Healing Displacement in an April Garden

Just Joey - a strange name for a rose, April 2024

After plentiful rain, no matter whether real or chemtrail induced, the garden is verdant and happy, all plants rush to outgrow each other, grass as tall as me, new trees hide on the flower beds... And roses. All these roses. I have more than 40 rose bushes by now, and decided not to add any new ones unless they are fragrant... Roses are like pets - they need food and water, and loving, tender care. And they pay back with enormous, profuse blossoms. But my first poem is not about roses, but rather the rosarians, and their centuries of bioengineering" - patient cross-pollinating rose varieties and watching them grow to pick the best samples and then repeat, until perfection smiles from the bush...

Oregold, April 2024

Oregold is truly golden and glorious, splendid blossom on short stem...

It seems that researchers started to check out the DNA and spectral content of roses in their never-ending quest for perfectly knowing everything about everything:

• "Molecular Evidence for Hybrid Origin and Phenotypic Variation of Rosa Section Chinenses" by Chenyang Yang,Yujie Ma,Bixuan Cheng,Lijun Zhou,Chao Yu *ORCID,Le Luo,Huitang Pan andQixiang Zhang published in August 2020 in Plant Genetics and Genomics (https://www.mdpi.com/2073-4425/11/9/996) - two different wild varieties of chinese roses gave rise to a multitude of varieties through cultivation.
• "Determination of Flavonoids and Carotenoids and Their Contributions to Various Colors of Rose Cultivars (Rosa spp.)" by Huihua Wan, Chao Yu, Yu Han, and Qixiang Zhang in Frontiers of Plant Science (February 2019). https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Flower-phenotypes-of-six-rose-cultivars-during-flower-development-Seven-developing_fig1_331043392. A review of color hues and intensity in six different rose varieties

Pop Art is quite small, less than a teacup, with a green button nose, April 2024

I admire the new rose bushes I plated last year - Pop Art, Moonstone, Crescendo, and Fun in the Sun that fades from warm amber yellow into pale clotted cream. . . 

"Fun in the  Sun" as it first opens is sometimes almost orange, April 2024

My garden is the perfect antidote for displacement. I wrote some poems about being lost after leaving the land of my ancestors that I did not know I cherished so much, when I lived there, but started to appreciate tremendously after my departure...  I'll space the poem out between rose blossoms, so reading it will be like strolling through my garden and listening to mockingbirds. Ah, I forgot, the heavenly fragrance of orange blossoms fills the garden this spring of multi-sensory delights....

Fun in the Sun- fades to pink, April 2024

Fun in the Sun, grandiflora rose is pinkish yellow, 

or sometimes yellow, depending on the soil, April 2024

Peace fades to being spotted, still cute with polka-dots.

A bush-full of "Peace" never disappoints with the profusion, size and color...

On Healing Displacement

I crossed the ocean, mountains and deserts

to make this trade. Purple clover Trifolium 

of Polish meadows – for Montreal’s white Trillium. 

The song of the nightingale in a lilac bush at midnight

for the mockingbird in the red hibiscus at dawn.

The buzz of hornets – for hummingbird wings – 

now, that’s an improvement! Their feathers glisten

like jewels at noon. But there is more. Just one week 

of soft klapsy pears, sweet juice dripping down

my chin in Grandma’s orchard – for six months 

of pink grapefruit picked fresh off my own tree.

I think this delicate cream rose is "Faith" - one of my oldest bushes, still going strong.

Would I prefer removing pits from sour cherries,

a juicy job staining my six-year-old fingers 

to peeling pomegranates, freezing ruby arils  

for next winter’s feast?  Would I rather nibble on golden 

grapes off the trellis or cook strawberry preserves 

for the whole family – syrup of half water, half sugar, 

one glass per kilo of ripe fruit, simmering for 20 minutes 

daily for 3 days. The fruit must remain clear, red and 

fragrant while I keep removing szumowiny – dregs

that gather atop the boiling liquid like the dregs 

of society that rise to the top of politics and media.

French Perfume, so fragrant, with delicate white edges of soft pink petals

Beautiful longish wine-glass shaped buds open into full soft pink flowers.

French perfume, as it opens it looks like a tea cup for a bit... 

I traded two months of sunlight in Polish countryside

for a whole year of brightness under the pristine 

cupola of my California Paradise. Do I prefer the 

cloudless expanse of the bluest azure to the grayish,

pale skies, covered in mist more often than not? 

White sage and blue wooly stars in the Wash 

replaced marguerite daisies and cornflowers 

by the sandy path between fields of potatoes and rye.

This, I do miss – maki, chabry i rumianki. 

Double Delight has vivid two-color petals

California poppies are bright orange, not vermillion red. 

They bloom in early April, not July. Dragonflies are huge 

and orange, not blue. Still, they hover above sparkling

waters of a narrow creek just the same. Does it matter 

that I watch an orange monarch, not a blue queen’s page 

butterfly? The haphazard flight pattern is as delightful, 

the transience it evokes as nostalgic, regardless of color. 

My oldest bush "Love" is two-color, and blooms among pomegranate leaves.

Another "Love" in full sunlight, it is a bit more wine-red and off white, the photo has too much yellow in it, but almost good...

Two-color "Love" with white-veined vermillion red petals, so pretty and so abundant.

I’m at home in my garden as much as I was 

in the orchard of my Grandpa, climbing the walnut tree 

to read my book, hiding between its solid boughs, 

making pretend soup in pretend kitchen under a tall 

chestnut tree, weaving dandelion wreaths to crown myself 

the Most Enlightened Princess of Eternal Summer.

Electron is bright, "electric" pink, looks a bit pale in the shadow...

Electron is really electric, so intense in full sunlight! Fragrant, too... 

The velvety  Mr. Lincoln is more wine red than scarlet in real light.

There’s no way back. No reason to. My test of abandonment 

and betrayal took 60 years. All is done now. I passed. 

I count my blessings while listening to my neighbors’ 

country song, that seductive male baritone, on and on again,

punctuated with the same voices of finches, sparrows  

and crickets circling in the air. The same air, water, fire,

the same elements from whence we came into this

material presence, this glory of now. 

The final, pale pink stage of Rainbow Sorbet, I added the photos backwards...

A cupful of rose Rainbow Sorbet, fluffy and lovely as it fades...

This pink-red chaos of Rainbow Sorbet is close to fading, 

but it used to be orange-yellow when it first bloomed.

Rainbow Sorbet at first...

Rainbow Sorbet at first, opening yellow-orange, fading to pink and red.

Two cups of sorbet, yellow-orange and yellow-pink...

I'm particularly proud of the Rainbow Sorbet bushes, I picked them at $10 each, almost dead, they looked like they would not make and  yet... just look at this gold, orange, fuchsia and vermillion glory! 

So many buds of - this one is white-cream-pinkish, maybe the fragrant white-pink Crescendo...

Not sure what is this rose, a tree rose in yellow, orange and red - like Joseph's Coat, but that one is a climbing variety, with smallish blossoms...

Mr. Lincoln rose and rosemary.

A Spring Bouquet

 

Then. St. Joseph’s Day. The May 1^st workers’ holiday.

Crowds. Parades. Red flags. Red banners.

Even rows of red tulips arranged as battalions

of soldiers to guard the lawn.

 

Now. A perfect day to trim camelias,

their pink and wine-red blossoms fallen to the ground,

new celadon leaves wait for the companionship

of fragrant roses in a vase,

 

the pretty vase my Mom brought from Ravenna,

adorned with a rich array of relief flowers,

mosaic-like, so foreign on my California windowsill.

It travelled from Italy to Poland to Canada to LA –

a heirloom my children would not want. Silly kids

that left for their empty rooms with big screens and leather sofas.

 

I’m glad I’m here to chronicle every minute of every day,

every vein on every leav, every spot on every fading rose petal,

like liver spots on my hands, my Grandma’s hands.

 

Faded roses in a fading garden, picked for a day

of adoration, placed among the brightest celadon

twigs from silent camelias.

 

If fragrance is the voice of flowers, camelias cannot speak,

but roses sing the sweetest melodies that never end.

 

Oh, roses, my roses, roses – 

Here is white-red Love with Moonstone and fragrant cream-pink Crescendo

These new pink-white roses are very fragrant, too bad I lost the tag and forgot their name...

The closest I found is Crescendo, cream-pink with strong fragrance...

Moonstone has so many delicate pinkish petals, true hybrid tea, scent? tea.

Moonstone is cup-shaped first as it opens.

More Moonstone, with classic curved-out petals

Faith rose planted in 1956

Faith is quite similar to Moonstone, but less pink in hue, more creamy. One of my oldest bushes, 

creamy salmon pinkish in the middle, patented roses.

Just Joey, salmon colored, and tea-scented reminds me of Sonia, my favorite in Poland, also because of the character in Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky.

205th Birthday Party of John Ruskin at the Telescope Studio, 11 February 2024

Big Tujunga Wash in February 2024. Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

Sometimes it is good to change the topic, from work and urgent personal interests to something else. Last Sunday (February 11) this "something else" was the celebration of 205th Birthday of artist, writer and visionary John Ruskin, organized by the John Ruskin Art Club, the oldest cultural organization in Los Angeles, established in 1888.  Chaired by poet, writer, journalist and composer, the Ruskin Club's Executive Director, Gabriel Meyer, the event had a rich and varied program.

https://ruskinartclub.org/history

https://ruskinartclub.org/board-of-directors

First, in tribute to the great Ruskin, wonderful poet and the Club's Board member, Elena Karina Byrne read three poems she selected for this occasion, including one by Denise Levertov celebrating the life of John Ruskin and one of her own, about the art of seeing the world, carefully observing every detail on the wings of beetles. 

The Executive Director Gabriel Meyer introduced the program that started from a fragment of a 2019 film by Robert Hewison using a quote from Ruskin as its title: "All Great Art Is Praise." This documentary presented fragments of a bi-centennial event held at the Royal Academy of Art in London, with actor Michael Palin reading excerpts from Ruskin's unfinished autobiography, Praeterita, illustrated with slides of Ruskin's paintings of Venice. Two notable quotes resonated with the audience for the rest of the afternoon: "All great art is praise" and "There is no wealth, but life..." 

After hearing another quote, I decided to write a poem in tribute to Ruskin, inspired by this quote: "To see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion all in one." 

John Ruskin

https://ruskinartclub.org/johnruskin

 

Everything is Perfect

         Ivan Antic says. We are here to explore 

everything. To praise, create, enjoy. Share the joy.

See and describe the sublime.

As John Ruskin taught us. As he saw.

The ancient castle at sunrise. The snow-capped

mountain tops. The intricate patterns 

of butterfly wings.  The aspen tree.

Clouds over Venice rooftops above misty canals.

Sea foam and storms of Turner's paintings.

          The red-headed angels of pre-Raphaelites. 

Fire and infinity of Tintoretto.

He looked, and saw, and recorded

the ever shifting, evolving, waxing 

and waning beauty of the world.

This world. Our world. Given to us

to see - build - create - discover. 

The bliss of color. The bliss of shape.

The bliss of art. The bliss of life.

Thank you, John Ruskin.

Gabriel Meyer introduces the film

Gabriel Meyer introduces the musicians.

The highlights of the birthday bash included the world-premiere of Two Berceuses for cello and piano  by Gabriel Meyer and Six Folk Songs by Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958), featuring cellist Allan Hon and pianist Alex Zhu, professor at Occidental College and Pierce College.  What a joy to hear the honey-rich tones of the cello filling the space, with the subdued accompaniment of the Ruskin Club piano, that found in the Telescope Studio its permanent home.

Cellist Alan Hon and Pianist Alex Zhu

I liked the sweet Berceuses a lot, but will not be a music critic this time describing their charms.  The settings of English folk songs by Williams were brief and highlighted the "found" melodies instead of the skill of the composer. They made me think of the role of late-romantic beautiful music in English music history and its neglect in Poland. We too have had many composers who wrote beautiful settings of folk songs, starting from Ignacy Jan Paderewski, yet their work has not been properly appreciated by their compatriots, deluded by the myth of progressivism - and reserving praise for works of "avant-garde" instead of works of beauty. The musicians Mr. Hon and Zhu gave justice to the music in a lively and uplifting performance, and perfect musical collaboration, giving primacy to the composers, not to interpreters.  There is plenty of skill in that!

Stuart Denenberg with annual Sherry Toast to John Ruskin

The annual toast to Ruskin, with a glass of sherry was given by a gallery-owner, and a walking encyclopedia of art, Ruskin Art Club Board member, Stuart Denenberg, co-owner of Denenberg Fine Arts with his wife, Beverly. Indeed, we should praise art that is "praise of this world" - and celebrates beauty, instead of chaos, disruption, violence, hate. . .  I must say I was a bit distracted during his toast (sorry!) as I met Eric Jessen, former Chief of Orange County parks, etc. department, who was instrumental in greatly expanding the OC parks system, purchasing, for instance, for the county the Helena Modjeska Historic House and Gardens, now one of only two National Historic Landmarks located in O.C.  He previously spoke about the Modjeska House during my lecture on the great actress at Laguna Art Museum in 2019. A long-time Board member of the Ruskin Art Club, he serves as its Secretary. What a welcome reunion! 

Stuart Denenberg in conversation with Gabriel Meyer

Poets at the Birthday Bash of Ruskiin - Elena Secota, Maja Trochimczyk, Susan Rogers, Ambika Talwar, Gabriel Meyer, Elena Karine Byrne and guest

During the champagne and sushi reception after the speeches and concert, I was happy to reconnect with Polish American community - Elizabeth Kanski, former President of Polish American Film Society and the Modjeska Club, and Mirek Towski, a great photographer, how was invited by Stuart Denenberg. I invited two poets, Ambika Talwar and Susan Rogers, and we were happy to visit other Los Angeles poets from our circle: Elena Karina Byrne, Elena Secota, and Gabriel Meyer  - all of whom I had invited as featured poets to the readings of Village Poets at the Bolton Hall Museum in Tujunga when I still served as the readings Program Chair. 

Happy birthday, John Ruskin! 

Polish American group of Ruskin friends -Maja Trochimczyk, Mirek Towski, Elzbieta Kanski

Poets Maja Trochimczyk and Susan Rogers in Carnival mood...

Two Polish American Presidents of Helena Modjeska Art and Culture Club,  

Maja Trochimczyk and Elzbieta Kanski

Rock spiral at Sunset, Big Tujunga Wash, by Maja Trochimczyk

Since today, as I am writing this report, it is Valentine's Day AND Ash Wednesday simultaneously celebrating Love and Death, I'll end this post with my poem from 2018 anthology "Grateful Conversations" -  that was recorded at the Gathering of California Poets Laureate at the McGroarty Arts Center in Tujunga in October 2018, and also posted on my blog:

https://engagingthesensesfoundation.com/poet/maja-trochimczyk/

https://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2019/10/morning-noon-evening-in-california.html

In Morning Light

We live on a planet where it rains diamonds —
hard rain, sparkling crystal droplets — in the clouds,
in the air, on the ground under our feet.

Here, the Valentine’s Day falls on Ash Wednesday.
Red strawberries, wine-hot passion and Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust — lessons of impermanence of the body,
constantly reconfigured in a vortex of quarks and atoms
until the pattern dissolves like snow at the end of winter.
Delicate snowdrops peek from under the melting cover
of phantasmagorical shapes and figures.

Here, the Annunciation Day of Mary’s greatest joy
falls on Palm Sunday — from rainbow wings of Fra Angelico’s
Gabriel bowing before the shy, blushing maiden in royal blue
we look ahead to the green of palm fronds lining the streets
of Jerusalem. We welcome the destiny of the King.
We see red blood on the stones of Golgotha,
the Place of the Skull. Not even this is real.
No wonder, then, that Easter, the greatest Mystery —
of Death into Life, Spirit over Matter, the Divine
in an emptied human shell — Eli, Eli, Lema Sabachthani —
Sanctus, Benedictus, Agnus Dei — it is done  —
yes, that Easter — is on April’s  Fools Day this year.

We fool ourselves when we see death as enemy.
We spin our lives into thin filaments of a spider-web.
Illusion woven into illusion. Deception after deception.
They rise and fall with the rhythm of seductive charm.
The smiling demon is the most persistent. Incorrigible,
it pulls us down, down, down into the mud,
from whence we did not come. Nothingness
ties us up with bonds of non-belonging.

My revelation is this — we live on the planet
where it rains diamonds. We walk on untold treasures
that we do not notice — we forget and forget and forget
where we came from, where we are, where we are going.
We spin our future out of spider silk and shadows.
Our lives fill with the sand of dreams, changing
like shards of glass, broken bits of colored plastic
in a kaleidoscope — transfigured into the most
astounding waltz of the rosettes, reflected
in hexagonal mirrors of transcendence —

My revelation is this — we are the children
of Sunlight — blessed by Radiance — wearing
Love’s golden halos — we shine and blossom —
in Light’s cosmic garden of stars — lilies — violets —
peonies — daffodils —and roses — always roses —
in this brilliant garden — on a diamond planet —
of what is — in the Heart of the Great, Great Silence —

— there’s no here — nor  there —
— no before  — nor  after —
— no inside  — nor  outside —

——— All is Always Now———
——— All is Always One———
——— Where We Are ———


NOTE: References to the Gospels, Giordano Bruno, and St. Germain.

(c) 2018 by Maja Trochimczyk, first published in "Grateful Conversations" anthology edited by Maja Trochimczyk and Kathi Stafford (Moonrise Press, 2018).