Our Voices Unite

My grandfather, Wayne Miller (1896-1946) was a prolific writer and among his papers we have discovered many stories, and poems.  This is one of the poems he wrote to his wife, my grandmother, Irene Rogers Miller. You will quickly realize the change in the use of the verb “ejaculations” that has become less acceptable in daily language today. Most people today would not associate the use of this word with this poem.  (Ok, I should not have to spell this out for you - you get my drift, I’m sure).

Here is the short poem:

 Ye Gods;

Behold the array -

Generals , Colonels , Captains , non-coms and privates -

The hosts of vanity in parade formation.

 Or , perhaps , only a bit of landscape gardening on the dresser top.

(Methinks she admires the outfit as much as she uses it!)

The tall bottles and vials are noble trees -

Those squatty , fat jars are clumps of shrub.

Colors , too , in pleasing variety.

She was ever color-hungry.

 But no - she does use them!

Some are half - empty!

 Ah, well -

Time was when her beauty was freshly born with each new dawn.

No dependence then upon concoctions and astringents.

Even yet she uses these condiments with indifferent zeal!

Next year - and the next - will she rely more and more upon them!

And why ! Why all the struggle for beauty?

But should I decry it?

Beauty is the one essential to love.

If natural charm will not tarry beyond forty

By all means let it come from bottles,

Flasks , jars, masks, boxes, curlers, patches,

Whatnot.

Beauty there must be!

 Could I, I wonder , use such arts

To keep warm her love for me?