A beautiful essay, threaded with precise observations like the mirroring of a flower in the characters that describe it. I wonder if Joni Mitchell was thinking on Eliot when she called an album “For the Roses.”
Thank you, Yi! I looked up the name of 玫瑰, (rosa rugosa) Here it is apparently known as ハマナス（浜梨 it seems; “hamanasu” or “beach pear” (sometimes one of the characters for aubergine - used also in tomato - is used instead of pear). Apparently it's because the fruits resemble those plants. I'm not sure if they are always seen here as related to the 蔷薇. The English name, beach rose, makes it clear (it's also known as Japanese rose in English.) Thank you for raising this! And am I right to say that Rosa chinensis “Chinese rose”, uses other characters?
Thank you, June! I know from your writing that your garden is a source of delight for you - and I always enjoy hearing about the results of your labours there.
This article is very evocative in bringing memories of one's parents. My mother loved roses and grew them but she also loved bougainvillea, bright purple or intense red colors growing all over a walk. wall or a fence. I have had a lot of difficulty growing flowers indoors having let the soil turn toxic or not getting enough light from the sun or putting a grow light too close. Have lost a regular plant, a bonsai and a succulent clipping that should have survived. But recently I turned over a new page and purchased a bowl of four kinds of succulents. I admire succulents associated with cactus or other camel like plants that don't need much water or sunlight. My new pot of four seem situated in good soil. They help inspire me be tough and keep writing even if my writing is maybe not quite as beautiful as bougainvillea. Succulents survive by blooming in their own particular way with not much water, sun or very many admirers. But when they grow even a little, they are radiant in their living and their joy though small compared to roses, all or any of it is always most welcome. So thanks for this uber super rosa post. It helps me appreciate roses but also their dryer cousins, the succulents.
Thank you for your comment, Larry. I also love bougainvillea, which I knew as bugambilia in Mexico when I lived there. The plant always makes me think of that beautiful country, which, of course, is also famous for its succulents. I wish you good luck with cultivating the latter! When I was growing up in England, there was a BBC radio programme called “Gardeners’ Question Time” in which a panel of experts, talking form some church hall or civic building in a different small town each week would answer questions in front of a live audience from listeners about what to grow and how in their gardens. It was (maybe still is) the perfect use of public radio, done in an engaging, non-pompous way (which can be hard for the BBC). The programme left me with lasting respect for the challenges faced by gardeners due to soil type, pests, climate and a host of other variables.
Thanks for the mention of the BBC Gardeners' Question Time. That would probably make a great gardening book. And I think in gardening it is good to see the natural cycle of life growing and living as the news media makes it seem we so completely done for otherwise, even if some sort of tiny forward progress against all odds might be somehow accomplished. The Succulents, all four diverse ones existing in a small bowl are doing fine so far. The wooden stick says no watering until the soil is dry, probably being truthful if a little to stringent. I would just hate to be a succulent waiting for water if the person who might bring the water was not so sure the soil was still not quite dry enough. But so far I haven't heard any complaints from any of them. They are not very verbal but I will get water to them if they look desperate. They look so happy after receiving water.
A beautiful essay, Jeffrey. The way you linked flowers in with reflections about your parents passing was elegantly done. So much so that the ending was very moving. :)
Thank you so much for your kind words, Mary and for sharing that beautiful memory of your grandmother. It's so interesting to think that perfume's was your first experience of verbal intoxication!
I'll check out the Roethke poem. The amended line seems weaker to me, too. I wonder what his reasoning was.
This is so beautiful, Jeffrey. The idea of flowers as “punctuation marks” on a walk really stayed with me — it captures something I’ve often felt but never quite found the words for. And the image of them as a secret society, speaking a language we’re not meant to decode, just admire… that struck a deep chord. I often stop to look at flowers without knowing their names, just sensing they’re saying something I’m lucky to overhear. This passage gave that feeling a kind of shape. Thank you.
Thank you, Gianni! The broad idea of flowers in a whispering conversation came to me in part via the poems of Louise Glück, who I mention in the essay. But the sense of me as an ignorant but admiring outsider comes from my own experience.
A beautiful essay, Jeffrey. You bring so much to the narrative while making it seem effortless, like a walk in the neighborhood. But that was just the beginning of a delightful journey through art, poetry, history, language, and the lovely meditation on your parents’ lives and their joining each other across the arbor. Thank you for the marvelous image of the formidable kanji transformed into thorns around Sleeping Beauty’s castle. I can relate to going with the simpler version.
I think of my grandmother’s gift for cultivating flowers of all kinds. Her favorite perfume was Avon’s “To a Wild Rose.” I don’t remember the fragrance (who knows if it actually smelled like roses) but I think that, at age four, it may have been my first experience with words combining to create ecstasy.
One of my favorite poems about roses is Roethke’s “Big Wind,” in which he envisions a greenhouse surviving a storm. The final two lines: “She sailed until the calm morning,
Carrying her full cargo of roses.”
Roethke made what I think was an unfortunate alteration to the text: in the original poem, the greenhouse “sailed into the calm morning.” Oh well. Wish someone had argued him out of it.
I love this idea of contemplating your relationship with flowers. I'm slightly jealous that I didn't think of it first, and might have to do my own meditation (giving credit, of course!).
Also, had a similar experience re: different meanings folks give to flowers. It was for school, getting it May Day ready, and one of the teacher's wives mentioned how she hated carnations because they were 'cheap flowers'. Kind of ruined them for me. 😅
But recently I read a lovely essay on irises and their many meanings (with the colors too), much like roses. 🌹🏵️🌸
Thank you, Lani. The great thing about flowers, as you suggest, is that they come with different meanings. We all have our own associations. Carnations are a good point. I've seen them worn at weddings in England. In Japan, white carnations are funeral flowers. It's a very fragrant and beautiful minefield...
My great-grandfather had three bushes in front of his house that we always joked he loved more than his children. But he took great care and wrapped them up in the winter with fabric! Loved reading this.
Such a satisfying ramble in the roses and your memories. Originally a five petal blossom, we have cultivated them into creations as complex as our own lives. Like your mother, a gardener does not 'grow' roses', they tend them. Wonderful memories and photos from your past.
A beautiful reflection on flowers and memory and loved ones. For you, my friend afar, I offer the last stanza of Richard Wilbur's poem "The Beautiful Changes" in your honor:
"Your hand holds roses always in a way that says
They are not only yours; the beautiful changes
In such kind ways,
Wishing ever to sunder
Things and things' selves for a second finding, to lose
That's gorgeous, Mary, thank you! Goodness, It seems I haven't read any Wilbur for years. Time to have another look at him. I deeply appreciate your comment and quote!
A beautiful essay, threaded with precise observations like the mirroring of a flower in the characters that describe it. I wonder if Joni Mitchell was thinking on Eliot when she called an album “For the Roses.”
Thank you, Rona! You've now made me think of Elvis Costello's fine song, Good Year For The Roses.
As usual, such beautiful writing, Jeffrey! You blended knowledge with emotion, and that's very unique, and I have yet to learn how to do it.
In Chinese, "rose" can mean two types of flowers: 玫瑰 and its (less noble) sister 蔷薇. Not sure if the same applies in Japanese?
Thank you, Yi! I looked up the name of 玫瑰, (rosa rugosa) Here it is apparently known as ハマナス（浜梨 it seems; “hamanasu” or “beach pear” (sometimes one of the characters for aubergine - used also in tomato - is used instead of pear). Apparently it's because the fruits resemble those plants. I'm not sure if they are always seen here as related to the 蔷薇. The English name, beach rose, makes it clear (it's also known as Japanese rose in English.) Thank you for raising this! And am I right to say that Rosa chinensis “Chinese rose”, uses other characters?
Rosa Chinensis in Chinese would be 月季, maybe because it flowers multiple times (months/seasons) every year? :)
Beautiful words, Jeffrey. This line: "That house became my parents’ true grave, garlanded by the roses she planted" - just stunning.
Thank you.
Thank you so much Sarah! Much appreciated. I'm so glad that you enjoyed the essay.
You had me at Sub Rosa. What a beautiful piece of writing
Thank you, Jo, that's very kind of you to say so.
This is the most beautifully written piece, Jeffrey. So evocative, so lyrical - it is a joy to read.
Thank you, June! I know from your writing that your garden is a source of delight for you - and I always enjoy hearing about the results of your labours there.
This article is very evocative in bringing memories of one's parents. My mother loved roses and grew them but she also loved bougainvillea, bright purple or intense red colors growing all over a walk. wall or a fence. I have had a lot of difficulty growing flowers indoors having let the soil turn toxic or not getting enough light from the sun or putting a grow light too close. Have lost a regular plant, a bonsai and a succulent clipping that should have survived. But recently I turned over a new page and purchased a bowl of four kinds of succulents. I admire succulents associated with cactus or other camel like plants that don't need much water or sunlight. My new pot of four seem situated in good soil. They help inspire me be tough and keep writing even if my writing is maybe not quite as beautiful as bougainvillea. Succulents survive by blooming in their own particular way with not much water, sun or very many admirers. But when they grow even a little, they are radiant in their living and their joy though small compared to roses, all or any of it is always most welcome. So thanks for this uber super rosa post. It helps me appreciate roses but also their dryer cousins, the succulents.
Thank you for your comment, Larry. I also love bougainvillea, which I knew as bugambilia in Mexico when I lived there. The plant always makes me think of that beautiful country, which, of course, is also famous for its succulents. I wish you good luck with cultivating the latter! When I was growing up in England, there was a BBC radio programme called “Gardeners’ Question Time” in which a panel of experts, talking form some church hall or civic building in a different small town each week would answer questions in front of a live audience from listeners about what to grow and how in their gardens. It was (maybe still is) the perfect use of public radio, done in an engaging, non-pompous way (which can be hard for the BBC). The programme left me with lasting respect for the challenges faced by gardeners due to soil type, pests, climate and a host of other variables.
Jeffrey,
Thanks for the mention of the BBC Gardeners' Question Time. That would probably make a great gardening book. And I think in gardening it is good to see the natural cycle of life growing and living as the news media makes it seem we so completely done for otherwise, even if some sort of tiny forward progress against all odds might be somehow accomplished. The Succulents, all four diverse ones existing in a small bowl are doing fine so far. The wooden stick says no watering until the soil is dry, probably being truthful if a little to stringent. I would just hate to be a succulent waiting for water if the person who might bring the water was not so sure the soil was still not quite dry enough. But so far I haven't heard any complaints from any of them. They are not very verbal but I will get water to them if they look desperate. They look so happy after receiving water.
Larry
Beautifully said, Larry!
A beautiful essay, Jeffrey. The way you linked flowers in with reflections about your parents passing was elegantly done. So much so that the ending was very moving. :)
Thank you, Michael, I really appreciate your kind words.
Thank you so much for your kind words, Mary and for sharing that beautiful memory of your grandmother. It's so interesting to think that perfume's was your first experience of verbal intoxication!
I'll check out the Roethke poem. The amended line seems weaker to me, too. I wonder what his reasoning was.
This is so beautiful, Jeffrey. The idea of flowers as “punctuation marks” on a walk really stayed with me — it captures something I’ve often felt but never quite found the words for. And the image of them as a secret society, speaking a language we’re not meant to decode, just admire… that struck a deep chord. I often stop to look at flowers without knowing their names, just sensing they’re saying something I’m lucky to overhear. This passage gave that feeling a kind of shape. Thank you.
Thank you, Gianni! The broad idea of flowers in a whispering conversation came to me in part via the poems of Louise Glück, who I mention in the essay. But the sense of me as an ignorant but admiring outsider comes from my own experience.
A beautiful essay, Jeffrey. You bring so much to the narrative while making it seem effortless, like a walk in the neighborhood. But that was just the beginning of a delightful journey through art, poetry, history, language, and the lovely meditation on your parents’ lives and their joining each other across the arbor. Thank you for the marvelous image of the formidable kanji transformed into thorns around Sleeping Beauty’s castle. I can relate to going with the simpler version.
I think of my grandmother’s gift for cultivating flowers of all kinds. Her favorite perfume was Avon’s “To a Wild Rose.” I don’t remember the fragrance (who knows if it actually smelled like roses) but I think that, at age four, it may have been my first experience with words combining to create ecstasy.
One of my favorite poems about roses is Roethke’s “Big Wind,” in which he envisions a greenhouse surviving a storm. The final two lines: “She sailed until the calm morning,
Carrying her full cargo of roses.”
Roethke made what I think was an unfortunate alteration to the text: in the original poem, the greenhouse “sailed into the calm morning.” Oh well. Wish someone had argued him out of it.
I love this idea of contemplating your relationship with flowers. I'm slightly jealous that I didn't think of it first, and might have to do my own meditation (giving credit, of course!).
Also, had a similar experience re: different meanings folks give to flowers. It was for school, getting it May Day ready, and one of the teacher's wives mentioned how she hated carnations because they were 'cheap flowers'. Kind of ruined them for me. 😅
But recently I read a lovely essay on irises and their many meanings (with the colors too), much like roses. 🌹🏵️🌸
Thank you, Lani. The great thing about flowers, as you suggest, is that they come with different meanings. We all have our own associations. Carnations are a good point. I've seen them worn at weddings in England. In Japan, white carnations are funeral flowers. It's a very fragrant and beautiful minefield...
😅Well put!
My great-grandfather had three bushes in front of his house that we always joked he loved more than his children. But he took great care and wrapped them up in the winter with fabric! Loved reading this.
Thank you, Deirdre! I love the story about your great-grandfather.
If an essay could ever achieve scratch-n-sniff status, then you’ve achieved it. I could swear I smell roses after reading this lovely piece.
😅 Thank you, Kimberly! What a phenomenally sensitive reader you are!
Such a satisfying ramble in the roses and your memories. Originally a five petal blossom, we have cultivated them into creations as complex as our own lives. Like your mother, a gardener does not 'grow' roses', they tend them. Wonderful memories and photos from your past.
Thank you, Leslie. “We have cultivated them into creations as complex as our own lives” is beautifully put.
A beautiful reflection on flowers and memory and loved ones. For you, my friend afar, I offer the last stanza of Richard Wilbur's poem "The Beautiful Changes" in your honor:
"Your hand holds roses always in a way that says
They are not only yours; the beautiful changes
In such kind ways,
Wishing ever to sunder
Things and things' selves for a second finding, to lose
For a moment all that it touches back to wonder."
That's gorgeous, Mary, thank you! Goodness, It seems I haven't read any Wilbur for years. Time to have another look at him. I deeply appreciate your comment and quote!
Not only was I moved by the content of your reflections, but also by how the English language seems to be malleable in the hand that holds your pen.
The fact that your references to some aspects of Ottoman as well as Japanese cultures with respect to "Gül/バラ" made my heart feel at home. Thank you.🙏
Thank you, Necef, for your kind words! I'm so glad this short essay made your heart feel at home.