D.M. Denton's Blog, page 13

If Stars Dropped Out of Heaven

With the launch of my most recent novel, Without the Veil Between, Anne Brontë: A Fine and Subtle Spirit, this blog has gained some new followers. I thank you for choosing to connect with me and my muse, and I offer a heartfelt welcome.

Perhaps you don’t know of my other publications – two novels set in 17th century Genoa and England, and three kindle short stories set in the late 19th century, and 1920s and 1930s Chicago. You can find all on my amazon author page and on my Goodreads profile. And, of course, this blog has more information on them, as does my website: dmdenton-author-artist.com.

Because it’s officially summer, the time when one of the most precious, playful, graceful, healing, and resilient gifts this earth gives us is in abundance, this post highlights the illustrated journal I published in 2014 that was originally created by hand while I was living in Oxfordshire, England in the 1980s.

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A young Christina Rossetti, by her brother, Dante Gabriel Rossetti

 

If stars dropped out of heaven,

And if flowers took their place,

The sky would still look very fair,

And fair earth’s face.

Winged angels might fly down to us

To pluck the stars …

~ Christina Rossetti

(subject of my next novel in progress)

 

 

 

I thought of doing this post when I fell in love all over again with one of my favorite flowers, currently in full fairy-ish bloom in my garden.

 

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Foxglove, genus Digitalis

The name “foxglove” was first recorded in the year 1542 by Leonhard Fuchs, whose family name, Fuchs, is a Germanic word meaning “fox” (the plant genus Fuchsia is also named for him). The genus digitalis is from the Latin digitus (finger), perhaps referencing the shape of the flowers, which accommodate a finger when fully formed.

Thus the name is recorded in Old English as foxes glofe/glofa or fox’s glove. Over time, folk myths obscured the literal origins of the name, insinuating that foxes wore the flowers on their paws to silence their movements as they stealthily hunted their prey. The woody hillsides where the foxes made their dens were often covered with the toxic flowers. Some of the more menacing names, such as “witch’s glove,” reference the toxicity of the plant.

Henry Fox Talbot (1847) proposed folks’ glove, where folk means fairy. Similarly, R. C. A. Prior (1863) suggested an etymology of foxes-glew, meaning ‘fairy music’. However, neither of these suggestions account for the Old English form foxes glofa.

~ Wikipedia

The foxglove is featured in A Friendship with Flowers, each page dedicated—illustrated with poetry—to a specific flower following a sequence from the beginning to the end of the year.

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Copyright 2012 by DM Denton, A Friendship with Flowers

 

A Friendship with Flowers is available in print and for kindle devices and app.
It would make a lovely gift for a gardener or wild flower lover, including yourself.

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This gorgeous book contains the author’s own exquisite illustrations of a variety of flowers from hedgerow and garden, all accompanied by mellow poetic verses in her own inimitable style.

~ Deborah Bennison, Bennison Books

Hope your summer has gotten off to a happy and blessed start!

[image error]©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.

Enter Summer

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Spider Illustration Copyright 2018 by DM Denton

 

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Copyright 2018 by DM Denton

Enter summer

in ladies slippers

to walk through clover;

dressed in being

with tortoiseshell adornment

and sighing

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Copyright 2018 by DM Denton

all the fashion –



its blush lasting

only as long as

the day.

~ DM Denton

… she began believing there might be a different future for her, one full of tenderness and affection. It was still unclear but not uncorroborated, not since those summer solstice days that encouraged a touch and trust and thoughts of what more a next meeting might offer.

~ from Without the Veil Between, Anne Bronte: A Fine and Subtle Spirit

To those who have read Without the Veil Between or are aficionados of Anne Brontë, can you guess what/who might have prompted Anne to believe her future could be full of tenderness and affection?

 

 

Happy Solstice!
summer or winter
depending on where in the world
you are

[image error]©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.

Two Writers’ “Wandering Glances” on Bluebells

For most, bluebells have come and gone, although in cooler areas they may linger. As they may in poetry.

The subtitle of my latest novel, Without the Veil between, Anne Brontë: A Fine and Subtle Spirit was taken—on the suggestion of my friend Deborah Bennison (Bennison Books)—from one of Anne’s poems inspired by the “little trembling flower”. It was written in August 1840, during her first year as governess for the Robinsons at Thorpe Green.

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In his biography of Anne, Edward Chitham gives this account of the poem:

The sea lies behind the poet and a range of hills ahead. She is walking “all carelessly” along a sunny lane. She laughs and talks with “those around” – presumably her pupils – and does not feel as harassed as usual. The sudden sight of a blue harebell on the bank by the road recalls her own childhood. She had then been dwelling ‘with kindred hearts’ and did not have to spend her life looking after others, as she now had to. 

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The Blue Bell by Anne Brontë

A fine and subtle spirit dwells

In every little flower,

Each one its own sweet feeling breathes

With more or less of power.

There is a silent eloquence

In every wild bluebell

That fills my softened heart with bliss

That words could never tell.

Yet I recall not long ago

A bright and sunny day,

‘Twas when I led a toilsome life

So many leagues away;

That day along a sunny road

All carelessly I strayed,

Between two banks where smiling flowers

Their varied hues displayed.

Before me rose a lofty hill,

Behind me lay the sea,

My heart was not so heavy then

As it was wont to be.

Less harassed than at other times

I saw the scene was fair,

And spoke and laughed to those around,

As if I knew no care.

But when I looked upon the bank

My wandering glances fell

Upon a little trembling flower,

A single sweet bluebell.

Whence came that rising in my throat,

That dimness in my eye?

Why did those burning drops distil —

Those bitter feelings rise?

O, that lone flower recalled to me

My happy childhood’s hours

When bluebells seemed like fairy gifts

A prize among the flowers,

Those sunny days of merriment

When heart and soul were free,

And when I dwelt with kindred hearts

That loved and cared for me.

I had not then mid heartless crowds

To spend a thankless life

In seeking after others’ weal

With anxious toil and strife.

‘Sad wanderer, weep those blissful times

That never may return!’

The lovely floweret seemed to say,

And thus it made me mourn.

 

In 2012, I also reflected poetically on the delight and memories that the “lovely floweret” brought to me.

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Copyright 2012 by DM Denton

Clearing for Bluebells by DM Denton

I am long gone

from that small coppice

where one man’s purpose

was all I had.

His saw, his scythe

cut through the clutter

to shed some light where

the ground was soft.

Fires were set

to burn away brash

and warm us at last

on such cold days.

We’d stop for lunch

and speak of nothing

except the birdsong

leaving winter.

He loved my hair

and constant silence

and woman’s promise

to stay for hope.

My hands, my heart

wanted to be his

working with nature’s

way of growing.

Clearing the way

for sunshine and rain

growing love not blame

from what was past.

Bluebells, bluebells

in sight and fragrance

I have come back since

just as he thought

I would.

 

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In folklore, some believed that wearing a wreath of bluebell flowers made you tell the truth. Anne Brontë, would have approved, having written:

“I wished to tell the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it.” ~ The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

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This is the most beautiful novel about Anne Brontë and her sisters that I’ve read in a very long time.

Read entire review by

Kimberly Eve, Victorian Musings

Go to the novel’s booklaunch page for more reviews, synopsis, book trailer, and buy links.

[image error]©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.

Guest Post: New Novel about Hildegard of Bingen

Thrilled to host author P.K. Adams, who “talks” about her upcoming release The Greenest Branch, A Novel of Germany’s First Female Physician (Hildegard of Bingen Book 1)

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I first heard about Hildegard of Bingen (c.1098-1178) in a history of music class in college. Her chants are sublime and, as I fell in love with them, I started to read more about their composer – the first woman in the Western world to do so.

It turns out Hildegard did much more than that – she was a pioneer in many fields thus far reserved as a man’s domain. One such field was medicine. She was a skilled herbalist who applied treatments in a way most medieval physicians did not, namely by observing the outcomes of the cures rather than relying on ancient texts for guidance, irrespective of whether they worked or not.

As I researched Hildegard’s life, two things began to puzzle me in the (admittedly sparse) historical accounts. One is that she was enclosed at a young age (possibly as young as eight or ten) at a very strict women’s convent, where the residents lived in enforced poverty and isolation from the world. In such a place, historians tell us, she lived for the next three decades.

This, to me, is hard to believe. The psychological and intellectual toll such privations would exact on a child would be extremely damaging. Yet Hildegard re-emerges in contemporary chronicles, around the age of forty, as an accomplished physician, writer, and composer, and a diligent student of nature. She is already well-known in the Rhineland, and her theological writings are about to catch the attention of Pope Eugenius III. She is also preparing to leave the abbey of St. Disibod, where she had been enclosed, and start her own foundation.

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Sculpture of Hildegard of Bingen by Karlheinz Oswald, 1998, in front of Eibingen Abbey near Rüdesheim in Hesse, Germany

Clearly, something happened during those decades that allowed her curiosity to be fostered, her intellect to develop, and her creativity to flourish. There is no reliable record of her early life beyond the few basic facts of her provenance and enclosure, and that is what inspired me to imagine what that life may have been like.

The Greenest Branch is a fictionalized account of the early life of Hildegard of Bingen, but it is rooted in what we know about her and the world she inhabited. It is a world, needless to say, that is not conducive to female empowerment. That she managed to accomplish so much is a testament to her fierce intelligence, strength, and determination.

The second book in the series, titled The Column of Burning Spices, traces the second half of Hildegard’s long and eventful life. It will be released in early 2019.

The Greenest Branch is available on pre-order on Amazon US  and Amazon UK  and will be released on June 18, 2018.

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P.K. Adams is a Boston-based historical fiction author, whose debut novel The Greenest Branch is the first in a two-book series based on the life of Hildegard of Bingen, Germany’s first female physician. She has a bachelor’s degree from Columbia and a master’s degree in European Studies from Yale. When not reading or writing, she can be found hiking, doing yoga, and drinking tea (though usually not at the same time).

 

Please check out her website: p.k.adams that includes history, writing and guest blogs, and more information about her and The Greenest Branch.

Thank you to Patrycja for this fascinating look into Hildegard of Bingen and for bringing this extraordinary woman to life in The Greenest Branch. I have pre-ordered my copy and I hope you will do the same!

I also thank her for hosting me on her blog to promote my latest publications.

Please note: I would like to open my blog to more guest posts (at least one per month) by but not limited to authors of quality historical and literary fiction, as well as poetry anthologies. Perhaps you are an avid reader who has a blog, does reviews, or has thoughts on literary or historical persons, periods, or events. Not necessary, but I would appreciate if I could do a guest post on your blog in exchange. I reserve the right to refuse anything I deem not in keeping with the intent, spirit, ethics, and quality of this blog and my own work.

If you are interested in guest posting, please contact me.

 

Announcing Winner of “Without the Veil Between” Contest!

Thank you to everyone who commented on my May 17th post, A Word or Two about the Cover of Without the Veil Between – Win a Signed Copy and More and, therefore, entered the contest.

I enjoyed reading and was heartened by your lovely, thoughtful, lyrical, creative, generous comments.

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The drawing for the winner was done online at Random Picker.

 

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Congratulations
Veronica Leigh!

 

 You’ve won a signed copy of Without the Veil Between

and a limited edition signed print of one of the illustrations in the novel.
You can choose the illustration by going to

the gallery on my artspan website.
I will be in touch with you via Facebook to find out your choice

and get your address

To celebrate the first day of June 2018, let me offer a little excerpt from

Without the Veil Between, Anne Bronte: A Fine and Subtle Spirit :

Anne’s anxieties usually cleared away, at least temporarily, while she was on her own out of doors. June continued pleasant, the sun intensifying so scattered clouds were welcome, along with trees touching their fresh canopies across the road from Great Ouseburn to Thorpe Underwood. She frequently stopped to study and sketch whatever flora caught her eye. Hawthorn blossoms clustered out of bramble hedges and chickweed didn’t quite succeed in creeping unnoticed through roadside grass. Dandelions invaded the road, some already bursting into seed. Anne enjoyed their bravado, quickly drawing a couple of them head to head but not their simple, lobed leaves before she was distracted by bees finding sustenance in clover flowers.

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Copyright 2012 by DM Denton

 

Happy June Everyone!

 

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[image error]©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.

Would not all such sorrow be misplaced?

To regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of Heaven, is as if the groveling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quit the nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter through the air, roving at will from flower to flower, sipping sweet honey from their cups, or basking in their sunny petals. If these little creatures knew how great a change awaited them, no doubt they would regret it; but would not all such sorrow be misplaced?

~ Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

Today is the 169th anniversary of the death of Anne Brontë (born: Jan 17, 1820, Thornton, West Yorkshire, England; died: May 28, 1849, Scarborough, North Yorkshire, England).

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Recently I was told (by a non-writer on discovering I was a published author and of what genre) that historical and biographical novels were the easiest to write, because the characters and stories didn’t have to be invented: the names, places, events, and endings ready-made, just a little research and a few decisions on where to begin and what to include and exclude all that was needed to fill the pages.

What he didn’t take into account was the responsibility and long-term involvement there is in resurrecting real people—well, there should be if you’re really doing it from a place of love for and/or commitment to your subject. He also didn’t understand how intense and even complicated it can get weaving what is certainly and uncertainly known, various viewpoints, differing opinions and accounts into a vibrant, engaging narrative that credibly recreates the historical person, their time and environment. Even in fiction, accuracy is always an essential ingredient—of course, indebted to the work and writing of wonderful researchers and biographers—complicated by a storyteller’s compulsion to go behind, beneath, and in-between the facts, to interpret, dramatize, physcologize, sensitize, and, of course, imagine just as writers in other genres do.

In my experience, first in my novel A House Near Luccoli, and again in Without the Veil Between, Anne Brontë: A Fine and Subtle Spirit, the responsibility is never heavier than when one writes about a historical figure whose death, usually because it was sudden or untimely, has become the most renowned part of his/her story.

In Without the Veil Between, I didn’t want to write a novel moving head on towards the tragedy of Anne passing too soon from this world, but one that wandered where she inwardly and outwardly did, along with who she affected and affected her, through what she loved and enjoyed, doubted and believed, meeting fulfillment and disappointment,  and, of course, entertaining her romantic, conscientious, and spiritual muse.

I longed to view that bliss divine,

Which eye hath never seen;

Like Moses, I would see His face

Without the veil between.

~ from Anne Brontë’s poem, A Happy Day in February

I really wasn’t sure how I was going to deal with Anne’s death up until the last part of the novel, except I knew I didn’t want it to be cast in melodrama. I let it come to me as it did to Anne, not as a lament but with gratefulness for her fine and subtle, purposeful and poetic life without end.

My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring and carried aloft on the wings of the breeze.

~ Anne Brontë, Agnes Grey

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She still wanted to try recommended therapies and looked forward to revisiting Scarborough and her writing. By January’s close it seemed Anne’s own end, for whatever reason, even consumption’s trickery, had been deferred. She felt well enough to use ink and work on an unfinished poem as if it was the beginning of her life as she always meant to live it: more humble, more wise, more strengthened for strife, more apt to lean on God’s love than away from His will. Meant only for her eyes, she crafted and corrected the lines and verses that had come out of a dreadful darkness and bewildered mind. In a calmer body she found the brightness of faith and clarity of thought to add hope where there was none, abundance when all seemed lost, and, in winter’s brief respite, warmth in her heart for when the frost returned.

~ from Without the Veil Between

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On the Death of Anne Brontë

THERE ‘s little joy in life for me,

And little terror in the grave ;

I ‘ve lived the parting hour to see

Of one I would have died to save.

Calmly to watch the failing breath,

Wishing each sigh might be the last ;

Longing to see the shade of death

O’er those belovèd features cast.

The cloud, the stillness that must part

The darling of my life from me ;

And then to thank God from my heart,

To thank Him well and fervently ;

Although I knew that we had lost

The hope and glory of our life ;

And now, benighted, tempest-tossed,

Must bear alone the weary strife.

~ Charlotte Brontë

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“Please, take my hand,” Charlotte reached back to her sister, “or I’m afraid I’ll lose you like a feather in this wind.”

~ from Without the Veil Between
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Farewell to thee! but not farewell

To all my fondest thoughts of thee:

Within my heart they still shall dwell;

And they shall cheer and comfort me.

~ Anne Brontë

 

Time is running out to enter to win a signed copy of Without the Veil Between and a print of one of the illustrations included in it. Please visit my previous post to find out how. You have nothing to lose, only to win!

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Photograph by Maggie Gardiner

[image error]©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.

A Word or Two about the Cover of Without the Veil Between – Win a Signed Copy and More!

The nature of my work is my subjectivity meshed with other people’s subjectivity. So there’s a correspondence with that… Even if you write about me, it will reflect on you; everything is a kind of weird collaboration.

~ Tino Sehgal, artist of German and Indian descent, based in Berlin

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Recently my new novel about the youngest Brontë sister,  Without the Veil Between, Anne Brontë: A Fine and Subtle Spirit , was reviewed by the Historical Novel Society. All in all the reviewer was positive about the novel. However, the very last sentence offered a blow I couldn’t help taking as personally as if the writing itself had been criticized:

This novel about Anne, the youngest and least-known of the Brontë sisters, deals sensitively with the trials of a young woman who struggled through a difficult life. It reveals Anne as a combination of poetess in the style appropriate for an English lady and as an early feminist writer keenly aware of her submissive role as a young lady in Victorian society.

Anne’s poems are lyrical, illustrative of the depth of her feelings. As befits the daughter of an Anglican clergyman, they also demonstrate her belief in the closeness of God. Yet Anne Brontë is known as one whose beliefs about the role of women in many ways formed the basis of the later feminist movements.

This book illustrates the life of Anne the sister and daughter. It reveals her despairing affection for her brother Branwell, with his Byronic good looks and gradual descent into alcoholism. Her sisters, too, are well characterized—Charlotte, the eldest, practical, bossy and dismissive of Anne’s talent as a writer; and the warm-hearted Emily.

Anne’s adult life is shown as she progresses from unhappy governess—a role appropriate but unsuited to her—to published poet and novelist. Her two novels Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall are less well known than her sisters’ novels but demonstrate no less talent and insight.

Denton has clearly researched Anne Brontë’s writing in all forms. The quoted poetry and prose in the end notes add depth to the whole. The scenes of Anne and her sisters are sensitively imagined and show a sisterly mix of affection and irritation. Despite the overly lengthy title and the unattractive cover art, it is worthwhile to open the book to discover more about Anne, the least appreciated of the Brontë sisters.

~ Valerie Adolph through the Historical Novel Society

Somehow, as we have examples every day, the negative can have so much more power than the positive over our thoughts and feelings and even actions, if we let it.

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Making known on Facebook my own attachment to the part-of-a-sentence negativity in the review prompted many supportive comments, including this one:

Diane, even though I haven’t yet read your book, I think your art work is very pretty and intriguing. I love that you did it yourself as part of your total response to Anne. I would pick up your book *because* of the art, expecting to find an equally sensitive and original response in your words.

~ Rachel Sutcliffe, Rachel: SCARBOROUGH, BRONTES, TEACHING, HEALTH, BUSINESS, ALL THAT IS UNSEEN AND THE ODD POEM (Please go to Rachel’s blog for her recent and excellent post entitled SUNRISE OVER THE SEA, ANNE BRONTE, 1839, reflecting on Anne Brontë’s drawing that inspired the opening lines, the ending, and much in-between in Without the Veil Between)

Of course, Rachel’s kind comment helped me to feel better, but, more importantly, she perceptively noted my motivation and intention in doing the art and design for my book covers. It is about my “total response” to the subject I have written about – inside and out. I am blessed that Deb Harris – whose opinion I trust implicitly – at All Things That Matter Press allowed me to participate in the book’s presentation.
The response of the Historical Novel Society reviewer to the cover of Without the Veil Between might be an indication that it isn’t a good idea for me to use my own artwork. No matter. I plan on continuing to risk offering the fullness of my vision for the stories I chose to tell, the characters I am drawn to uncover, the places and times I find myself exploring, the hearts, souls and minds I spend such a large part of my life with.

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I have decided to deal with any residue of upset regarding the comment on the cover of Without the Veil Between, by having some fun and turning it into a contest for a free signed copy of the novel along with a limited edition signed print of one of the illustrations included in it.
Click on the image below or here

for a fuller view of the illustrations

the winner will be able to chose from.

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All you have to do to enter is leave a word or two

(no more than a sentence)

that expresses your reaction to the cover

of Without the Veil Between.
I’m not going to prompt you further, except to quote Henri Matisse:
Creativity takes courage

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The contest for a free signed copy and illustration print is open to anyone in the US or overseas who comments on this post and the cover of Without the Veil Between.
At this point, the deadline for entry is May 31, 2018.

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Please don’t hesitate to enter!

(even if you already have a copy:

you could keep the signed one for yourself

and give the other as gift)
I look forward to your responses.
Good luck!

 

[image error]©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.

The Moon and June … in May … on Mother’s Day

Today Mother’s Day (in the US) falls on May 13th as it did in 2012 when I first posted as follows (with a few updates) …

... once again with deep love and devoted admiration for my mom who, at 89 and despite a number of tough months in and out of the hospital and rehab, now home requiring a lot of care, is as vibrant and beautiful as ever.

I would like to share from her journal:

“June’s Favorite Prose and Poems and Wit. Truth—Goodness—Beauty”, 1985.

Here is a poem she included in it, by one of her favorite poets (and mine too, so much so I am currently writing a novel about her)…

The days are clear

day after day

when April’s here

that leads to May,

and June

must follow soon.

Stay, June, Stay!

If we could stop

the moon and June.

Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

And some of the paintings my mom put in it …

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And from the last page of her journal…

Once upon a time

I planned to be an artist

or celebrity.

A song I thought to write one day

and all the world with homage pay.

I longed to write a noble book,

but what I did–

was learn to cook.

For life with simple tasks is filled,

and I have done not what

I willed!

June M DiGiacomo

[image error]©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.

The Poetry of May

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Illustration © 2018 by DM Denton

There is but one May in the year,

And sometimes May is wet and cold;

There is but one May in the year

Before the year grows old.

Yet though it be the chilliest May,

With least of sun and most of showers,

Its wind and dew, its night and day,

Bring up the flowers.

~ Christina Rossetti (1830-1894, English poet of romantic, devotional, and children’s poems)

 

 

[image error]But I must gather knots of flowers,

And buds and garlands gay,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother,

I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

~ Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892, Poet Laureate of Great Britain and Ireland during much of Queen Victoria’s reign)

 

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Oh! that we two were Maying

Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;

Like children with violets playing,

In the shade of the whispering trees.

~ Charles Kingsley (1819-1875, social reformer, historian and novelist)

 

[image error]Wreaths for the May! for happy Spring

Today shall all her dowry bring

The love of kind, the joy, the grace,

Hymen of element and race,

Knowing well to celebrate

With song and hue and star and state,

With tender light and youthful cheer,

The spousals of the new-born year.

Lo love’s inundation poured

Over space and race abroad

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882, American essayist, lecturer, philosopher and poet)

 

[image error]A delicate fabric of bird song

Floats in the air,

The smell of wet wild earth

Is everywhere.

Red small leaves of the maple

Are clenched like a hand,

Like girls at their first communion

The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by

Without loving it much,

The raindrop try with my lips,

The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure

I shall see again

The world on the first of May

Shining after the rain?

~ Sara Teasdale (American poet, 1884 – 1933)

 

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Illustration © 2018 by DM Denton

Now the bright morning-star, Day’s harbinger,

Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire

Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!

Woods and groves are of thy dressing;

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

~ John Milton (1608-1674, English poet, polemicist, man of letters, and civil servant)

 

 

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Illustration © 2018 by DM Denton

 

Winds of May, that dance on the sea,

Dancing a ring-around in glee

From furrow to furrow, while overhead

The foam flies up to be garlanded,

In silvery arches spanning the air,

Saw you my true love anywhere?

Welladay! Welladay!

For the winds of May!

Love is unhappy when love is away!

~ James Joyce (1882-1941, Irish novelist, short story writer, and poet)

 

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Illustration © 2018 by DM Denton

 

Yes, I will spend the livelong day

With Nature in this month of May;

And sit beneath the trees, and share

My bread with birds whose homes are there;

While cows lie down to eat, and sheep

Stand to their necks in grass so deep;

While birds do sing with all their might,

As though they felt the earth in flight.

~ William Henry Davies (1871-1940, Welsh poet and writer)

 

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Illustration © 2018 by DM Denton

Queer things happen in the garden in May. Little faces forgotten appear, and plants thought to be dead suddenly wave a green hand to confound you.

~ W. E . Johns (1893-1968, English First World War pilot, and writer of adventure stories)

 

The fair maid who, the first of May

Goes to the fields at break of day

And washes in dew from the hawthorn tree

Will ever after handsome be.

~ Mother Goose Nursery Rhyme

 

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Illustration © 2018 by DM Denton

 

When April steps aside for May,

Like diamonds all the rain-drops glisten;

Fresh violets open every day:

To some new bird each hour we listen.

~ Lucy Larcom (1824-1893, American teacher, poet, and author)

 

 

 

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Illustration © 2018 by DM Denton

 

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.

You know how it is with an April day.

When the sun is out and the wind is still,

You’re one month on in the middle of May.

But if you so much as dare to speak,

a cloud come over the sunlit arch,

And wind comes off a frozen peak,

And you’re two months back in the middle of March.

~ Robert Frost (1874-1963, American poet)

 

 

 

 

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.

~ William Shakespeare

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Illustration © 2018 by DM Denton

I cannot tell you how it was,

But this I know: it came to pass

Upon a bright and sunny day

When May was young; ah, pleasant May!

As yet the poppies were not born

Between the blades of tender corn;

The last egg had not hatched as yet,

Nor any bird foregone its mate.

I cannot tell you what it was,

But this I know: it did but pass.

It passed away with sunny May,

Like all sweet things it passed away,

And left me old, and cold, and gray.

~ Christina Rossetti (1830-1894, English poet of romantic, devotional, and children’s poems)

Simply speaking … it’s May! It’s Daisy May!
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Illustration © 2018 by DM Denton

In forgotten places

there are daisies

to love

whether I am

or not

call them dogged or

ox-eyed or

Marguerite

by any name

they are still

a treat.

~ DM Denton

from A Friendship with Flowers

 

[image error]©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.

For Charlotte Brontë’s Birthday: A Journey with Anne

Charlotte Brontë was born April 21, 1816 in Thornton, West Yorkshire, 202 years ago today.
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Charlotte Brontë by George Richmond chalk, 1850

To mark the occasion, I offer an excerpt from Without the Veil Between, Anne Brontë: A Fine and Subtle Spirit: Chapter Nineteen, when Charlotte and Anne make a spur-of-the moment journey to London and the publisher of Jane Eyre, Smith, Elder & Company. Although the novel’s focus is Anne, it also offers intimate portraits of Charlotte and Emily and – as reviewer Deborah Bennison of Bennison Books wrote – “explores the tensions that existed between the sisters as well as their mutual love and support.”

The dynamics among these three gifted women sizzles on the page. Descriptions of Charlotte and Emily are haunting in their excellence. Each woman changed literature and the way in which women were viewed in society.

~ author Mary Clark (Tally: An Intuitive Life, Miami Morning, Racing the Sun, and more …)

The story of the Brontë family told through the thoughts and emotions of Anne Brontë, the sister who did not become the powerful force in English literature her sisters, Charlotte and Emily, did, explores how genius interplays with everyday frustrations, sensations, and tragedies of life, transmuting the imagination and observations of three brilliant sisters into the tapestry of stories and poetry still relevant to our contemporary lives.

~ author Thomas Davis (The Weirding Storm)

Without the Veil Between isn’t simply a biography, it is a journey back into the day to day lives of one of history’s most famous literary families.

~ author Stephen Lindahl (Motherless Soul, Whitehorse Regressions, Hopatcong Vision Quest, Under a Warped Cross)

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Illustration by DM Denton from Without the Veil Between

London, July 1848

Anne reached the last step up, turned and looked at how far she had come. She hadn’t made a grand entrance, although the staircase was one: three-to-four-people-wide with crimson carpeting, bordered by smooth porphyry columns, and glowingly lit by suspended Grecian lamps.

Her expectations for the evening had been to simply enjoy the relief of a crisis averted and, by no later than nine, try to settle in a strange bed after going almost two days without real sleep. There was the possibility of visitors to be entertained in a remote corner of the Chapter Coffee House lobby. She and Charlotte made themselves ready just in case. Charlotte resorted to a dose of sal volatile for her headache before they fixed each other’s hair and changed to appear less limp and crumpled if still provincial in high-necked, dreary dresses.

They had nothing better to wear, not in their luggage or the world. When had it ever been necessary for them to have large-skirted, off-the-shoulder gowns, gloves more than half the length of their arms, and jewelry other than a small cameo pin or locket necklace? At least, as they ever admitted to each other.

Their evening was redesigned by Mr. Smith and his sisters’ insistence the Misses Brontë attend The Royal Italian Opera in Covent Garden with them. Charlotte decided to dismiss her headache and accept.

The stylishly outfitted and graciously mannered Smiths never made Charlotte or Anne feel unequal to their company or the excursion, and continued generous and amiable in their carriage where Mr. Smith Williams had been waiting. Even disembarking off of Bow Street in full view of London society promenading across the theater’s main plaza and through its front portico didn’t alter the kind demeanor of the Smiths and Mr. Smith Williams. They did their best to shield their guests from scrutiny and, especially, unfavorable opinion. No matter, Anne couldn’t help feeling travel-worn, awkward, and poor. It was difficult to read Charlotte’s reaction. She was probably reminded of Brussels and uppity girls who thought, because their clothes and lineage and prospects were finer, they were superior to her, and how in intellect, resourcefulness and resilience she had proven they were not.

When it came to society’s segregation according to birth and wealth, Anne, as in many other issues, erred on the side of humility and restraint. Charlotte, like Emily, tended to jump to indignation without considering where she might land. Even badly bruised, it was unusual for her to wish she hadn’t. These days Anne didn’t always regret her oldest sister’s impulses. After all, they wouldn’t be about to step into a box of a grand opera house if Charlotte’s rage at Newby’s lying and manipulations hadn’t sent them off to London on the spur of the moment.

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London Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden

It’s been Excerpt Week on the novel’s Facebook page, so I invite you to go on over for some more, hopefully, enticing samples from Without the Veil Between.
A reminder, if you have read the novel, how grateful I would be to know your thoughts on it and for you to share them with others. Thank you to those who have already read and reviewed it.

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[image error]©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.