrix

Sky and Telescope

These two star maps are less vivid than the one above,
yet they are helpful in other ways.
Firstly, they both include the sword!
Secondly, they include Sirius, the brightest star in
Canis Major, one of Orion's hunting dogs.

Sound Cloud

Orion has always been a favorite with the poets,
as these excerpts reveal:
#1
from "Orion"
by Charles Tennyson Turner (1808 - 1879)

How oft I've watch'd thee from the garden croft,
In silence, when the busy day was done,
Shining with wondrous brilliancy aloft,
And flickering like a casement 'gainst the sun!
I've seen thee soar from out some snowy cloud,
Which held the frozen breath of land and sea,
Yet broke and sever'd as the wind grew loud
But earth-bound winds could not dismember thee,
Nor shake thy frame of jewels; I have guess'd
At thy strange shape and function, haply felt
The charm of that old myth about thy belt
And sword . . .
#2
from "Winter Stars"
by Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)

I bore my sorrow heavily.
But when I lifted up my head
From shadows shaken on the snow,
I saw Orion in the east
Burn steadily as long ago . . .
#3
from "Baseball and Writing"
by Marianne Moore (1887 - 1972)

Studded with stars in belt and crown,
the Stadium is an adastrium.

O flashing Orion,
your stars are muscled like the lion.
#4
from "Orion"
by Adrienne Rich (1929 - 2012)

. . . you were my genius, you
my cast-iron Viking, my helmed
lion-heart king in prison.
Years later now you're young

my fierce half-brother, staring
down from that simplified west
your breast open, your belt dragged down
by an oldfashioned thing, a sword
the last bravado you won't give over
though it weighs you down as you stride

and the stars in it are dim
and maybe have stopped burning.
But you burn, and I know it . . .

Pity is not your forte.
Calmly you ache up there
pinned aloft in your crow's nest,
my speechless pirate!
#5
the poem "Orion"
by James Longenbach (1959 – 2022)

Stars rising like something said, something never
To be forgotten, shining forever—look
How still they are.

Blind hunter crawling
Toward sunrise, then healed.

He opened his eyes to find her waiting

—Afraid—and together they traveled
Lightly: requiring nothing

But a sense that the road beneath them stretched
Forever. At the edge

He entered the water, swam so far
That he became a speck: his body

Washed ashore, then raised to where we see it now—
The belt, the worn-out sword. I'm not

Afraid—

Except that there is nothing beneath us,
No ground without fear. The body vulnerable

—You can look at me—

The body still now, never
Changing, rising forever—stay—

Like something said.

There are numerous others
[e.g., Stoddart, O'Malley]
but perhaps the real question is:
do we even deserve the heroics of Orion,
the "faithful beauty of the stars,"
and the grandeur night sky:

The Earthlings

The Earthlings arrived unannounced, entered
without knocking, removed their shoes
and began clipping their toenails.
They let the clippings fall wherever.
They sighed loudly as if inconvenienced.
We were patient. We knew our guests
were in an unfamiliar environment; they needed
time to adjust. For dinner, we prepared
turkey meatloaf with a side of cauliflower.
This is too dry, they said.
This is not like what our mothers made.
We wanted to offer a tour of our world,
demonstrate how we freed ourselves
from the prisons of linear time.
But the Earthlings were already spelunking
our closets, prying tools
from their containers and holding them
to the light. What’s this? they demanded.
What’s this? What’s this? And what’s this?
That’s a Quantum Annihilator; put that down.
That’s a Particle Grinder; please put that down.
We could show you how to heal the sick, we said.
We could help you feed every nation, commune
with the all-seeing sentient energy that palpitates
through all known forms of matter.
Nah! they said. Teach us to vaporize a mountain!
Teach us to turn the moon into revenue!
Then the Earthlings
left a faucet running and flooded our basement.

by Matthew Olzmann

Click for greater detail
from Denver & the BBC

Next Fortnightly Post
Thursday, November 28th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ The Faithful Beauty of the Stars
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

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

Beauty in the Macabre

THE MACABRE
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

"Beauty in the Macabre"
Thanks to my friend Steven for sharing this winsome cartoon.

Also: The Danse Macabre ~ QK ~ A Fun Example

And thanks to Gerry's Auntie Jan
for sending these two poems by Ted Hughes:

Sorrows of Autumn

The first sorrow of autumn is the slow good-bye of the garden that stands so long in the evening—a brown poppy head, the stalk of a lily, and still cannot go.

The second sorrow is the empty feet of a pheasant who hangs from a hook with his brothers. The woodland of gold is folded in feathers with its head in a bag.

And the third sorrow is the slow good-bye of the sun who has gathered the birds and who gathers the minutes of evening, the golden and holy ground of the picture.

The fourth sorrow is the pond gone black, ruined, and sunken the city of water — the beetle's palace, the catacombs of the dragonfly.

And the fifth sorrow is the slow good-bye of the woodland that quietly breaks up its camp. One day it's gone. It has only left litter — firewood, tent poles.

And the sixth sorrow is the fox's sorrow, the joy of the huntsman, the joy of the hounds, the hooves that pound; till earth closes her ear to the fox's prayer.

And the seventh sorrow is the slow good-bye of the face with its wrinkles that looks through the window as the year packs up like a tatty fairground that came for the children.

Leaves

Who’s killed the leaves?
Me, says the apple, I’ve killed them all.
Fat as a bomb or a cannonball
I’ve killed the leaves.

Who sees them drop?
Me, says the pear, they will leave me all bare
So all the people can point and stare.
I see them drop.

Who’ll catch their blood?
Me, me, me, says the marrow, the marrow.
I’ll get so rotund that they’ll need a wheelbarrow.
I’ll catch their blood.

Who’ll make their shroud?
Me, says the swallow, there’s just time enough
Before I must pack all my spools and be off.
I’ll make their shroud.

Who’ll dig their grave?
Me, says the river, with the power of the clouds
A brown deep grave I’ll dig under my floods.
I’ll dig their grave.

Who’ll be their parson?
Me, says the Crow, for it is well-known
I study the bible right down to the bone.
I’ll be their parson.

Who’ll be chief mourner?
Me, says the wind, I will cry through the grass
The people will pale and go cold when I pass.
I’ll be chief mourner.*

Who’ll carry the coffin?
Me, says the sunset, the whole world will weep
To see me lower it into the deep.
I’ll carry the coffin.

Who’ll sing a psalm?
Me, says the tractor, with mu gear grinding glottle
I’ll plough Up the stubble and sing through my throttle.
I’ll sing the psalm.

Who’ll toll the bell?
Me, says the robin, my song in October
Will tell the still gardens the leaves are over.
I’ll toll the bell.

By Ted Hughes (1930 - 1988)

*my favorite lines!

Don't you love these pages from my new sticker book?
Some of the user comments said that
"the sticker designs are too eerie & creepy" -- or
"why have they mixed in the grotesque with the romantic?"
Well, guess what -- that's why we love them, right?!?!
Exactly the same thing my friend Vicki said
about her new note cards from her friend Emmy:
"elegant, gothic, pagan, feminist, organic, spooky"!

Previously: Memento Mori

Previously: "Where Is Fancy Bred"

Previously: On Facebook

Next Fortnightly Post
Thursday, November 14th
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

Tonight Is The Night

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

I discovered this book 10 years ago, and immediately fell in love with the eerie pictures and bewitching lyrics. Only this year did I learn that the verse is an old childhood song, set to music long ago. I had no idea!

Hallowe'en

Tonight is the night
When dead leaves fly
Like witches on switches
Across the sky,

When elf and sprite
Flit through the night
On a moony sheen.
Tonight is the night

When leaves make a sound
Like a gnome in his home
Under the ground,

When spooks and trolls
Creep out of holes
Mossy and green.
Tonight is the night

When pumpkins stare
Through sheaves and leaves
Everywhere,

When ghoul and ghost
And goblin host
Dance round their queen.
It's Hallowe'en.

poem by Harry Behn
sung by Kathryn Lillich
storybook illustrations by Greg Couch

Also by Harry Behn
Trees

Trees are the kindest things I know,
They do no harm, they simply grow
And spread a shade for sleepy cows,
And gather birds among their bows.

They give us fruit in leaves above,
And wood to make our houses of,
And leaves to burn Halloween
And in the Spring new buds of green.

They are first when day's begun
To tough the beams of morning sun,
They are the last to hold the light
When evening changes into night.

And when a moon floats on the sky
They hum a drowsy lullaby
Of sleepy children long ago...
Trees are the kindest things I know.

Illustrated by James Endicott

Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, October 28th
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 ~ Halloween Favorites
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Christian Birkinbine: Ancestors & Descendants

THE SHIP TWO BROTHERS
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

"The Two Brothers, commanded by Captain Thomas Arnot, arrived in Philadelphia on September 14, 1749, carrying 312 German-speaking immigrants from the Electorate Palatine and Trier. The ship sailed from Rotterdam, stopping last in Cowes, England, before crossing the Atlantic.

"All male passengers aged 16 and older aboard this ship took the official Oath of Allegiance at the Philadelphia Courthouse to qualify for entry into the colony. Specifically, they were required by law to swear an oath of allegiance to King George II, or his successors."

As mentioned previously, the Birkinbines were pretty good record-keepers. I inherited long lists of siblings and cousins, always beginning with Christian (1713 - 1786), who left Europe on the Ship Two Brothers, sailing via Rotterdam to Philadelphia, arriving on September 14, 1749 (#30 on the Passenger List).

From my Grandmother Rovilla, I learned the same core genealogical thread that she had learned from her Grandmother Elizabeth. Thanks to my spouse Gerry, we have added several names to both the ends of the lineage, temporarily streamlined for the sake of efficiency:

Johannes Buel (born in Germany),
begat Johannes Buel / Birkenbuel (born in Germany),
begat Johan Arnold Birkenbuel (born in Germany),
begat Johan A. Birkenbuel, Jr. (born in Germany),

begat Christian (born in Germany)
begat Antonius (born in Switzerland),
begat Anthony (born in Philadelphia),
begat George (born in Maryland),
begat Elizabeth (born in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania),
begat Anna Mary (Lancaster County),
begat Rovilla (Kansas),
begat Mary Beth (Kansas),
begat Kitti (Kansas),

begat Ben (Indiana) and Sam (Philadelphia);
Ben begat Eleanor (Indiana), Aidan (Indiana), Dean (Virginia).

Additional Details

1. Christian's great - great grandfather
Johannes Buel (1595 - 1665)
Born somewhere in Germany; died Hessen-Nassau, Prussia

2. Christian's paternal great - grandparents
Johannes Buel / Birkenbuel, (1620 - 1684; possibly April 17, 1690)
Born somewhere in Germany; died Hessen-Nassau, Prussia
married Anna (dates & last name unknown)

3. Christian's paternal grandparents
Johan Arnold Birkenbuel (1647 - May 17, 1732)
& first wife: Elsie Meister, born 1650 - died before 1690
Johan born & died in Birkenbuel, Westerwald, Hessen-Nassau, Prussia
second wife: Veronica Kolben, born in Neiderrisen, Hessen Nassau, Prussia

4. Christian's father
Johan Birkenbuel, Jr. (1680 or 1688 - 1745)
(also spelled Birkingbey, Perkepel, and other variations)
born in Birkenbuel, Westerwald, Hessen-Nassau, Prussia
lived at times in Hemmelzen Rhine Palatinate, Southwest Germany
died in Germany

5. My 6x maternal great-grandparents
Johan Christian Birkinbine (1713 or 1714 - 1786) & first wife Anna Christina Katzwinckel (1706 - 46; died in Germany)
Johan born in Hemmelzen, Rhine Palatinate, Southwest Germany
lived at times in Switzerland
died in Passyunk Township, Philadelphia County, Pennsylvania

At some point in the future:
more Birkinbine information to follow.

Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, October 14th
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 ~ Halloween Favorites
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Grandmothers in the Stars

LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Elizabeth Birkinbine Miller
(February 28, 1838 ~ March 28, 1925)

begat

Anna Mary Miller Heidemann
(December 29, 1862 - January 3, 1923)

begat

Mary Rovilla Heidemann Lindsey
(October 8, 1891 - June 14, 1966)

Photo taken 1919
325 S. 17th Street ~ Independence, Kansas

My Grandmother in the Stars

It is possible we will not meet again
on earth. To think this fills my throat
with dust. Then there is only the sky
tying the universe together.

Just now the neighbor’s horse must be standing
patiently, hoof on stone, waiting for his day
to open. What you think of him,
and the village’s one heroic cow
is the knowledge I wish to gather.
I bow to your rugged feet,
the moth-eaten scarves that knot your hair.

Where we live in the world
is never one place. Our hearts,
those dogged mirrors, keep flashing us
moons before we are ready for them.
You and I on a roof at sunset,
our two languages adrift,
heart saying, Take this home with you,
never again,
and only memory making us rich.

by Naomi Shihab Nye
in her book Everything Comes Next

Here is the same photo as above,
with the addition of my mother and me
70 years later,
tucked into the frame
to complete the mother - daughter sequence.

" . . . One by one, in abundance or in poverty, we find our way,
and whatever is in us of pity and pride.
And speak to you who come after, to whom we are, perhaps,
the merest trace of sorrow, remnant salt
in the tongue's own flesh.
We who wanted only to die with sweetness in our mouths
to console the children with that hope."

by Jane Hirshfield
from her poem "For the Autumn Dead: Election Day, 1984"
in her book The October Palace

Elizabeth (mother) & Anna Mary (daughter) ~ see dates above.
Photo taken perhaps not too long before Anna Mary's death.

How sad that Anna Mary died (at age 61) in 1923
2 years before her mother died (at age 87) in 1925.
This photo is undated, but appears to be a few years later
than the somewhat happier photo above, which was taken in 1919.

"It leans on me, this changing season,
breathless as these old photographs

under the lamp. White smiles will
smile forever; the tossed ball is fixed in

space and will not move, nor will
divers, diving, ever touch water. . . . "

by Dorothea Tanning
from her poem "Trapeze"
in her book Coming to That

Elizabeth Birkinbine Miller
~ Born February 28, 1838 ~
Photo taken shortly before her death, in 1925

What my Grandmother Rovilla has written on the back --

Rovilla's note says "a short time before she passed away"
(which was March 28, 1925). Perhaps Rovilla included the date
on the corner that has been torn off over the years.
For the above pic of Elizabeth,
I zoomed in & cropped away the torn segment;
but from the back you can see how much is missing.

My Great - great grandmother Elizabeth, my Great grandmother Anna Mary, my Grandmother Rovilla. Yet more ancestors, but hopefully somewhat less loss this time than in my last few posts, which were all about lost persons and lost information:
Missing, Presumed Dead
Missing Ancestors
Your Mother, Her Grandfather
Of course, even with a solid written record, there is always the poetic loss to deal with, so deep you can taste it. Poets Naomi Shihab Nye and Jane Hirshfield both rely on surprisingly gustatory imagery to evoke the mixed emotions of ancestral connection (emphasis added in poems above). Nye says that thinking of all she may never be able to learn about her grandmother "fills my throat / with dust." Hirshfield wonders if the ancestors have indvertently left behind a sad taste in our mouths, tears where we would have hoped for smiles: "the merest trace of sorrow, remnant salt . . . We who wanted only to die with sweetness in our mouths / to console the children with that hope."

There is also the absence of contact, as described by the poets. Dorothea Tanning says that the old photos are "breathless." Please speak to us! But, no, they are frozen, speechless. As my Cousin Hal writes about this photograph of Elizabeth: "Amazing! Must have been a cool fall time of year. The trees are absent leaves, and she is dressed for cool weather. Yes, the customary attire back then. But wow, pretty warm looking!" And how about that dog walking along the sidewalk? Turn around! Show us your face! Whose pet are you? Were you an annoyance to Elizabeth, or were you beloved?

Writing of her grandmother, Shihab Nye acknowledges the sad truth: "It is possible we will not meet again / on earth." In fact, it is not just a possibility but a certainty that my grandmother and I will not meet again on earth, though she meant the world to me in the years that our lives overlapped, from my birth in 1957 until her death in 1966. Not forgetting the numerous great grandmothers before her -- our lives never overlapped; they are known to me only through stories from the relatives and whatever written records survive. Rovilla, Anna Mary, Elizabeth -- they have all become grandmothers in the stars.

The Birkinbines were pretty good record-keepers. Still, as in any dense family history, there are gaps. At my grandmother's knee, I learned the long line of Birkinbines:

Christian (born in Germany)
begat Antonius (born in Switzerland),
begat Anthony (born in Philadelphia), begat George (born in Maryland),
begat Elizabeth (born in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania),
begat Anna Mary (Lancaster County), begat Rovilla (Kansas),
begat Mary Beth (Kansas),
begat Kitti (Kansas).

Elizabeth bequeathed to us extensive lists of siblings and cousins, but her records always started with Christian (1713 - 1786), who left Europe on the Ship Two Brothers, sailing via Rotterdam to Philadelphia, arriving on September 14, 1749 (#30 on the Passenger List).

Many thanks to my spouse Gerry who has spent hours researching the preceding generations, and pursuing Christian's roots way back into Germany, where he and all of his forebears lived until Christian branched out and immigrated first to Switzerland and then -- ever the pioneer -- to America. (more details to follow).

Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, September 28th
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