Turning the Pages Back to Look Forward – Mother’s Day 2015

As I embark upon a new major writing project, and with Mother’s Day (in the US and Canada) this Sunday, I am re-posting the prose/poem below (from 2013); for it is my mother, June, who sparked my over fifty year passion for reading and writing with these evocative editions of Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre by Ellis Bell and  Currer Bell (Emily and Charlotte Brontë) respectively, illustrated with woodcuts by Fritz Eichenberg.

Wuthering_Cover1 Fritz-Eichenberg-Jane-Eyre-Cover

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, there was another Brontë sister and author – Acton Bell. Which brings me to the subject of the fiction I’m working on now, the first novelette in a series of three featuring obscure/undervalued women writers (or, at least, that is the plan) …

“She, however, attentively watched my looks, and her artist’s pride was gratified, no doubt, to read my heartfelt admiration in my eyes.”
Anne Brontë, from The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

Haworth Parsonage

Bronte Parsonage, Haworth, West Yorkshire, England. Painted in the 1970’s. Copyright 2013 by DM Denton

 

Oh, those early years when all my shyness wanted was to go home to you. You trusted me on sick days and walked miles on your lunch hour to bring me paper dolls and make sure I was safe.

I was the child you wanted me to be.

Copyright 2012 by JM DiGiacomo

Copyright 2012 by Diane’s mom, June

You gave me many gifts, like the gods and goddesses gave Pandora: a sense of beauty, charm, music, curiosity and persuasion. In particular there was a book, large and beautifully bound, its writing in columns and essence carved in wood.

You were as naïve as I was.

For it was also a box of unknowns, like Pandora’s, that unleashed more than either of us bargained for. I preferred the version of the myth that claimed good things were allowed to escape. All except for one.

We never lost hope.

You put the faraway in my hands, so how could I not want to go there? Of course, you meant for me to travel pages not miles.

You said you would never forgive me.

How many months we didn’t speak; how many years we paid dearly for conversations in such different time zones, trying to being ordinary when it was all so impossible.

We were both alone with our mistakes.

I never thought it would be that difficult to be away from you. My youth was lost, not to romantic discontent but missing what was true.  

How could you ever forgive me?

Perhaps you did a little. When you traveled as I did, because I did: over the sea, to another country, to places you had and hadn’t visited. You walked up the hill, heard your heels on the cobblestones and voices of the dead, inhaled the mist, saw the parsonage, the windswept trees and moors, and turned the pages back.

I didn’t see if your eyes sparkled, but I like to believe they did.

Drawing of Anne Brontë by Charlotte Brontë

Drawing of Anne Brontë by Charlotte Brontë

“There is such a thing as looking through a person’s eyes into the heart, and learning more of the height, and breadth, and depth of another’s soul in one hour than it might take you a lifetime to discover, if he or she were not disposed to reveal it, or if you had not the sense to understand it.”
Anne Brontë, from The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

It’s very early days, but here’s a little teaser from my WIP, tentatively titled Without the Veil Between:

Anne was once again in Scarborough, as comfortable as the Robinsons on St. Nicholas Cliff and the Spa side of town, easily settled in lodgings she valued, not because of their elegance and prestige, connection to the Assembly Rooms hosting concerts and balls, or proximity to an excellent library and pleasant walkways, but for the magnificent view of the shimmering shifting South Bay. She especially loved the outlook to her right: in the opposite direction from the harbor and arcades, down along a stretch of sand little disturbed except by the tides and beyond a beautifully barren headland where the sea met the sky and she might unleash her nature unselfconsciously like Emily looking out on the moors where the world waited for her to leave it.

donatellasmallest©Artwork and writing, unless otherwise indicated, are the property of Diane M Denton. Please request permission to reproduce or post elsewhere with a link back to bardessdmdenton. Thank you.

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16 thoughts on “Turning the Pages Back to Look Forward – Mother’s Day 2015

  1. “I didn’t see if your eyes sparkled, but I like to believe they did.”

    Diane,

    The poem goes straight to the heart and so does the painting.

    I believe the eyes always sparkled with love, sometimes with tears, and sometimes with
    joy, but always with love.

    Sarah

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    • Thank you, Deborah! When I see the painting, I realize how much my art has evolved – but it does have a freedom about it that the need for perfection often usurps these days. Glad you liked the excerpt – long way to go, yet, but it’s finding its form and flow and that is exciting for me, too! I’m really enjoying writing it. Thanks for stopping by! XO ♥

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  2. Fabulous post Diane! Your work in progress is exciting and I feel close to it already, Scarbouough being a mere hour and a half drive from here 😊. And the paintings are sublime; the parsonage one is just so real! And this painting of your mum’s is my favourite of hers without doubt. The whole scene and the colours, especially the way the yellow of the parasol is echoed in the folds of the dresses, just does something to me! 😊❤️ Xxx

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  3. A lovely post in every aspect, Diane. Your Mum is a special woman and she is lucky to have you! I love the WIP teaser, too! You certainly know how to keep us on the edge of our seats! 🙂 ♥

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    • Thank you, Lauren! I’m sure there have been moments when my mom didn’t feel so lucky to have me … as the prose-poem reflects. 🙂 Glad you liked the teaser – long way to go, but feels good to be working on a new writing project. Hope you had a wonderful Mother’s Day! XO ♥

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