All
Things Browning
God's
in His heaven—All's right with the world! [1]
—Robert
Browning
"Would
you also like to see the balcony on the third floor?" a library
attendant asks me. "We keep the door locked, but I can open it
for you. The view is lovely."
For
two years as a college student, I lived across the street from this
lavish Italian Renaissance-style building. Yet until now, decades
later, I'd never actually explored inside these walls, nor outside
them either. I'd only attended a ceremony or two—in then out, no
time for more. Today, Pippa, the bronze statue surrounded by greenery
at the front of the long, manicured lawn, comes to life for me . . .
drawing me in.
As
I step gently through a network of grand rooms in the Armstrong
Browning Library (which is both research center and museum), I have
trouble deciding where to fix my gaze. Greeting me first: rich-wood
paneling, towering marble columns, ornate ceilings, a polished tile
floor with a brass-inlaid border. The tranquil countenance of a young
man seated at the front desk. Then book after antique book lining
shelf after shelf. A multitude of stained-glass windows, sunlit and
vivid, almost all of them illustrating poems by Robert Browning and
Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Personal furniture. Busts and other
sculptures, miscellaneous works of era-appropriate art. And several
Browning portraits, with faces that seem to stare pensively at me.
can
an artist
capture on canvas
the essence
of a master of words?
this
son they called Pen
Many
delicate pieces of memorabilia gracefully rest in glass cases. (Not
to mention that the library also maintains a vast-and-growing
collection of letters and manuscripts.) I realize I could study every
trinket and silver spoon, every brooch and snippet of lace, for more
time than I have—as well as lose myself in the notes that accompany
them. A small traveling tea set, with basket, particularly captures
my attention. The story goes that the set belonged to a Mrs. Jean
Sherwood, an American art critic, who used it to share tea with a
stranger one day while on a train journey in Italy. During their
conversation, Mrs. Sherwood remarked that in America Elizabeth
Barrett Browning was considered to be the greatest woman poet. The
stranger responded, "She was my wife."
this
wisp of hair
held tight in the embrace
of a locket . . .
how
certain small things
don't
harden with age
her
inkstand
made of fine porcelain . . .
a chorus
of syllables
spilling
onto paper
even
leaves
from the laurel wreath
on his casket
saved, arranged in
a frame . . .
still a cascade of life
How
do I love thee? Let me count the ways [. . .]
I shall but love thee
better after death. [2]
—Elizabeth
Barrett Browning
_______________________
Author's
Notes:
[1]
From "Pippa's Song," lines 7-8, in Pippa
Passes,
a dramatic poem/play by Robert Browning (1841).
[2]
From "Sonnets from the Portuguese 43," first and last
lines, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1850).
Inspiration
and information for "All Things Browning" came primarily
from an in-person visit to The Armstrong Browning Library at Baylor
University, Waco, Texas; the library's website and the
librarian/curator of books and printed materials also served as
resources. The facility, which opened in 1951, "houses the
world's largest collection of Browning material and other fine
collections of rare 19th-century books, manuscripts, and works of
art" (as stated on the website).
The
life-size statue of Pippa, presented to the library in 1957, was
sculpted by Waldine Tauch.
Sculptor/painter
Robert Wiedeman Barrett Browning, or "Pen," was the
Browning poets' only child. Several portraits he painted of his
parents are displayed at the library.
Elizabeth
(1806-1861) is buried at the English Cemetery, Florence, Italy, while
Robert (1812-1889) is buried in Poets' Corner in London's Westminster
Abbey.
On a
personal note, the author was surprised to discover, not long ago, an
additional Browning "connection." Not only did she live as
a student across the street from the Armstrong Browning Library, but
she also attended a middle school barely more than steps from
London's St. Marylebone Parish Church, where the Brownings married in
1846.
_______________________
—Haibun
Today,
Vol. 11, No. 1, March 2017
This was a pleasure to read and linger over. I really enjoyed what you did here, Janet. Your intermingling of prose and tanka/sequence is inspired. In is clear, this was a moving and reflective - albeit delightful - visit. Great work!
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