Plants have inspired writers ever since writing was invented. I don't think its a co-incidence that the plants which turn up in plays, poems and the plots and sub-plots of fiction are frequently those which have long documented uses.
I mean, you can't imagine Eco (or anyone) writing something called "The name of the Busy Lizzie", can you?
My favourite poem is also about my favourite plant, and its by my favourite poet, Edward Thomas. Thomas was one of the war poets of the 14-18 war, tragically killed just before the ceasefire was called. Most of his writing is evocative, about the countryside, its landscapes, people - and plants. He wrote "Old Man", about the "hoar-green feathery herb, almost a tree, growing with lavender and rosemary", which we list as Artemisia abrotanum, but whose many common names, apart from Old Man, include Southernwood, Lad's Love, Garde-robe and Maiden's Ruin. It's a wonderful poem, but its too long for this page, so click here if you would like to read.
I will add other literary references over the next few weeks, but what I'd love is for anyone who knows a good or favourite example to add their own and I'll add them to this page.
Here are a couple from Shakespeare to start you off....
"Here's rosemary, that's for remembrance;
pray you, love, remember; and there is pansies,
that's for thoughts.
There's fennel for you, and columbines;
there's rue for you; and here's some for me;
we may herb of grace o' Sundays; oh,
you must wear your rue with a difference.
There's a daisy; I would give you violets,
but they all withered when my father died...
" (Hamlet)
"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" (Romeo and Juliet)
"...the fairest flowers o' th' season
Are our carnations and streaked gillyflours,
Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren, and I care not
To get slips of them......
....Here's flowers for you:
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram,
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun
And with him rises, weeping: these are flowers
Of middle summer, and I think they are given
To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome." (A Winter's Tale)
And why stick to literature? Musical references will also be acceptable, so long as its not Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme.....
Here is the first musical reference, sent by Carmen, who says "This is a most beautiful song with delicate harp accompaniment. I like how the season is reflected in the plants". The song, called The Seasons, is likely to be a Scottish traditional, and is sung by Fiona Davidson (harpist). This is Carmen 's favourite verse - very evocative of autumn:
"The hills are clad in purple and the trees are clad in gold
The autumn winds are sighing for a beauty growing old
The green grass in the heather and the whitebeams in the glen
I'm longing for that springtime when I'll see the sun again"
I commend to you the Journals of Gilbert White. Gilbert White was an 18th century clergyman who lived in Selborne, Hampshire (his "Natural History of Selborne" is better known than the Journals, but less fun), who apparently did very little clergy-ing, but a great deal of gardening, and studying of the world around him. Here are a few diary entries where useful plants make an appearance:-
1775, April 7. "Prunus spinosa. The blackthorn begins to blow. This tree usually blossoms while cold N.E. winds blow: so that the hasrh rugged weather obtaining at this season is called by the country people a blackthorn winter...
1778, July 29 "The fruit of the wild merry trees (gean or wild cherry) being now ripe, diverts the thrushes &c from eating the currans, goose-berries &c: therefore useful in outlets....
1780, May 13 "Timothy (the tortoise) began to break his fast May 17th on the globe thistle, & American willow herb; his favourite food is lettuce, &dandelion, cucumber, & kidney beans.....
1789, April 17 "Five gallons of french brandy from London. Cucumbers show fruit in bloom. Cuculus cuculat: the voice of the cuckoo is heard in Blackmoor woods. Sowed hollyhocks, columbines, snap dragons, stocks, mignonette, all from S. Lambeth, in a bed in the garden: also sweet williams, & Canterbury bells....
And did you ever doubt the usefulness of ivy? Medicinal, nectar for bees, nest-sites for birds, evergreen ground cover (and how), tonic for ailing goats.... Here's a poem by Charles Dickens on the subject, sent in by Carmen:
THE IVY GREEN
> Charles Dickens
>
> Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
> That creepeth o'er ruins old!
> Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
> In his cell so lone and cold.
> The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,
> To pleasure his dainty whim:
> And the mouldering dust that years have made
> Is a merry meal for him.
> Creeping where no life is seen,
> A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
>
> Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
> And a staunch old heart has he.
> How closely he twineth, how tight he clings
> To his friend the huge Oak Tree!
> And slyly he traileth along the ground,
> And his leaves he gently waves,
> As he joyously hugs and crawleth round
> The rich mould of dead men's graves.
> Creeping where grim death hath been,
> A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
>
> Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,
> And nations have scattered been;
> But the stout old Ivy shall never fade,
> From its hale and hearty green.
> The brave old plant, in its lonely days,
> Shall fatten upon the past:
> For the stateliest building man can raise
> Is the Ivy's food at last.
> Creeping on where time has been,
> A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
For a plant with such a long history and such a wealth of folklore, we found surprisingly few literary references to Yarrow. But here's a Scottish charm to reckon with:
A Charm with Yarrow
>
> I will pick the smooth yarrow that my figure may be more elegant,
> that my lips may be warmer,
> that my voice may be cheerful;
> may my voice be like a sunbeam,
> may my lips be like the juice of the strawberries.
>
> May I be an island in the sea,
> may I be a hill on the land,
> may I be a star when the moon wane
> may I be a staff to the week one;
> I shall wound every man,
> no one shall wound me
>
>
> Scottish gaelic; traditional folk charm.
> A Celtic Miscellany Penguin Classics
Here is a wonderful poem sent by Peter, called Heirloom, by Kathleen Raine:
She gave me childhood's flowers,
Heather and wild thyme,
Eyebrgight and tormentil,
Lichen's mealy cup
Dry on wind-scored stone,
The corbies on the rock,
The rowan by the burn.
Sea marvels a child beheld
Out in the fisherman's boat,
Fringed, pulsing violet
Medusa, sea gooseberries
Starfish on the sea floor,
Cowries and rainbow shells
From pools on a rocky shore.
Gave me her memories,
But kept her last treasure:
"When I was a lass" she said,
"Sitting among the heather,
"Suddenly I saw
"That all the moor was alive!
"I have told no-one before."
That was my mother's tale.
Seventy years had gone
Since she saw the living skein
Of which the world is woven,
And having seen, knew all:
Through long indifferent years
Treasuring the priceless pearl.
Sort of sums everything up, doesn't it?
There is a poem by Richard Barnfield called Daphnis to Ganymede, which has a full catalogue of praise for flowers of the garden. Here are a couple of verses:
Nay, more than this, I have a garden plot,
Wherein there wants nor herbs, nor roots, nor flowers, -
Flowers to smell, roots to eat, herbs for the pot, -
And dainty shelters when the welkin lours:
Sweet smelling beds of lilies and of roses,
Which rosemary banks and lavender encloses.
There grows the gillyflower, the mint, the daisy
Both red and white, the blue-veined violet,
The purple hyacinth, the spike to please,
The scarlet-dyed carnation bleeding yet,
The sage, the savory, the sweet marjoram,
Hyssop, thyme and eye-bright, good for the blind and dumb...
VERY purposeful,,, but what is a welkin please?
Peter reminds me also that Scotland's national bard
Rabbie Burns mentions plants a lot in his poems; there is a lot about nature, and sometimes the garden, too. The image of "the gard'ner wi' his paidle" was one we used a lot to mock each other as we guddled around our various gardens, spade or fork in hand, trying to look busy. Here's the source, by Burns:
When rosy May comes in wi' flowers
To deck her gay green-spreading bowers,
Then busy, busy, are his hours
The gard'ner wi' his paidle.
The crystal waters gently fa'
The merry birds are lovers a'
The scented breezes round him blaw,
The gard'ner wi' his paidle.
When purple morning starts the hare
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dew he maun repair,
The gard'ner and his paidle.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o'er Nature's rest,
He flies to arms he lo'es best,
The gard'ner and his paidle.
You have to remember our Rabbie liked a drink, and women.
E-MAIL ME AT mail@plantswithpurpose.co.uk
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