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    From Dusk to Dawn: A True Story
    From Dusk to Dawn: A True Story
    From Dusk to Dawn: A True Story
    Ebook207 pages1 hour

    From Dusk to Dawn: A True Story

    By Rochelle Lynn Holt

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    About this ebook

    In these poignant poems, the author as survivor unconsciously experiences the natural stages of grief defined by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross: anger, denial, sadness and acceptance. In addition, Holt offers a fifth stage referred to as questing.

    The poems are not separated into individual categories in the same way any survivor may simultaneously feel anger, denial, doubt, sadness and even acceptance of the passing of a beloved one.

    Holt, already a believer in the philosophy that the spirit never dies, found even greater corroboration of her beliefs in synchronous reading: Dr. Jane Greer's The Afterlife Connection and Gary R. Renard's The Disappearance Of The Universe. Trans-communication with a loved one is possible and indeed even comforting and healing.

    However, initially, one must enter the tunnel before seeing the light which is why the collection is titled From Dusk To Dawn. Not only does the spirit leave earth for a new and brighter beginning, but the one left behind eventually comes to realize that the darkness of mourning will become as transparent as sunrise when the survivor is able to connect with the spirit of the beloved.

    "Valley Of The Shadows & Surrender, a novel duet (iUniverse 2004) reveals not only the struggles of a painter but of all humanity as the author unravels desires, dreams, hopes, hidden protectively within the psyche. Holt's writing is an avalanche of images and magic Her poem-novels share the anguish of the survivor in a long-term relationship which is ongoing but can be viewed in a creative and purposeful light."-Lili Bita
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateMar 2, 2007
    ISBN9780595874415
    From Dusk to Dawn: A True Story
    Author

    Rochelle Lynn Holt

    ROCHELLE LYNN HOLT was first pen pal and then friend to Virginia Love Long in Bushy Fork, North Carolina. They read together at Butner Federal Penn. in the Eighties. Their correspondence and friendship continued for almost three decades. They even collaborated on several published projects: poetry and non-fiction honored by Pulitizer Prize commendations in the small press world. Rochelle lost her partner of twenty eight years less than two months after the passing of her best friend, Virginia. The losses were devastating. With the permission of both her late friend and Virginias sister, Rochelle decided to edit the literary letters of Virginia, filled with her poems and ever-present wit. Since Virginia referred to Rochelle as my twin, the author devised a novel epistolary project entitled, Pointing to the Moon. Rochelle and Virginia were devotees of the moon and her advising progressions. Oddly enough, Virginias love of her cats came to be experienced by Rochelle when she entered a new relationship and inherited two tabbies, Iris and Tiffany. Now, the author divides her time outside the city of her birth (Chicago) and her home for the past sixteen years in Ft. Myers, Florida.

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      Book preview

      From Dusk to Dawn - Rochelle Lynn Holt

      Copyright © 2007 by Rochelle Lynn Holt

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any

      means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

      taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written

      permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in

      critical articles and reviews.

      iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

      iUniverse

      2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100

      Lincoln, NE 68512

      www.iuniverse.com

      1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

      ISBN-13: 978-0-595-43099-4 (pbk)

      ISBN-13: 978-0-595-87441-5 (ebk)

      ISBN-10: 0-595-43099-6 (pbk)

      ISBN-10: 0-595-87441-X (ebk)

      Contents

      PRELUDE

      FROM DUSK TO DAWN

      EYES LIKE TORCHES

      STAGES

      FLUCTUATING BETWEEN SADNESS &ACCEPTANCE

      BY THE WANING MOON

      FROM DUSK TO DAWN

      THIS RUE

      LIKE HOLLOW TREE

      GHOST TRANSFUSION

      CANCER

      FROM THE RIGHT HAND

      LIKE AN INFANT UNSWATHED

      LIKE A LONG EPIC POEM

      FLICKERING SHADOW

      GHOST OBSESSED

      SECOND OPINION

      WADING FEAR

      RAIN OF TEARS

      WHEREVER I AM

      GRIMREAPER

      NECROPLIS

      OUT OF SIGHT

      PROPHETIC PORTRAIT

      WHEN LIGHTS FLICKER

      IN FLAMING CRATE

      RIDING HER PONY

      BATTERED CLOAK

      INDEPENDENCE DAY

      WHEN EMOTIONS ARE PREDISPOSED

      DROWNING IN FLOOD

      ON HIGHEST BUTTE

      KARMA

      SONNET FOR SOUL MATE

      WITHOUT STEALTH

      ON THE HYPOCRATIC OATH

      DANGLING FROM ROCK

      AFLOAT IN DEBRIS

      CELEBRATION

      AFLUTTER OVER LEA

      TIME’S SACRIFICE OR SACRAMENT

      HIDE-AND-SEEK

      SUCH INDULGENCE

      ONLY ECHO HAUNTS

      TO PERSEVERE

      AFTER DEPARTING PENELOPE

      BEYOND CAMELOT

      MEMORIES OF THE SCAR

      NOTHING TO DREAD

      NIGHT TRAIN

      IN CAMELOT OR INVERNESS

      CONTACT AS BAILIWICK

      FALLIBLE REASON

      NO S.O.S.

      LOVE NOT DEARTH

      WHO BELIEVE BLINDLY

      NO RESPITE BREEZE

      STILL BENT ON CARE

      TO CARRY GENTLY

      VISIBLE TRANSFER

      THE ULTIMATE INCONVENIENCE

      LOST IN UNIVERSE

      JEALOUS GODS

      SILENTBREATH

      UNTIL FLAME LIFTS

      SPIRIT & WILL

      ENDLESS LULLABY

      LOOKING FOR RIGHT HAND

      WILL AND HEIRLOOMS

      UPROAR

      ON BORROWED TIME

      RIDING SAME TRAIN

      PAEAN

      HOW MINERVA FOUND WISDOM ON HER MOONWALK

      STUNG BY SHARP BURRS

      INTERMITTENT RAIN

      SPIRIT IS INFINITE

      PARALYZED & UNWISE

      BURIED IN THE SAND

      SWAMP OF CEMENT

      BLACK PEARL

      TRANSFEREE

      NOTHING LEFT TO WHISPER

      WANDERING EARTH

      CHOMPING AT BIT

      FORLORN, BEREFT

      ‘TIL SPIRITS DRIFT

      NOT TO DWELL IN MURK

      NO MATTER COST

      WITHOUT SOFT GLOVE

      GRIEVING CREATOR

      TIMELESS FRIEZE

      NIGHTMARES FILLED WITH SHAME

      LIKE A FISHWIFE

      TRUE PEACE

      NONETHELESS

      SPIRIT ISN’T BRAIN

      LIKE HOMELESS ORPHAN

      VANISHED FROM GILDED CAGE

      THORNS

      FIRECRACKER ON FOURTH OF JULY

      ANGEL ON MY SHOULDER

      EXODUS

      IN LAND OF UR

      IN THE DESERT

      SMALL SPRING

      CABIN WITH SPIRE

      ANOTHER VANISHED PLANET

      AFTERMATH

      TO MEND HURT

      NOTHING TO COVET

      RISING FROM SHELL

      GASPING FOR BREATH

      EXCEPT FOR TEARS

      TO CONNECT

      BESTFRIEND

      A RUNE

      FIRE OF FLIGHT

      THE RED WINE

      DESERT NIGHTMARE

      RESHUFFLING CARDS

      DISPLACED NUN

      REVELRY

      LA LLORONA, THE WEEPING WOMAN

      RISING ABOUT EVIL

      ALONG CROOKED PATH

      RITUALS

      BELOW RAGGED SCARECROW

      NEWDESIGN

      TIGHT SHOES

      NEVER UNDONE

      THE SPACE OF TIME

      LOSTKEY

      STORM IN THE DESERT

      LIKE METEORITE

      SURE ANTIDOTE

      LOVING SPIRIT

      MYSTERY OF WHIRLPOOL

      METAMORPHOSIS

      MARIONETTE

      IN BIZARRE ROMP

      MEMORIES & RUE

      GREATER THAN DUST

      DARING MUSKETEER

      FOR WHISPERING ASPEN

      IN QUEST OF RIND

      BLUE BUTTERFLY

      HER TROUBADOUR

      AT COUNTRY STEEPLECHASE

      GARDEN DOLPHIN

      AGOG

      LIKE PROSERPINE

      AMULET

      LOSS OF THE SUN

      BEFORE CROSSING BAR

      BUTTERFLIES IN FLIGHT

      AT ARM’S REACH

      MYSTICAL INVOCATION

      OTHER TITLES

      About the Author

      for Diane,

      my only true love,

      my best friend

      and my soul mate

      Acknowledgements

      On the Hypocratic Oath and Butterflies in Flight first appeared in Reflections in Ft. Myers, FL. The photo of Diane and Rochelle in fall 1978 at DaisyAldan’s apartment in New York was taken by the late Daisy Aldan.

      PRELUDE

      I met Diane Erdmann at a house party over the Christmas holidays in 1978 whenI was visiting my parents in Phoenix and she, a college friend from Tusculum inTennessee. Laurie, who worked with my mother, had asked Diane if she pre-ferred a cheerleader or a belly dancer for an upcoming Saturday party.

      Let’s try the belly dancer, Diane responded.

      At the time, I was writing, teaching and supplementing my income with bellydancing in Birmingham, Alabama. Always a devotee of dance, I’d first learnedthis Middle Eastern art in Memphis when I was living in Holly Springs, Missis-sippi.

      My husband and I were going through a no-fault divorce, ending a ten yearrelationship which occurred, oddly enough, when we decided to sell our Chan-dler and Price letterpress, ending our decade as the (private) Ragnarok Press.

      After our initial meeting and one miniature golf date in Phoenix, never to berepeated, Diane and I began a lengthy correspondence that eventually totaledmore than a hundred letters. We were also talking on the phone for months untilmid-April when I decided to take her up on sharing her apartment in West-field, New Jersey until I’d made up my mind what I wanted to do next.

      I never left. Diane and I shared over twenty-eight years together. We hadmuch in common—fine dining, movies, the theater, dancing and traveling. Sheintroduced me to the Atlantic Ocean and many of the Caribbean islands on ourvarious vacations as educators. I introduced her to the world of artists and mycolorful friends.

      Diane taught Physical Education and Psychology, primarily at David BrearleyHigh School in Kenilworth. I taught English and Creative Writing at myriadeducational institutions in central New Jersey. An Aries, she was more stable andeventually completed thirty-five years of teaching before she retired. I hadapproximately twenty years of varied teaching experiences in several states whenwe relocated from Cranford to Ft. Myers, Florida in early 1995

      Ours, like many long-term unions, was not perfect. I sought unconditionallove; she advocated trust. Over the decades, I believe I came to learn the truemeaning of love from Diane, a generous and devoted partner. I think she came toaccept my need for new experiences as a curious creative writer. Together, welearned forgiveness, understanding and compassion, perhaps not in that order!

      In mid-April 2006, we took an anniversary river cruise to Europe preceded bythree days in Amsterdam. The subsequent ten day cruise throughout Hollandand Belgium was the trip of a lifetime.

      However, before we left, she had difficulty swallowing and was told only thatthere was a growth in her throat. Nonetheless, she wanted to proceed with ourtrip. When we returned, Diane went through numerous tests and procedures tolearn that she had stage four lung cancer as well arrhythmia, an irregular heartbeat. In June she spent a week in the hospital, then a week at home before shesaid to me, I think it’s time.

      Diane was carried out on a stretcher to Hope Hospice where she spent her lastweek. Finally, on the night of July 3, I reluctantly said to her, It’s okay. You canleave. I’ll miss you desperately, but if you have to go, you might as well depart onthe 4th of July. We half-joked!

      The next morning at 5 A.M. when I’d just written the next to last line ofanother poem: Now we prepare for new destination, the telephone rang. Dianehad passed.

      From May until mid November 2006, I wrote almost two hundred poems,primarily in interlocked tercet with a certain rhyme and rhythm that I remem-bered Anne Sexton, a favorite poet of mine, was fond of. I feel I probably neededthe constancy of the form, because I was unstable and deeply emotional before,during and after Diane’s passing.

      Often, I believe many of these poems were channeled through her as I’ve beena fiction writer for the past several years. My focus has been on invented genre,the poem-novel; I hadn’t written any new poems in years. These poems flowthrough the natural stages of grief defined by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross: anger,denial,

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