Clouds
I
would build a cloudy House
For
my thoughts to live in,
When
for earth too fancy-loose,
And
too low for Heaven. [1]
—Elizabeth
Barrett Browning
If
I didn't know better, Elizabeth, I'd say you were haunting me. It all
may have started just down the street from a school I attended—at
the St. Marylebone Parish Church, where you and your dear Robert
secretly married (though I was ignorant of that fact until only
recently). I passed by a few hundred times as a youth, never stepping
foot inside. Then five years later, and more than an ocean away, I
came to live in a college dormitory building that to this day faces a
world-renowned library dedicated to you and Robert. So close to you
again, yet I continued to be deaf to your presence.
How
the decades have turned to vapor. Now, I find myself back in London,
roaming the streets as if lured from place to place by your hand,
soft
and warm.
Yesterday, to the National Portrait Gallery and its famous likenesses
of the two of you. And this afternoon to this church at Marylebone
Road. As soon as I slip in, I notice the plain, dark door labeled
"The Browning Room." Ah! It's locked, but I hope you'll
give me credit for vigorously rattling the knob. At least I manage to
snap a photograph of the heart of the church—from pews to pulpit
and grand ceiling—generating stares from a handful of workers
before I dash back out.
some
have said
cameras steal souls . . .
with this one shot
all I
wish to capture
is
the splendor within
In
search of another wispy trace of you, I next make my way down a
section of the High Street and onto quiet blocks known for their
opulent, historical residences and medical establishments. My silent
gasp as I eventually come upon that famous address where you spent
the last eight years of your life before you eloped. Etched quite
simply, near ground level, into the building's stone facade:
"Elizabeth Barrett Browning . . . Lived in a house on this
site." I imagine you, fragile in constitution but your pen bold
and strong, crafting your words in a way thought somewhat
uncharacteristic for a woman of your time.
a
sign
at
50 Wimpole Street,
once
the home
of
a beloved poet:
The
Heart Hospital
Finally,
I wind my way through an overly crowded commercial district to
Trafalgar Square and then to Westminster Abbey with its numerous
pointed arches and sky-piercing Gothic spires. Here, your husband
lies buried in the company of other notables, though far away from
your own resting place at The English Cemetery in Florence, Italy. I
bid adieu to you and yours, Elizabeth . . . but surely only for
now.
evensong—
a
hush of humanity
as the
sun
slowly
lowers itself
to a choral introit
_______________
Author's Notes:
[1]
From "The House of Clouds," lines 1–4, by Elizabeth
Barrett Browning (1841). The first-published version (in Athenaeum)
is used here; in subsequently published versions, the punctuation is
different.
The
wording soft
and warm
is from "Sonnets from the Portuguese 24," line 3 ("In
this close hand of Love, now soft and warm"), by Elizabeth
Barrett Browning (1850).
The
St. Marylebone Parish Church, which has been associated with a great
deal of history, was established "sometime after 1086" (per
the church's website). The basic structure of the present-day parish
church was completed in 1817. Various well-known individuals have
attended the church, including Charles Dickens and his son. The
Brownings were married there in 1846.
A
round commemorative plaque (first installed in 1899), too small and
located too high for the narrator to read in person, is affixed to
the building at 50 Wimpole Street. Its interesting wording:
"Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Poetess, Afterwards Wife of Robert
Browning, Lived Here, 1838–1846."
The
poet's Georgian Wimpole Street house, which she shared with Barrett
family members, was likely torn down in 1935 (sources vary on the
date). Curiously, the current structure at that location is
associated with a major heart center.
Elizabeth
was a semi-invalid for much of her life, apparently suffering from a
collection of maladies (the exact set of illnesses is open to
debate). Also, it is said she was prescribed opiates, to which she
became addicted.
Coincidentally
(unknown to the author until she had completed this story), a legend
exists that the ghost of Elizabeth haunts the Armstrong Browning
Library in Waco, Texas. Also refer to the tanka prose piece "All
Things Browning," Haibun
Today,
11:1.
_______________
Haibun Today, Vol. 11, No. 2, June 2017
Update: As if I didn't already have enough unexpected Browning and Barrett "connections" (that I never before paid attention to) . . . A few weeks ago, I was cleaning out old purses and in one of them found a small flyer about a cruise line's shore excursion we went on roughly 20 years ago. It was for Greenwood Great House, a Barrett family residence in Jamaica.
