Sorrow masks the scent of the rose
Pulsating in my clenched fist
Crushed like a strangled artery.
Velvet petals, laid layer on layer
Curl tightly to its sweet core
In intricate simplicity.
Its beauty threatening to fade,
Now plucked from its source of life,
Blood red congealing into black.
Its silky skin soothing and cool,
As cold to touch as the stone
Under which you lie. Withering.
And as I place it on you its
Shape springs back immaculate
And unspoilt, as if never touched.
.
35 comments:
I think I get this and understand how certain flowers are pain.
But yesterday my mum's neighbours brought her the first roses of the year, along with Sweet Williams, and it was a happy moment.
I really like the poem but at the moment, I'd rather associate the rose with happiness. If that makes sense.
very sad Pinker
though with the freedom that perception and the passage of time restores... as if never touched
perfect finish
Just a little musical illustration in appreciation...
Roses: natural mandalas
a poignant insight P, 'as if never touched' and yet profoundly touched
Mimi - sorry I didn't mean to spoil your rose-related happiness. I love roses, I love getting roses, especially the luscious red ones. Just because they have an association to loss doesn't mean I don't appreciate their beauty, in fact I'd hoped that my description of the petals etc showed that?
Doc, I've just found out where you live... Wattaway? (or however you spell that - I've only ever heard it said). Park keeper on Norfolk I'm thinking is probably the best job in the world! I've never been there but my parents lived there in the 60s and my lucky older sister was born there. Looks like paradise and they had some wonderful stories. Thanks for your kind comment - "perfect finish" is quite an accolade!
Offside - thanks for the link, lovely music and I think I understood most of the sentiment with my sketchy schoolgirl French.
File - thanks to you too, I thought the last line simple, but hopefully uplifting (after the misery)?
"Sorrow masks the scent..." This is deep and hopeful. Lovely.
I think this works well if you think of a rose as love... the plucked flower wil die, but that won't stop the love continuing...
That's what I thought too Jinksy. I hoped people would see the rose representing something deeper.
I never quite get the traditional poetic idea of the rose as a frail thing which lasts but a day etc. In my experience roses are tough thorny brutes and the flowers last quite a long time.
So I like the way the rose in this poem 'springs back' defiantly, that's very rose-like to me - as well as obviously conveying the resilience of love.
A very astute observation, zeph. It's funny how these poetic conventions grow legs and become a substitute for actually looking at the world. As a consequence, actually looking at the world is one of the most important things any poet can do (along with learning to put words together in a pleasing way, obviously).
sorrowful but beautiful. i've never seen a rose quite this way...
sorrowful but beautiful. i've never seen a rose quite this way...
Billy: I guess the tradition goes back to classical times when even garden roses were more like the wild ones - over the centuries horticulture has changed them into big long-lasting multi-petalled things like the one in the picture.
And there is the whole parallel tradition about 'picking the rose and leaving the thorn', whether that's a bad thing, as in folk ballads where the rose is usually a girl's virginity and the bad young man has gone off and left her with a thorny life, or a good thing as in 'look on the bright side'.
Perhaps I'll write a poem about mildew and blackspot...
Perhaps I'll write a poem about mildew and blackspot...
Now that I'd read ;-)
I know that the rose has been written about a LOT before now, so I deliberately avoided the thorns - they seemed such an obvious way to represent pain, twee really. Plus I didn't want to show this rose as weak or romantic necessarily, hence words such as "pulsating" amd "congealing" - they aren't cutesy words. Hard words I hoped.
I'm glad you see this rose as tough, zeph. Although the rose which was lounging around happily in my kitchen earlier in the week was less lucky as it was scrunched a few times - method poetry you know...
Nice poem, pink; gives me the sense of the rose as artificial, or even immortal, which I rather like.
Good point about the essential hardiness of roses, zeph.
The other day a stopped by a favourite spot in Tower Hamlets cemetery. It's an enormous necropolis, mostly left to crumble, which I find entirely appropriate. It's filled with elaborate Victorian statuary and the spot I speak of lies in a small, heavily-wooded dell, almost invisible.
At some point, long ago, someone planted a white rambling rose at the base of a large winged angel memorial. The rose has taken over, producing a wild abundance of beautifully scented flowers. The conrast between the crumbling angel and the hardiness of the rose I find very satisfying.
I suppose the carefully bred hybrids, like all those in-bred show-dogs, are delicate. Someone more knowledgable could probably tell me.
Good work, Pinkerbell...
Mishari, yes, some types of rose do demand much better care than others, but the white rambling ones are often tough, and of course roses grow well in old graveyards owing to the, erm, rich soil.
Pinker rose,
Ronsard the french Medieval poet often used the Rose as a symbol of fragile beauty: or fragile and short life span-
"et rose elle a vêcu ce que vivent les roses d'un matin"-
And Rose she lived as all the roses, the space of a morning-
- He was wrong, In his lyric moment he shortened the time of flowering, the period in which the rose has developed into flower, which proves that you can be good at poetry and lousy at Botany.
Also a question for everyone,:If you think the red rose is the symbol of Love you're right but do you know why?
of course everyone ecept Zeph..-:)
Zeph, when I'm "roll'd round in earth's diurnal course" I hope I feed a nice healthy rose bush.
By the way I've been thinking would the poem have been better without the full stops around "withering"? It looks a bit clumbsy now I'm looking again.
Nothing wrong with being clumbsy - in fact it is right. Da used to call me 'clumber'
The full stops are fine.
Pinkerbell, your poem is ruthless, and I mean that as a compliment. One thing that always strikes me about roses - the plant, not the flower - is how determinedly they grow back. We have some where I work that were pruned down to tiny nubs in January and are now taller than I am.
Guitou, I hope the answer you're looking for is more pleasant than the reasons I know. There are many stories about red roses that are all to do with blood, whether it's the passion of the Christ, or loss of virginity, or Adonis getting gored by a boar.
I thought it was Adonis - though some people say that was anemones, not roses. And the Christian church re-used the myth later?
Munni
unpleasant moi? never.No blood, no boar, neither Adonis was in the picture.
It was Cupido who spilled accidentally his glass of red wine on the white rose and that's how the red rose was born, regarding the Romans.
I was convinced Zeph had this one, and sure that Offie knew which brand was Cupido drinking-
That sounds much nicer, and more convincing, than the wild boar stuff, Guitou :)
Damn, Guitou you didn't run your contest for very long... I was going to suggest it was something to do with the Romans, because the romantic era drew on these times so much. Yes, that's a much better story than it connecting to blood. So if Cupid had poured some salt on and got that stain right out then there'd have been no war of the roses... maybe war of the pansies, or foxgloves?
Pinkerbell poet and botanist,
interesting suggestion, may be Cupid did poor salt causing an allergy to the hypersensitive flower turning red with a thorns irruption- Since then the thorns became the rose self-defense mechanism.
Cupid's favourite red?
Châteauneuf du Pape, of course.
So the red on white isn't the origin of rose wine then?
... hideous stuff...
ah yes, wine is much nicer than blood. But surely Cupid would prefer an Italian wine, being Roman and all?
munni,
don't be daft, Côtes du Rhône, I tells ya.
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