60. The Need to Love...
I bet, being an old spinster and past it, you all thought I’d let Saint Valentine’s go by without note, didn’t you? Or at the most give you the usual edifying summary of the events of why he was proclaimed the Patron of lovers. Well, I’m not going to do either, and if you don’t know the story, maybe next year I’ll feel more in the mood to go into the matter.
And so, why make an entry at all? Just to let you know when I was a teenager, not only did I write endless reams of love poems (Donne was no match! Joke of course) but I had a flaming ambition to become a second Barbara Cartland- the writer of Romance...
Barbara Cartland who was the mother to Princess Diana's step-mother and of course one of the best romance writers Britain can boast of, in whose imitation created quite a few headaches for me, since this misplaced desire to write romance got me into trouble at the Novitiate when the Assistant Novice Mistress who was also our English tutor asked us to write a story involving a bunch of flowers in the gutter and traces of perfume. With elements such as these, one does what one has to do, write a passionate romantic love story which gained for me the comment that writing romance was not a sign that one is called to the religious life. So that was all thanks to the darting love arrows sent by St Valentine's cherubs to stimulate my creativity.
Anyway, happy Valentine! Everyone is and has a lover- of sorts... and there’s always someone to love... That’s the only thing you can’t run out of!
And for those alone at this moment- this is for you:
In The Stillness of the Night
When they are gone
And sleeps sets in the night;
When the last footsteps echo on the path
And the final clatter of the gate;
When the half-lit room is now subdued
And quietness creeps
Through every book upon
The silent shelf;
When the curtains drape
The mirrowing glass;
When the smiles and laughter
No longer shake
The cluttered walls
But silence glistens in the night
I watch you lie your head
Upon the covers of your chair,
Half asleep, half in dream,
And being conscious of a heart
Beating in the room
I marvel...
For in the stillness of the night
I hear
An echo reply.
© Eva Ulian 1970
And so, why make an entry at all? Just to let you know when I was a teenager, not only did I write endless reams of love poems (Donne was no match! Joke of course) but I had a flaming ambition to become a second Barbara Cartland- the writer of Romance...
Barbara Cartland who was the mother to Princess Diana's step-mother and of course one of the best romance writers Britain can boast of, in whose imitation created quite a few headaches for me, since this misplaced desire to write romance got me into trouble at the Novitiate when the Assistant Novice Mistress who was also our English tutor asked us to write a story involving a bunch of flowers in the gutter and traces of perfume. With elements such as these, one does what one has to do, write a passionate romantic love story which gained for me the comment that writing romance was not a sign that one is called to the religious life. So that was all thanks to the darting love arrows sent by St Valentine's cherubs to stimulate my creativity.
Anyway, happy Valentine! Everyone is and has a lover- of sorts... and there’s always someone to love... That’s the only thing you can’t run out of!
And for those alone at this moment- this is for you:
In The Stillness of the Night
When they are gone
And sleeps sets in the night;
When the last footsteps echo on the path
And the final clatter of the gate;
When the half-lit room is now subdued
And quietness creeps
Through every book upon
The silent shelf;
When the curtains drape
The mirrowing glass;
When the smiles and laughter
No longer shake
The cluttered walls
But silence glistens in the night
I watch you lie your head
Upon the covers of your chair,
Half asleep, half in dream,
And being conscious of a heart
Beating in the room
I marvel...
For in the stillness of the night
I hear
An echo reply.
© Eva Ulian 1970
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By Eva Ulian: Impressionist Painter- Writer
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