Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Finding My Way Back...


I feel sad that I have not been here
For I miss you one and all
Somehow the words escape me
I have lost them along the way
I'm having trouble finding my way back
To the place where my words left off 
I look for the rays of sunshine
Glowing faintly up ahead
If I can just reach out and touch them
Perhaps I will find myself again ...

Prose - Dianne Dawes -
Image - Wallpaper - dandelion-field-sunset

11 comments:

♥ Łucja-Maria ♥ said...

Oh Dearest Dianne,
visits and commentary gave me a lot of happiness.
Thank you very much.
Some time ago I killed all my addresses bliss. I did not have an address for you.
Dianne, last year was very difficult for you. The good Lord will make again, will write his beautiful poetry.
I kiss you Dearest Friend.
Greetings from distant Poland.
Lucja

martinealison said...

Bonjour chère amie,

Je suis heureuse de vous lire... Merci pour vos bons mots.
Je ne suis pas très présente sur les blogs... J'espère que tout va bien pour vous.
Gros bisous 🌸

♥ Łucja-Maria ♥ said...

Hello Dear Dianne!

Happy Women's Day!


Kisses:)

Anonymous said...

DD, some years ago, I happened across a furnished room in the upper rooms of the Musée Faure in Aix-les-Bains, Haute-Savoie, France dedicated to the writings of the poet Alphonse de Lamartine.

He once wrote a poem concerning the Lac du Bourget (Aix-les-Bains) called appropriately, 'Le Lac'. It's about a girl he made the acquaintance of, by the name of Julie Charles. The following year, he came back to the lake, expecting to meet her again. He waited and he waited but she never appeared. Sadly, a month later, he learnt the reason for her absence was that she had taken ill and died.

Here is a translation of the poem he dedicated to her:


The Lake by Alphonse de Lamartine (c. 1817)

And so! Pushed constantly toward new coasts,
Swept away into eternal night, with no return,
Can we never on the ocean of ages
Throw down an anchor for a single day ?

O lake! The year has scarcely ended its course,
And near the beloved waters she should have seen again,
Look! I've come alone to sit on this stone
Where you saw her sitting!

You groaned like this under these deep rocks,
Like this, you broke on their torn flanks,
Like this, the wind threw the foam from your waves
Onto her feet that I adored.

One evening, do you remember? We were floating in silence;
There was nothing to hear from afar, on the waves, under the sky,
But the sound of rowers rhythmically beating
Against your harmonious waves.

Suddenly, in unearthly accents
Echoes fell from the enchanted shore;
The water listened, and the voice that is dear to me
Let fall these words:

"O time! Suspend your flight, and you, happy hours,
Suspend your race:
Let us savour the fleeting delights
Of our fairest days!"

"There are enough unfortunates here below who implore you,
To rush, rush for them;
Take with their days the cares that devour them,
Forget the fortunate."

"But I ask in vain for a few more moments,
Time escapes me and flees;
I say to this night: Be slower; and dawn
Comes to melt the night."

"Let us love then, let us love! In the flying hour,
Hurry, let us revel"
Man has no harbour, Time has no shore;
It flows, and we pass on!

Envious Time, can it be that these euphoric moments,
Where love pours happiness on us in long surges,
Fly away from us at the same speed
As do unhappy days?

What! Can't we at least hold on to the traces?
What! Gone forever? What! Completely lost!
The Time that gave them, the Time that erased them,
Will never return them to us!

Eternity, nothingness, past, dark chasms,
What do you do with the days that you engulf?
Speak: will you give back those sublime ecstasies
That you snatch from us?

O lake! Silent rocks! Caves! Dark forest!
You, whom Time spares or can make young again,
Keep of that night, keep, beautiful nature
At least the memory!

May it be in your rest, may it be in your storms,
Beautiful lake, and in the look of your smiling shores,
And in these black pines, and in these wild rocks
That lean over your waters.

May it be in the soft wind that shivers and passes,
In the sounds of your banks, and by your banks repeated,
In the star with a silver brow that whitens your surface
Of limpid clearness.

May the wind that groans, the reed that sighs,
May the soft scent of your fragrant air,
May everything that can be heard, seen or breathed
All say: 'They loved!'


On the downstairs floor of this museum, somewhat special to me, is a fine white sculpture of a nude girl (). I recalled very recently that you once made a pencil drawing of a girl with bowed head who bore an uncanny resemblance to the same girl and it stopped my wandering thoughts with quite a suddenness. I was there last, it must have been September 2014, but the first time was around Summer 2008. CB.

dianne said...

Thank you dearest CB. for thinking of me and for translating this beautiful poem. The young girl must have made quite an impression on the author, this is so sensitively written and so descriptive. You can feel his disappointment, regret and pain as he writes about her and associates her with the lake. How he remembers her in so much detail and how he felt and still does. Thankfully they did have some time to love each other, sad that they were seperated by the circumstances of life. These interruptions to the continuity of love are almost always disastrous. That is why one should seize these moments, not wait for another time or another day as these precious moments are so fleeting. Time steals away the present, so many stolen moments and the future if we don't act on our feelings, then all we are left with are memories to console us and feelings of regret that there will be no future with the person we love. How very sad for him as he sits there by the lake with his memories of her and how sad that she was ill and died without him being there to comfort her. I can see it all so vividly in my imagination. I wonder what became of him?

You must have many places in France which are special to you, how wonderful that you can visit them. I do remember you posting a picture of a beautiful nude girl carved in white marble, perhaps that is the same statue to which you are referring. It has been such a long time but I still have some memories of your posts and beautiful images.

I did two pencil sketches, one of a young woman sitting backed into a corner who had lost all hope. The other was a nude girl sitting on bed with her head bowed, the poem was titled "Silence and Tears", I think that is the drawing you are thinking of.

2008 was the year that you first visited my weblog, a long time ago now.

I put flowers in my little hexagon shaped jar for you a few times a week, when I look at them I think of you. They are like a lamp in a window hoping you will think of me sometimes.
I hope you are well and life is being kind to you. I have had two surgeries to remove a malignant BCC from my left cheek. A 14mm long incision just below my eye to remove a tiny mole, thankfully the second surgery removed all of the cancer and the scar is barely visible, I think in time it will disappear.
Take care dear one, you are always in my thoughts and prayers.
Your dear friend Dianne or DD as you have written. xoxoxo. ♥️

J Cosmo Newbery said...

♥️

dianne said...

Thank you dear Cosmo! ♥️

Γιάννης Πολιτόπουλος said...

Dianne is a feeling
Dianne is a wave
Dianne is a promise
The promise of her poetry

Dianne is a poem herself.

Yannis Politopoulos

dianne said...

Thank you dear Yannis for the
sweet poem and your kindness.
Dianne xoxoxo. ♥️

Anonymous said...

What now can I recommend you? Wait until it's dark. Very dark. Well after sunset, for sure. Hang some clean white cotton towels near your bath. Get some tall scented white candles. Put them at the end of your bath and light them. Open a bottle of French Vouvray white wine (it's a region just east of Tours in the Loire I happened to pass through last year). Pour two long glasses of Vouvray and place them within reach. Put the rest of the bottle beside the bath in a chrome bucket of ice with a small white towel draped over it. Add several drops of scented Lavender Oil to a handful of Jasmine bath creme. Hold your hand containing this mixture under the bath tap and fill the bath with warm water. Wait until the water is near the brim. Drop a single red rose into the bubbles. Bring in your music player with some gentle Chopin Nocturnes playing on a CD. Slip off all clothing; discard haphazardly and willfully onto the floor. Fling hair back gracefully with extended fingers and step into bath slowly & deliberately. Sip a little from one of the glasses of Vouvray. Sink extremely slowly down into the warm bubbly water until it just floats up around your neck. Close your eyes slowly. You are now far away. Chopin, dressed stiffly & smartly, is playing his small piano in the corner of your room. His servants have lit your bathroom with candles and are awaiting at your side for your instructions as to your wishes. This is what my film is about. Not logic. Not reasons. Not answers. Not clever blah-blah talk or silly people who only understand full sentences. You don't need any of this. You are fine just as you are. Just fine. But you always knew that, I'm sure. I just wish I could get round to finishing my film which has wedged itself in my brain and intent on not moving out from there. It's all about feelings. Like a double life of emotions. Nothing else matters really in the end. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, relax. Did I mention that? Yes, relax. :-) Take care dear friend, C.B.

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/b4/e3/71/b4e3714f207486f3b14983f173c0fca4.jpg

dianne said...

I am here now dearest C.B., sorry I have taken such a long time to respond to your wonderful message. I have just now checked my messages.
It is dark now, very dark. Thank you for the gorgeous image. Also for your lovely suggestion for my bath, though my bathroom is white it is nowhere as beautiful as the one in the image, though the candles will make it look and feel more luxurious. Such a beautiful experience you have described for me, one of luxurious ambience, a delight for all of the senses.
I have crystal champagne flutes, an ice bucket, though I will have to pretend to have the bottle of chilled French Vouvray wine you have suggested and choose some other sparkling white wine. I have draped a crisp white linen serviette over the wine bucket. I have white towels, many candles lit, lavender oil, my favourite Chanel No 5 body cream which I am now holding under the warm running water with the lavender oil. So many lovely bubbles and a an exotic fragrance but no rose. Too much talking I think, too many words, I'm spoiling the atmosphere.
I will undress as you have suggested, my hair gracefully brushed aside and sink slowly into the warm, fragrant water, a lovely feeling as it envelops my body, bubbles rising over my breasts and reaching my neck. So relaxing laying here listening to Chopin's Nocturne op 7, no's 1 and 2. I shall stay here for a while in this solitude though it is a little sad that I have no-one here to share this bath and the wine with me. Oh well that's life, my life.
Thank you for your kindness.

I'm sure you will find a way and the words to finish your film, for you have always been about feelings, beautiful feelings and thoughts and beautiful emotions.

The water is not so warm now but I am relaxed and fragrant, so I shall wrap myself in a towel now and dress for bed.
Take care dear friend, thank you for thinking of me, much love Dianne. xoxoxo. ♥️