Tag Archives: Pearl Curran Rogers



PearlCurranRogersOccasionally I see articles about Pearl Curran and Patience Worth that state that communication between the two stopped after 1927 or ’28.  But that is not true!  After Pearl Curran moved to California in 1930, communication between Patience Worth and Pearl Curran ( now Mrs. Robert Wyman) continued as before, albeit without the strong support previously provided by Casper Yost and others of her St. Louis circle of friends. Pearl now had “Dotsie” Smith (Mrs. Alexander Smith) to encourage her and friend of the family, Max Behr to help edit her writing and her third husband, Robert Wyman.  it was during this time that An Elizebethan Mask was written.  As time went on another circle of friends developed and Patience continued to speak in her usual way, although somewhat subdued at times, until Pearl died in 1937.  (Perhaps even later according to Irene Hickman in her book ‘I Knew Patience Worth’.)

Pearl Curran Rogers

Pearl Curran Rogers

Irving Litvag in his book “Singer in the Shadows” relates that   according to Mrs. Alexander ‘Dotsie’ Smith, with whom Pearl had lived for a while in California, around the middle of November 1937 Mrs. Curran had said to her: “Oh, Dotsie, Patience has just shown me the end of the road and you will have to carry on as best you can.”  Although Mrs. Curran had not been in ill health, however on Thanksgiving Day, she caught a cold, pneumonia developed and she was taken to Willshire hospital in Los Angeles where she died on December 3, 1937.


Pearl-Curran-GraveAt the funeral service the small group of relatives, friends, and followers gathered to pay their final respects to the woman who for almost a quarter of a century had been the faithful voice, the “harp” of Patience Worth.  The final words, reportedly spoken at Mrs. Curran’s grave were “And thus it is that we take leave of her, knowing well that her head is resting upon the bosom of Patience, whose words are as arms that would cradle the world.”

Pearl Lenore Curran is buried at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale California; Sunrise Slope, Lot 5778, Space 3.

The following  is an example of dictation given at the beach home of Pearl Curran Wyman in California on June 27, 1933.

Dr. Belmont:  Patience shall I meet and recognize you when I go where you are?

Patience:  What be I save my word unto thee; and do I present unto thee through word my flesh?  Nay, but the salt o’ what I be.  That thou hast come upon me ahere be not by chance, but that I hae sought thee.  Thereby ye shall for to know that lo’e I ye, so thereby hae I sought and followed thee.  Ahere I shall do likewise when thou comest as a traveler unto my way.  Aye, sire, wi’ a glad voice I shall call me “aday” and thou shalt for to know, for word be but the out-symbol o’ an in-urge.  Here the urge taketh the place o’ the tongue.

Max Behr:  Do you mean by this that you knew Dr. Belmont before he met us?

Patience:  I be a thief, egad, a graceless thief; and yet that which I pilfer from him or any man he hath, wi’out the spendin’ o’ a pence, and that which I take he shall ne’er miss, for in the takin’ lo they that lose shall grow greater, for I be a pilferer o’ spirit aye, and I hae ta’en o’ him afore ye lay ‘e ‘pon him.  I be a tickle o’ it.

(At this, we all expressed wonder, and Patience enlightened us with the following remark.)

Patience:  Aye he set afore his ain image and kenned it.

(Note:  Before talking with Patience, the scene between Will Shakespeare and Johann had been read.  To themselves, both Pearl and Mr. Wyman had thought what a wonderful Johann Dr. Belmont would make.)

Question:  Do you mean Johann?

Patience:  I shall for to sweet his tongue and preen him a whit, then strut him forth that he may see himsel’.

Max:  Well Patience, if Johann is taken from a personality is Will, Will?

Patience:  Weel, since he wert, need I for to create a-new?  I hae loosed his tongue and wi’ cunning pettiskirted the word in mine ain fancy.

Max:  Do you mean by that that Shakespeare is speaking through you?

Patience:  Who stirreth this puddin’?  And did ever a boiler o’ the pot betell the how the puddin’ came for to be?  The time it taketh?  The stuff it be created o’?  Yea, – but the puddin’, nay!

Dr. Belmont:  Patience, several times I came near being wealthy.  Shall I achieve financial independence and thus be free to devote myself to the work closest to my heart?

Patience:  Thou, thou, thou!  And havin’ the truth athin, sic an quiz!  Look’ee, ye be richer afar athin ye than ever afore and the day shall yet lay bounty athin thy hand.  Nuff for to labor and be at the task, be all man need.  Thou hast ta’en o’ the day, and the day hath in turn, ta’en frae thee.  Whathap?  Yet thou has the greatest task, which buyeth amore than goods, for to do.  This be thy beginnin’.  Fret ye nay, for through thy faith thou hast purchased.

Max:  What is his work to be?

Patience:  Aye, a sly lance he hath and a bold ‘un – a sly one to prick youth and a bold ‘un to fell man in his folly.

Max:  Should he now write, exposing the hypocrisys he has met with in life, and set forth the understanding he has come to of the relation between the material man and his spirit?

Patience:  Aye, but he yet hath for to do wi’ youth.

Dr. Belmont:  Patience when you are not speaking to man through Pearl, what are your labors?

Patience:  There be nay joy like givin’ draft to the thirsted.  I be a deliverer o’ draft.

Dr. Belmont:  Patience, can you contact other inhabited worlds?

Patience:  Think ye thy ball be the only ball a-spin that speweth forth unto the here?  This be the trick o’ loosin’ (loose from flesh).  When flesh be cast, what then may tether thee?

Dr. Belmont:  Is this immediate?

Patience:  Accordin’ to his freedom from flesh.

Question:  Please be a little more explicit.

Patience:  Lovee o’ flesh for flesh, be a fetter.  What mither leaveth her babe and strayeth ever frae its side?  Look’ee beloveds, tendin’ be part o’ the sacrament o’ spirit and what the instant spent at sic an task?

Dr. Belmont:  Patience are you engaged in other work beside this?

Patience:  Since there be nay time and since love o’ all graces proveth this, what then might ye deem?  Look’ee man, the finite may not conceive tendin’ many tasks in the same span, for he conceiveth through time, but loosed from his finite being, his tasks become then infinite.  He may stand wi’ a foot  ‘pon the ocean and hand ‘pon the mountain-top.  Gad!  That be a mouth’s full for a sma’ wench!

Dr. Belmont:  Patience, what is your conception of the infinite potentialities of man’s soul?

Patience:  It be a part, aye, part o’ the great and perfect cycle.  Remember thee, there be nay end unto perfection, for it too, be infinite.  The greatest perfection man may conceive be as a sand’s grain ‘gainst the reality o’ perfection.  The word ‘perfection’ be an absolute unto man, for it containeth the acme o’ his ideal.  Unto him it be a thing to be attained with surety and finality.  But look you unto the infinite, the infinite be infinite perfection and may not simply be, but continueth forever, becoming greater and greater until all things be harmoniously swung together.  When the inharmonious shall become attuned, the joy o’ the harmony consumeth it till it spurteth and giveth forth new dissonances to become new harmony.  Thereby the infinite be the amalgamation of all imperfection and inharmony unto an ever-spurtin’ perfection.  God may not be perfection, for perfection, like unto Him, be ever creation.  Ye may not conceive the thing, though ye may mouthe it.

Dr. Belmont:  Patience are you conscious of space and time?

Patience:  Aye, but this be not for the say.  Each man receiveth his new sense, understandin’ o’ the plan.  He kenneth naught o’ time but moveth with the mighty awesome sweep, e’en as the heavy waters o’ the monster sea swelleth shoreward majestically.  Yet, he, having received understandin’ at the freeing (from flesh) feeleth the exultant awe, the elation o’ joy in freedom which kenneth no bounds and no ends.  I say me, he moveth, yet since there be nay space nor time, he in reality hath but come to BE and to know his Being.  For here it be but the state o’ BEING; and look ye, what a QUICK word that be!

Dr. Belmont:  What becomes of the objective mind which we leave behind at death?

Patience:  Thy objectivity be the garment o’ flesh reality but thy in-man (spiritual consciousness) kenneth little or careth little at the freeing.  To be freed be for to be waked.  Ye tarry not at the wakin’ sire.  Nay, ye waken and become eloquent o’ the here.  Thy doubts become clear, for doubt be a trick o’ flesh and falleth with it.

Dr. Belmont:  But what is the immediate experience at death?

Patience:  A bit weary wi’ the fetters, a yawn, a blink and the wakin’.

Dr. Belmont:  Do we remember our earthly experience?

Patience:  The functions o’ the mind (in flesh) be but the concrete measure ‘pon the infinite inflow, the retention o’ memories a part o’ the individual personality, the garment of the day as the personality receiveth it.  Thereby through selective fellowin’ we create the day we know and that day tethereth through love till the span when them we lo’e have met and there be nay longer use for the tarry or the fetter o’ memory.  Memory hath swift feet and speedeth toward eternity where it joineth its fellow.  Thereby ’tis finite to be-speak thee o’ memory for that which hath been, be!   Look thee, to think as thou puttest it, be to strive for conception.  Ahere, ’tis but receptive conception.  To see is to perceive and doubt – to be, be to know.

Dr. Belmont:  Patience can you travel through space with the rapidity of thought?

Patience:  Ah me, what a pack be time and space!  To wait, to ponder, to labor and to track be the offices o’ time and space.  To arrive through the prompting o’ the desire to be.  To accomplish in the now is to be.  There be nay then nor when, ahere.  There be but the everlasting now.  To be fully conscious o’ the now is to become exalted with the awe o’ being.

Dr. Belmont:  You just said that ‘God may not be perfection’.  This contradicts my thought of Him.

Patience:  Nay sire, He is the Being o’ the state o’ being, ever at becoming through his ever-creation.  The pith o’ His being be perfection, and we, the effulgence o’ that perfection but teem His magnitude and reflect the pith o’ His being.  His pith be an everlasting teeming flow o’ perfection at becoming and being.  He be, and we have been in Him, and having been, we be, thereby we but announce Him unto Himself.  We be the articulation of His being.

Dr. Belmont:  Patience could you show yourself to us if you wanted to?

Patience:  I hae nay itch for to show me unto thee.  Why sire, e’en though you hast thy flesh it tricketh, and nay man kenneth the real ye.  They but know thee through thy labor and thy utterance.  E’en now thou hast more o’ my reality than ye hae o’ many thy brother.  What be I save a song leaned ‘pon my love, and a fellow to thy heartie.

Question:  Is Dr. Belmont to be a part of the task?

Patience:  At labor e’en now, and ye ask sic an quiz?




I would like to start providing an assortment of poems by Patience Worth.  Perhaps it is appropriate to start the recitation with poems of love and friendship.  The following poems by Patience Worth are some of my favorites.  I hope you will like them too.




Can I then hope to tear from out my heart the song ‘twould tell thee?
Were I to sing to the woodland, ‘twould be thy song.
Or should I pipe of happy days when thou wert absent from my life,
Thoud’st creep within the singing and every note be thine.

Or should I make a song unto my saddest season,
Thou still would’st sing, e’en through my sorrowing.
Thou who art but the essence of my song’s wine
Hast blossomed long before, within its very grape,
And ripened with my season’s heat and cold.
Who then denies that from my first voiced crooning,
Thou hast been the vibrant chord?




The following poem was untitled as were all of her poems when delivered but were usually given titles by those close to Pearl Curran, including Emily Hutchings, John Curran, Casper Yost and others.  This poem was a personal poem dictated for Herman Behr a devoted friend and benefactor of Pearl Curran. After John Curran died on June 1, 1922, Herman Behr provided Pearl Curran and her two girls a stipend of $400 per month  for a number of years.  Herman Behr published a collection of poems of Patience Worth titled Light From Beyond  in 1923.  He also translated them into German.  Max Behr, a son of Herman Behr, graduate of Yale University and renown California architect of golf courses and editor and writer for Golf Illustrated & Outdoor America, assisted Pearl Curran after she moved to Los Angeles in 1930.  He participated in sessions with Patience Worth and edited some of her work.  After Pearl Curran died in 1937 Max Behr married Pearl’s adopted daughter Patience “Wee” who had been divorced from Gerald Peters with whom she had one child named “Hope”.  Max Behr also cared for Pearl’s biological daughter, Eileen Curran who joined Max and Patience Wee in his home in Los Angeles County.  Max Behr was 33 years older than Patience “Wee” when he married her in 1939.  Patience “Wee” died in an alcoholic stuper on November 23, 1943 in Los Angeles, six years after Pearl Curran. Eileen Curran married three times  and died in 1982 in New Orleans, Louisana.  Max Behr  had two grown daughters when he married Patience “Wee”; Lisbeth, born in 1906 and Evelyn born in 1908.  His first wife Evelyn Baker Schely died in 1919.  Max Behr died in 1955.

Although there are some who write negatively about Max Behr and his relationship with Pearl Curran and her girls, I think he is grossly maligned in that he assumed a large responsibility when, as an older man with two grown children,  he took on the care (and treatment) of Patience “Wee” and Eileen after their mother died.   Reportedly, the teen-age Eileen thought that Max was a “generous but domineering man” and that he “thought he was Christ.”

I think he had all that he could handle to keep these two young spoiled girls in bounds.

Eileen Curran



What magic is thine, beloved?
Lo, had the day become a worn thing
And the vessels of office trinkets
Of memory.  What magic is thine?
Beneath the spell of thy voice have I
Walked upon the sands of morning
Which embrace Day, and found new toys
Awaiting me, new music in the waters,
New songs in the air, new peace
In the quietude, new simplicity
In confusion.  Each morrow is exultant
And I expectant.  I am comrade
With all days, no longer woeful
O’er yesterdays or fretful o’er tomorrows
Save in anticipation of new joys!

What magic is thine, beloved?
It is as though I had come fresh
From the conflict with bloody head,
With bruised hands and heavy feet,
With mine armour oppressing me—
It is as though I had come to thy side,
And felt thy gentle touch upon my brow,
Watched thy slender hands unthong
My coat of mail, and weary,
Dropped my head upon thy breast, secure
In the serenity of thy voice.

One of my favorites, the one which was read as part of my marriage ceremony is the following poem:



Beloved, I do not believe that I
Might know God’s mercy so intimately,
Save that I had known—thee!
I do not believe that my soul
Might have been so deep, so pit-like deep,
Had I not known and contained—thee!

Beloved, I might not hope—
Had I not heard thy pledge!
Nor could I have believed,
Save that I had believed in thee!
I could not believe that I
Might comprehend eternity,
Save that I had known thy limitless love!
Surely, Thou art the symbol of my New Day—
Wherein I might read
The record of my eternity!