Rilke, Proust and Central Peace

 

Tell me, oh Sun that sees all,

when you came to us from the East,

did you see my homeland there,

the fatherland, of which I dream?

Do the roses still shine there,

and the fire lily bushes?

The turquoise dragonflies,

do they still caress the luscious leaves?

 

Rimsky Korsakov - Hymn to the Sun Act II - Le Coq d'Or 

Lyrics (trans. Dr. Jason J. Campbell)

As an introvert, I always have a tendency towards hermitry and a desire for what Wordsworth called “central peace, subsisting at the heart./Of endless agitation”. Recently, I somehow lost that central peace, that inner tranquillity - a quality that I cherish and make no concessions. I tried to sit patiently with my “endless agitation” until it has fully dissolved and my mind becomes clear.

The last three weeks had been a period of distractions for me. I had a habit of letting myself in for all kinds of distractions which originally, and innocently, I saw as straightforward procedures. But (surprise, surprise!) they turned out to be the opposites of the conditions I had prayed for. I shall not burden you with a complete chronicle of the story. But I will simply say that I ended up prioritising my expectations rather than my contentment. As a result, I learnt how easy it is to lose one’s equilibrium.

My remedy for this suffering is instead of struggling with the dynamics of the opposing energies, I reversed the procedure by sitting still or walking peacefully in the woods. I have been keeping quiet and writing my journal to filter and process my thoughts; both of which are necessary steps to let go of the tensions and find my inner peace once again.

Rainer Maria Rilke in Letters to a young poet wrote: “Being an artist means: not numbering and counting, but ripening like a tree, which doesn’t force its sap, and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward summer may not come. It does come. But it comes only to those who are patient, who are there as if eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly silent and vast. I learnt it every day of my life, learn it with pain I am grateful for: patience is everything!”

Perhaps it was easier to achieve that state of stillness in the era Rilke lived than it is now, but I still think that it is an ideal worth pursuing. How else are we going to keep sane? I decided to take Rilke’s gentle advice and I realised that impatience or lack of staying power is possibly an epidemic of discontent in our modern lives. Gordon said to me that the best advice he learnt in the recent years is this: “Don’t take criticism from someone you wouldn’t take advice from.”

“…and this bewildering will remain in us, / as in the sarcophagus, enclosed / with images of gods, rings, glasses, trappings, / there lay in slowly self-consuming wrappings / something being slowly decomposed— / till swallowed by those unknown mouths at last, / that never speak…Then from the ancient aqueducts there passed/eternal water into them one day–/ that mirrors now and moves and sparkles through them.”
~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Roman Sarcophagi ~

Days were passed watching the stormy waves of the North Sea... 

I have been counting my blessings, no matter how small, in these recent weeks; the crystal clear light in the early morning, restorative power of long walks, friendship, unconditional love from a pet, quiet wisdom in literature and poetry, and beauty of nature, land, sea, and sky. They somehow help me to come back to earth, and a little nearer my own time and pace.  

We are on our way to Ballater via the scenic route. We drove through the verdant hills with the music of Judy Collins singing Pretty Saro and an old Scottish ballad - Farewell to Tarwathie/ Adieu Mormond Hill.../And the dear land of Crimmond...I bid you farewell

So Early In Spring by Judy Collins - it's one of my favourite albums. Gordon's favourite track from this album is Pretty Saro. 

Gordon has a talent of finding delightful excursions for me. He knows the places that I would love to visit again and again. Last weekend, we went to the little village called Ballater, located in the east of the Cairngorm Mountains, and it is nearest town to Balmoral Castle, the Scottish holiday home to the Royal Family. We have not been to this charming place for a few years.

Beautiful Ballater 

The town was surprisingly quiet. There is a little bookshop that I love. Many of the shops in the town have recently been renovated after the damage caused by Storm Frank and severe flooding. It was very refreshing experience to be able to breathe the cold mountain air into my lungs and it brought back all those memories of childhood when I had to escape to the mountains with my grandparents because of my asthma attacks and pollen allergy.

We drove through a pine forest and inhaled the scent of pine trees. It was an uplifting sensation!

In the surrounding countryside, there are awakening hills, sheep, wild flowers and expansive skies that made me forget about the pervasive discontent accompanying modern life. After all, nature is possibly the best form of cure for all our winters of discontent. 

We went inside Deeside Bookshop and I was very impressed with the selection of the books. I was immediately drawn to their art and architecture books as well as travel writing section. I found a book that I have been looking for ages - Robert Byron’s The Road to Oxiana. It is a classic travel writing book. I find Byron’s observations and poetic descriptions absolutely captivating to read.

I have a paperback copy of Robert Byron's The Road to Oxiana with introduction by Rory Stewart at home. But I've been wanting to have a hardcover edition of the same book. 

At Deeside Books in Ballater, I found a book that I have been looking for ages for hardcover edition - Robert Byron’s The Road to Oxiana. It's a folio edition and I paid £8.00 for this beautiful book. 

I have got a paperback copy of this book at home and it was my lucky day to find a hardback, folio edition of Robert Byron’s The Road to Oxiana at Deeside Bookshop. Their prices are reasonable considering it is a touristy town. I paid £8.00 for the folio edition of Robert Byron’s book.

A new charity shop in Ballater. I don't remember seeing this shop when I came to visit the town about four years ago! 

I found this whimsical money box, made of leather, in the shape of an owl. I bought a copy of "Violets and Vinegar: An Anthology of Women's Writings and Sayings" edited by Jilly Cooper and Tom Hartman from the charity shop.

It made me smile when I saw it on the shelf at the shop.

We went into one charity shop which must have recently opened just outside of the town centre. I found this charming money box, in the shape of an owl and it is made of real leather. It made me smile when I saw it on the shelf. So, I had to take him home with him.

Last Sunday, Gordon and I went to Arbroath to follow the footsteps of a local Surrealist artist who painted the dramatic sea cliffs, caves and crevices.  

Last Sunday, on a bleak misty morning, we had another impromptu outing to Arbroath with the hope that the sun would be out there. I have been following the footsteps of a local Surrealist painter who died in 1956. I have been going to the places where he painted. This Surrealist artist was fascinated by the sea cliffs, cracks and crevices of the caves of Arbroath. There is an element of Plato’s allegory of the cave in his paintings.

We are looking for Dickmont's Den on the map.

One of the places he painted was one of the prettiest parts of the cliffs called Dickmont’s Den. According to the local folklore, it was the favourite haunt of a noted pirate called Dickmont. His sailing craft was apparently wrecked here and that was how this place came to be known as Dickmont’s Den.

On a clear day, when there are no sea mists, Dickmont's Den looks like this. But on the day of our visit, we couldn't see it very well because of the thick fog from the sea. 

I shall write more about my cliff walk to find Dickmont’s Den later. On the day of my excursion to Arbroath, the coast was cold, misty and I could hardly see the cliffs and the sea seemed to be touching the low clouds in the distance. But there was a stillness, like the stillness of heavy fog waiting for a wind to push them along. 

Cherry Trees - Aren't they beautiful? Whoever planted these trees and whoever had this idea of cherry tree-lined streets should be knighted for their genius idea and artistic vision!! 

Just living is not enough... one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower. ~ Hans Christian Andersen ~ 

By mid-morning when we drove back into town the sun slowly came out and almost completely dispersed the mist, and once more I could see the glory of the cherry trees with their Alma-Tadema’s pink blossoms.

Hospitalfield House, Arbroath. A stunning early Arts & Crafts Scottish Baronial/Gothic country house, left in trust in 1890 by the artist and collector Patrick Allan-Fraser and his wife Elizabeth Fraser. The house was run as a postgraduate college for studying fine art for much of the 20th century. 

Today the series of nationally and internationally significant residency programmes for artists, continue to be accommodated within the house and use the purpose-built studios. Isn't it such a beautiful place for an artist to paint and to create? 

All great art is the work of the whole living creature, body and soul, and chiefly of the soul. ~ John Ruskin ~ 

We first went to the famous residential fine art college called Hospitalfield House where many famous Scottish artists came to study for their postgraduate courses. Hospitalfield House opens to the public from 27^th May. So, it will give us a perfect excuse to come back another time and look around their garden and have lunch at their café.

I love the red sandstone colour and the Gothic/Baronial style architecture of Hospitalfield. And on the day of our visit, we saw an elegant greyhound sleeping peacefully at the entrance, blissfully unaware of or undisturbed by the strangers.  

Arbroath Harbour where we sat and had our lunch (Fish and Chips). 

Endurance - what a beautiful name for a boat! 

We stopped by at the harbour for our lunch. Gordon and I are still feeling unsure about sitting inside the restaurant for our lunch after hearing the news about rising cases of new Indian variant in Scotland. So, we had our fish and chips outside in the sun, sitting by harbour and watching the boats. Next door to the fish and chips is an ice-cream shop owned by the same people. We had our ice cream after we had our lunch.

Both the ice-cream shop and fish and chips shop are owned by the same company

I prefer the fried breaded fish with no salt and vinegar

Gordon prefers his golden battered fish 

Arbroath is renowned for its Smokies, smoked fish, usually small haddock, smoked over hardwood. It is uniquely Scottish and the smell of Smokies has a distinctive atmospheric quality like the smell of an open fireplace in the country house. 

Arbroath is famous for its Smokies

It is a warm, subtle, woody aroma and not at all fishy smell or harsh smell that you get from the ones, usually dyed yellow, in the supermarkets. The taste is impeccable. We bought a couple of Smokies to make fish chowder soup at home. I have this fish chowder recipe for many years using Smokies, slowly cooked in milk and then, I add the delicious stock made from the shells of crabs and lobsters.

I bought two slices of Arbroath Smokies (£3.99) for making a delicious fish chowder

I made a nice stock using the shells of lobsters and crabs for my soup.

The soup is pure comfort food in a bowl that warms the soul. It's divine with a slice of Gordon's homemade bread. Arbroath Smokies give a warm, distinctive and woody aroma to my soup.

 Gordon's homemade bread 

The soup is pure comfort food in a bowl that warms the soul. It is delicious with Gordon’s homemade bread. When we came back from Arbroath, we found the crabs and lobsters left by the door from our kind next door neighbour. 

The gifts from my kind fisherman neighbour. Gordon decided to cook Lobster linguine for our dinner. 

Gordon's delicious dish - Lobster Linguine. I jokingly said to Gordon at the dinner that we should start a new enterprise where I can talk about poetry, literature and quilts with a group of kindred spirits and he can teach us all how to cook, bake and the art of domesticity.  

Gordon made a delicious linguine with lobster including garlic, chilli, shallots, parsley and coriander for our dinner. We had a perfectly peaceful day and I felt that I was regaining my central peace. 

After our dinner, we watched a DVD, a gentle, poetic and melancholy film called Equinox Flower by my favourite Japanese director, Yasujiro Ozu. I find Ozu's films incredibly cathartic. The cinematography is exquisite and the recurring words to describe Ozu's films are "delicate", "tender", "profoundly mysterious" and "melancholy".     

After our dinner, we watched a beautiful Japanese film, Equinox Flower, by one of my favourite directors of all time, Yasujiro Ozu. 

Coda: Before going to sleep, I opened a book by Proust titled Pleasures and Regrets. It was published in 1896 when Proust was only twenty-five and it was his first book. 

Proust's early collection of short stories Pleasure and Regrets. There are two different English translations by Louise Varse and Joachim Neugroschel. I find Joachim Neugroschel's translation more user-friendly for a modern reader than Louise Varese. But it really depends on my mood. I especially love Proust's evocative descriptions of the sea.

The last paragraph is stunning prose poetry. We can see the influence of Ruskin in the way Proust writes - "the long rich rolling sentence...like a rocket, bursts into stars at the end". His thoughts are always exploratory and full of curiosity, insight and wonder...It leaves me with a serene and joyful sense of rediscovering the adventure of living after the challenging weeks. It is impossible not to admire. 

Pleasures and Regrets is a collection of short stories and sketches with subtle evocations of fin de siecle Paris and the natural world. I find Proust’s meditation on the sea extraordinary and profound. His sheer lyricism brings back my inner peace.  

I have two different translations of this collection of short stories. One that is more modern translation and the other is older translation from French by Louise Varese. 

For this post, I will use the latter translation by Louise Varese as it perfectly captures my mood while I look out to the sea from my window. 

Proust wrote: 

“It [the sea] refreshes our imagination because it does not remind us of the life of men, but it rejoices the soul because like the soul it is infinite and ineffectual aspiration, striving, forever broken by a fall, eternal and sweet lamentation. 

It enchants us like music, which, unlike language, bears no trace of material things, which never speaks to us of men, but imitates the movements of our soul. 

Our heart leaps up with its waves, falls back with them, forgetting thus its own falterings, and consoles itself in a secret harmony between its own sadness and that of the sea, which confounds its destiny with that of all things.”

September, 1892.   

"Our heart leaps up with its waves, falls back with them, forgetting thus its own falterings, and consoles itself in a secret harmony between its own sadness and that of the sea..." Marcel Proust

Moments like this certainly put a sparkle in the day!