Garden Poetry

[Tim Ingram]

Poetry has never really been my thing, but a past relative was very literary and collected books of poems. This one is quite irresistable given how much rain we have had this winter:

Old Shellover

"Come!" said Old Shellover.
"What!" says Creep.
"The horny old Gardener's fast asleep;
The fat cock Thrush
To his nest has gone,
And the dew shines bright
In the rising Moon;
Old Sallie Worm from her hole doth peep;"
"Come!" said Old Shellover.
"Ay!" said Creep.

(Walter de la Mare)

[latestart]

What a good idea Tim. I hope all the galanthophiles will like this one.

Where are the snowdrops?

“Where are the snowdrops?” said the sun.
“Dead” said the frost, “Buried and lost, every one.”
“A foolish answer,” said the sun
“They did not die, asleep they lie, every one.
And I will awake them, I the sun,
Into the light, all clad in white, every one.”
“It’s rather dark in the earth today”
said one little bulb to its brother.
“But I thought that I felt a sunbeam’s ray.
We must strive and grow ‘til we find our way”
and they nestled close to each other.
They struggled and strived by day and by night,
‘til two little snowdrops in green and white
rose out of the darkness and into the light;
and softly kissed one another.

By Annie Mattheson born March 1853 died 1924

[annew]

I like them both!

[Palustris]

I like this one and many others by this author.

Flowers of the Mind
Last winter, when I was in bed with the 'Flu
And a temperature of a hundred and two,
I was telling the gardener what he should do.
You must keep the Neurosis well watered, I said.
Be certain to weed the Anaemia bed.
That yellow Myopis is getting too tall,
Tie up the Lumbago that grows on the wall.
Those scarlet Convulsions are quite a disgrace,
 They're like the Deliriums—all over the place.
 The pink Pyorrhoea is covered with blight,
That golden Arthritis has died in the night.
Those little dwarf Asthmas are nearly in bloom—
But just then the doctor came into the room.

Reginald Arkell 1934


And my own take on the theme!

More Flowers of the mind.

The Hysteria's pulling the support from the wall.
You can't see the Fibroids, they are covered in soil.
The Hepatitis grow better when planted in shade,
And the red Alopecia is starting to fade.
That Colitis is badly infested with twitch,
And the state of the Scabies is making me itch.
The Rubella berries have gone past their prime,
And the Toxaemia refuses completely to climb.
But just when you hope it won't get any worse,
I come to the end of my doggerel verse.

E.G.M. 1999.

[annew]

 

[Tim Ingram]

Here is another especially golden poem...

Kingcups

When poetry walked the live, spring wood,
Hid, ghostlike, in the leaves' green hood
She came to a slant fence of sun,
Whose golden timbers, one by one,
Trod into a marsh's toils
And here she stayed her flowery spoils;

But pitying the marshes' plight
She shook her lap and wide and bright
Great kingcups to that waste she threw
Where nothing lived and nothing grew.
Now, where poetry passed, there stays
The light of suns, the fire of days;
And these cups for kings to hold
Make summer with their wide-eyed gold.

(Sacheverell Sitwell)

[johnw]

Lovely Tim.  I read his biography of Liszt in about 1967.  In retrospect it was chock full of errors but oh the use of the English language was exquisite, I read and re-read it and it's time to do so again.  What a family they were.

One in return but not so gardeny by Alfred Brendel whose poems I have been reading the past few days.  Browse youtube 'Brendel poetry' +interview. 

[ashley]

John, the first two lines seem appropriate for 1 January

[johnw]

Ashley  - I'm afraid that is just as appropriate on 16 Feb............

[Tim Ingram]

I expect Robert Burns included gardens amongst his poetry at times - but this is a different question: on Suzy Klein's beautifully presented programme tonight (BBC4) on 'Rule Britannia, Mischief and Morals' she referred to Burns, and at one point showed a Scottish singer expressing his lines exquisitely. Does anyone know who the singer is - I didn't manage to catch her name?

[Anthony Darby]

Spring is sprung, the grass is ris.
I wonders where the birdies is.
They say the birds is on the wing.
Ain’t that absurd?
I always thought the wing was on the bird. (A. Mous)

[Maggi Young]

I expect Robert Burns included gardens amongst his poetry at times - but this is a different question: on Suzy Klein's beautifully presented programme tonight (BBC4) on 'Rule Britannia, Mischief and Morals' she referred to Burns, and at one point showed a Scottish singer expressing his lines exquisitely. Does anyone know who the singer is - I didn't manage to catch her name?

That singer is the very talented Mairi Campbell, (seen with Dave Francis, an old aquaintance of ours, on guitar - they have performed Burns' works  together for quite some time as "the Cast")

[Tim Ingram]

Thank you Maggi - she was beautiful to watch and listen to.

[Maggi Young]

Isn't she just?  Lovely artist.
 I noticed that the only mention of her name was in the final credits, there was no mention or title on screen during the programme itself, even when she was interviewed.

[Tim Ingram]

Is folk music and singing, poetry? I don't know but I have just discovered BBC Alba on i-player and a whole selection of unpronounceable Gaelic programmes with some wonderful singers and musicians. Two lovely ones recently - Corrina Hewat on the harp and Mary Jane Lamond from Cape Breton. There is something undiscovered about this quite heartfelt  music and why is it that we don't regard our gardening in the same way? Does a garden sing? I think it does at times once one has worked hard in it all day.