Showing posts with label Sappho. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sappho. Show all posts

Saturday, February 2, 2013

A History of Love and Roses for Valentine's Day

Rose White Wings by Maja Trochimczyk
Petals of Chicago Peace Rose. Photo (c) 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk 
The association of roses with love goes back to the times of Sappho, an ancient Greek poet (or, rather as 19th century writers would say, poetess), whose fragments of love poems, have inspired countless poets with their vehement passion and colorful metaphors since her death more than two and a half thousand years ago. In Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s translation, Sappho’s rose is “the eye of the flowers… the grace of the earth” and “the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers / On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.” Sappho’s rose “breathes of love” and its petals “laugh with the wind…”

Rosa Gallica Rosea Flore Simplici by Pierre Joseph Redoute
        Rosa gallica rosea flore simplici by P.J. Redoute

The Song of a Rose

By Sappho, translated by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

For Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.


Pnk Rose Symmetry by Maja Trochimczyk
French Perfume Rose. Photo (c) 2012 by Maja Trochimczyk



The roses that Sappho and Browning wrote about blossomed once a year and had much smaller, though often much more fragrant flowers than the roses we know today. Our long-stemmed hybrid tea roses are the offspring of repeatedly blooming china roses often grafted onto sturdy rootstock of the common dog rose that is resistant to cold and disease. We pay for the year-round abundance of flowers with their fragrance… And, we equate roses with love:

The Smile of a Rose

When you smile
Heaven opens
and the earth grows solid
under my feet,
no longer quicksand –
I breathe slowly

When you smile
pink roses bloom
in my autumn garden,
the pomegranate ripens
in late sunrays –
I fear no one

When you smile
Bach’s partita for solo violin
fills the room
with the air of beauty –
angels dance,
I dance with them


© 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk

Pink Rose Petals Smile by Maja Trochimczyk
Photo (C) 2011 by Maja Trochimczyk





















Napoléon’s first wife, Empress Joséphine, (de Beauharnais, 1763-1814, crowned in 1804, and divorced in 1810), loved roses so much she dedicated a garden at her summer residence Chateau de Malmaison to these magnificent flowers. Assisted by an army of gardeners, she managed to gather over 250 varieties in a formal rose garden that after her death in 1814 and the fall of Napoleon in 1815 fell in disrepair, but not before her roses were immortalized in painting. 

Rosa gallica aurelianensis by Pierre Joseph Redoute
Rosa gallica aurelianensis by P.J. Redoute
      
Who has seen the living beauty of sempervirens, boursaults, or ayshire Old Garden Roses, grown from European sturdy stock and Chinese repeat bloomers? These antique varieties, long forgotten by gardeners, were immortalized in Redouté’s paintings.

Pierre-Joseph Redouté (1759-1840) recorded the shapes and hues in splendid watercolors, while Claude-Antoine Thory provided vivid, botanical descriptions. Les Roses still delight with their now exotic beauty.  The shapes of most blossoms in Redoute’s paintings are quite different from the tall, tubular flowers we know from mostly scentless hybrid teas of our times. These were the gallicas, albas, damask, china, and moss cultivars of Old Garden Roses.  Many blossomed just once a year and had a lovely fragrance; they were all the more precious for it. The Souvenir de la Malmaison not by Redouté), a bourbon rose with multiple petals, survives as a reminder…

Souvenir de la Malmaison, Burbon Rose, ill. Herman Friese
         Rose Souvenir de la Malmaison, 1843

Here’s a lovely variety of Rosa Gallica, called by the French Rosier d’Amour and the Germans  rose d’Autriche, or the  Austrian rose. Its description in Empress Joséphine’s book is poetic in its own right, especially for readers who do not know biological terminology:

“Its stems are armed with thorns… that break off easily, leaving numerous scars. The leaves consist of five… oval leaflets… doubly dentate with glandulous edges… The Rose of Love has a corolla of five petals … The aromatic flowers grow singly or in clusters or two or three at the end of the secondary branches…  The pyriform and slightly hairy fruits are reddish or orange when ripe. They last well into the winter.”


Rosier d'Amour by Pierre Joseph Redoute
Rose of Love - Rosier d'Amour by P.J. Redoute.


























Rosier d’Amour

Fresh, moist petals open
the rose blossoms
in the garden of delight, beauty

She waits for the one
who’d reach past sharp thorns,
past her childish defenses
into her heart

She longs to be touched
and admired for her colors,
for her velvety glow

For the intense burst of pleasure
seducing the one who cares enough
to come with a simple offering –
a life for the rose

© 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk



Rose Red Wet Happy by Maja Trochimczyk

The Latin name of this variety is “Rosa gallica pumila” and it refers to the small size of the shrub, graced with enormous, bright red flowers. But how does “glandulous” look like? And what about “tomentose” (not to mistake for “comatose”)?  The meaning of “Pyriform” we can guess – it probably refers to the shape of the flame, that, just like the flame of true love, lasts well into the winter.

Apparently, this is a wild rose widespread in Germany and growing with vigor: “it can reappear and multiply almost as rapidly as it is uprooted.” How does it do it? In three ways: “through self-sown seeds, offshoots, and subterranean roots.” (from Frank J. Anderson’s commentary, 1979). For the farmers, it was worse than a weed, because its branches were thorny and when they took it out once, it kept coming back with a vengeance. Now, isn’t it just like real love? Even the unwanted one? If it is real, it will survive anything and everything. It will be unchanged from the day it miraculously appeared, to bless a life that was empty without it, to the last breath on Earth, well into the winter of life. Will it survive beyond the grave? I think it will, but let us return to the roses.
Rosa Gallica Regalis by Pierre Joseph Redoute

Rosa gallica regalis by PJ Redoute


The national bard of Scotland, Robert Burns (1759-1796),  immortalized the delight of the June-flowering rose and its symbolism of love in a folk-style Scottish ballad of 1794:

Red, Red Rose

By Robert Burns

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ ‘twere ten thousand mile!


Red Red Rose by Maja Trochimczyk
Petals of "Love" Rose. Photo (c) 2010 by Maja Trochimczyk.




















The rose landscape changed when English officers and merchants went to China in the middle of the 18th century. They came back with rose varieties they named after themselves. Thus Slater and Parson in 1752 followed by Hume and Park before 1792 entered the History of the Rose. During the Napoleonic wars, containers with Hume Blush Tea-Scented China Rose imported for Empress Josephine’s Rose Garden were let through the naval blockade. With the oriental newcomers, English and French gardens were filled with rose blossoms from spring through winter frost. 

Slater Crimson China Rose by Pierre Joseph Redoute
     Slater Crimson China Rose by Redoute

The gardeners crossed the “new” arrivals (whose thousand-year Chinese history was not known in the West) with their own roses and nine new varieties appeared, the tea rose among them.  Josephine’s gardener, Andre Dupont is credited with inventing this art of hybridization. Through artificial pollination, he created 25 of the varieties found in her Rose Garden.  

And look at roses today! How different they are from those of the past. Let anyone who ever saw a rose deny the truth of Evolution, and let them deny the human role in creating evolution… The world is still unfinished and we have a role to play in shaping it, in defining what it will become. For proof, we do not need to look further than a rose and its magnificent blossoms. . . It takes courage to create a new rose. It takes courage to love, as noted by Hafiz, a 14th century Persian mystic:

How
Did the rose
Ever open its heart
And give to this world
All its
Beauty?


Roseblush Dew Drop by Maja Trochimczyk
Rose Photo (C) 2011 by Maja Trochimczyk

But there is one more issue… Is a rose that can be seen year-round and bought every day, as precious as that blossom that only comes back once a year?  My love of roses comes from my childhood: watching the miracle of leaves and petals opening on a plant that survived the winter under the cocoon of straw…

 Is the love, so abundantly celebrated with red chocolate hearts and endless advertising for St. Valentine’s Day gifts, only valued for its heightened presence in the heat of passion, symbolized by the intense, blazing hues? Or is it the love that survives, day by day, that we should cherish instead? This love dares to blossom endlessly, again and again, well into the winter... Let us celebrate the Valentine’s Day 2013 with poems of love and roses. . .


Blush Rose Dew Shadow by Maja Trochimczyk
Rose Photo (c) 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk 


The Rose Garland

I thought roses.
I thought rich, velvet blossoms.
I thought a red rainbow
from deep crimson to delicately pinkish.

The secret was underground
where the roots sustain
the multi-hued orgy of sensuous allure –
flowers opening to dazzle and fade.

The strength of the rose
is invisible – you see the blush
of seduction in each leaf and petal,

 You admire their charms.
Yet, you care for what’s out of sight,
not for the obvious.

I thought your love.
I thought how you adore me.
I went deeper down to the source.

The rose, Sappho’s lightning
of beauty, breathes love,
laughs at the wind and wonders.

The mystic rosebush dances,
crowned with the royal
garland of fire.

© 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk



Red Rose Chiaroscuro by Maja Trochimczyk
Rose Photo (c) 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk


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NOTES:

Poem by Sappho, translated by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in Greek Poets in English Verse, William Hyde Appleton, ed., Cambridge: The Riverside Press, 1893.

Pierre-Joseph Redoute (1816-18), Les Roses, 168 plates with descriptions by Thory. The originals burned with the Louvre in 19th century. Copies were published and continue to be reproduced. The text quoted above is attributed to Delanuay and translated into English, in an album P.-J. Redouté – Roses, Liber, 1986.

Frank J. Anderson, ed. The Complete Book of 169 Redouté’s Roses, New York: Abbeville  Press, 1979.

John Ingram, The Language of Flowers or Flora Symbolica, including floral poetry, original and selected, with original illustrations, printed in colors by Terry. New York: Frederick Warne, 1887.  http://archive.org/details/cu31924067841738

Maja Trochimczyk’s poems are no. 1, 20 and 51 in her book Rose Always: A Court Love Story, third revised edition (Los Angeles: Moonrise Press, 2011)

More information about roses in poetry and art may be found on the following sites:


Rose Gathering by Daphne Filiberti, www.rosegathering.com

Rosarian Web Site, www.rosarian.com 

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COMMENTS

From Lisa Marguerite Mora: 

"Thank you for sharing this--beautiful photographs. I love roses too. Especially like this passage from your post: "And look at roses today! How different they are from those of the past. Let anyone who ever saw a rose deny the truth of Evolution, and let them deny the human role in creating evolution… The world is still unfinished and we have a role to play in shaping it, in defining what it will become. For proof, we do not need to look further than a rose and its magnificent blossoms. . . It takes courage to create a new rose. It takes courage to love, as noted by Hafiz, a 14th century Persian mystic: How Did the rose Ever open its heart And give to this world All its Beauty?""

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Monday, February 14, 2011

Love After Love - For Valentine's Day


It is a topic of so many country songs, so many romantic sonnets, so many tales and novels. It gave rise to new genres of literature (romance, troubadour poetry) and in other arts (rom com, or romantic comedy in film; the comedy as a classic theatrical genre). After centuries of efforts to describe it, we still do not know what it is. The taxonomies and definitions that I cited in the previous essay are just one way of approaching this elusive topic.

For the Valentine's Day of 2006, I wrote the following short poem, dedicated to my children. It is simple and didactic, defining different types or levels of loving:

Love Defined

Amor
You are beautiful. I love you.

Eros
You are beautiful. I want you. I take you.

Caritas
You are beautiful. I love you. I give you. . .

Agape
Beauty is Goodness is Truth is Love.
Or,
We are.

♥ ♥ ♥



Step by step, the gradation leads upward from romantic infatuation to spiritual Love. At the highest level it is a complete acceptance of Being, the eternal "Amen" - "Yes" resounding from the slopes of the mountains, from the waves of oceans, from the smallest blade of grass and crystal of quartz in the sand. Love is... and always will be, unchanged. To understand it, it is enough to think of its opposite - hatred - and the deafening, blinding "No" that it entails. Denial. Rejection. Death.

The variants of love that I named "Amor" and "Eros" are often intertwined. The presence of "Caritas" and "Agape" may be sensed even in those stages of admiration and attraction. The following poems are selected to illustrate the process of spiritual evolution from love based in need, want and desire to that grounded in compassion and connection through mutual acceptance - the divinely timeless love.

A Chocolate Kiss

You are my chocolate,
my candy, my lover sweet
in the morning,
alive with kisses

My soul rests
like a bird
on your shoulder

I dream of you
daily


♥ ♥ ♥




This free-verse poem has been my favorite among my own love poems, not only because I do love chocolate. It is just sweet. Love for another human being that brings a sense of safety, trust, happiness in being together, in sharing, in becoming one... And then, there is the longing, dreams filled with desire. That is one way of looking at love: the romantic, "Happy Valentine's Day" type of love.

Its strength, from the times of Sappho, has astounded generations of poets, who, like Goethe's Werther wandered around smitten, with the eyes of their beloved blazing in their mind, the feeling of her lips still burning in memory... Petrarch, Dante, Rossetti, Rilke... all lovers of love. How strong could it be? For Sappho, it was like the storm that fells trees, like a lightning. Here's my version of that sentiment:

Lauda

It waxes and wanes
with the moon

It grows and recedes with the tides
flowing through my veins
with every heartbeat

It shines in the dark
like phosphorescent letters
on a child’s shirt

It is so full of color
that it shames the rainbow
and dims the neon glare
of acrylic wonderland

Indestructible
it has outgrown my despair
my anguish, my pride

Like child’s laughter
in an empty room,
like the stillness
of crystal mountain air

Beyond words
love is

♥ ♥ ♥


Now, if love cannot be defined in words, what am I doing, trying to name it and describe it in so many different ways? That, of course, is the task of poetry: naming the unnameable. In doing so, poets have linked love to roses, rich and fragrant, with hues ranging from pure white, through rosy, to intense scarlet and vermillion. Reading the history of roses makes you realize that, although these flowers were found in nature, they were created and re-created in countless varieties by lovers for lovers. The rose gardeners and makers crossed different varieties, spliced the roots of one bush with the branches of another - all in pursuit of that perfect flower. Now, let someone who saw a rose deny the power of evolution, or the human role in evolution...


A Secret

I thought roses.
I thought rich, velvet blossoms.
I thought a red rainbow
from deep crimson to delicately pinkish.

The secret was underground
where the roots sustain
the multi-hued orgy of sensuous allure –
flowers opening to dazzle and fade.

The strength of the rose
is invisible – you see the blush
of seduction in each leaf and petal,

You admire their charms.
Yet, you care for what’s out of sight,
not for the obvious.

I thought your love.
I thought how you adore me.
I went deeper down to the source.

The rose, Sappho’s lightning
of beauty, breathes love,
laughs at the wind, wonders.

The mystic rosebush dances,
crowned with the royal
garland of fire.

♥ ♥ ♥


In this garland of allusions, I managed to weave Sappho with T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets (the end of Little Gidding):

"All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one."

I also thought about Rilke's superb ode to the beauty of roses (Les Roses, translated by Barbara Collignon, VI and XV). Elsewhere he compared these flowers to eyes of butterflies, transient and timeless at the same time:

"One rose alone is all roses
and this one: irreplaceable,
perfect..."

And then, he says:

"Alone, oh abundant flower
you create your own space"

One rose alone ... That is a great idea I borrowed for my next rose/love poem. The "Rose Window" is structured like an argument, in a Socratic style of thesis, refutation, and synthesis. It marries the timelessness of a stained-glass window in a medieval cathedral with the recurring timelessness of petals that grow and fall, grow and fall, ever new, ever old, ever new...



Rose Window

I place you in the heart
of my rose, dark red one,
with dew drops on its leaves.

Like a tricked-up baby
from Ann Geddes’ postcard
you rest, snugly wrapped
in the comfort of my love.

“That too shall pass,” they say,
“That too shall pass.
The rose will wither,
love will fade away.”

Respectfully, I disagree.
I know the symmetry
of velvet petals
is but an opening
into a different universe,
a cosmic window,
timeless.

I see it in the shyness
of your smile. Yes.
You are that lucky.

In the morning,
when the curtains of mist
open above silver hills
carved from time
like a Japanese woodcut,
you taste freedom.

You found your true self
under the detritus
of disordered life.

Isn’t it strange
that you’ve been saved
by the perfection
of just one rose?

♥ ♥ ♥


Too sweet? Too charming? Let me go all the way, then, through a rainbow of hues found in a painting I liked so much that I actually bought. At one of the Poets on Site's Manzanar Workshop projects, I saw a watercolor by Minoru Ikeda, "With You Always." The title reminded me of a Patsy Cline song, and the colors of the hues remembered from the landscape of my childhood spent in villages of my grandparents, and in the pink house surrounded by yellow daisies that towered above my head when I came back to the city suburbs from my summer vacations.

My friend and wonderful poet, Susan Rogers, wrote a poem for her mother, inspired by the same painting, so I'm including my poem here as a gift of friendship. In poetry "I am, you are, we are."



Always

The voice of Patsy Cline
hovers above sweet cuteness of pastels,
brightly hued like the candy
we call “landrynki” and laugh
when the sugar dye paints our tongues
with fake pink and blue, fuchsia and lavender

We walk down a country road
to our pink and blue homes,
in a fuchsia and lavender embrace
under matching, happy hills that sing
“I’ll be loving you, always
With the love that’s true, always”

♥ ♥ ♥


Let us hear the timeless song, then... Irving Berlin's ballad, "Always" - in the voice of Patsy Cline who died too early, leaving us with the unforgettable sounds of her rich, throaty mezzosoprano, country-style, no less: Patsy Cline sings Always.

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With the exception of "Defining Love," the poems reproduced here were published earlier, in Rose Always (2011, now withdrawn). "Rose Window" was published in Voice of the Village in the Voice of the Village 1, no. 10, August 2010, p. 27 (pdf download).

"Always" appeared in a chapbook by Poets on Site edited by Kathabela Wilson and including poems written for the 12th Annual Fukuhara Workshop at Manzanar and Alabama Hills, Observations and Interpretations, (Poets on Site, September 2009). The poem was first read at the closing of the exhibition from the Workshop held at APC gallery in Torrance in September 2009.