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| Rosa 'Darcey Bussell' 13 September 2023 |
More than ever I know that few in this century have enough staying power to read beyond one line and are more likely to put a thumbs-up emoji instead of that terrible past method “nice pic”.
At the same time, since I began blogging in January of 2006, I have comfortably understood that my knowledge of poetry (I was sadly ignorant before) has grown as I have been mating my photographs with poems now for a long time. Google is indeed a good source to find combinations.
On a day like today, a lazy Wednesday of nice sun, I noticed a red English Rose, Rosa ‘Darcey Bussell’. I have written a few blogs featuring a red rose with poets like Borges, William Carlos Williams and William Shakespeare. Google again came to the rescue with a poem I had never seen before by W.H. Auden and a lovely one in Spanish by Chilean poet Gabriela Mistral.
I can assert here, that thanks to my blog (I like that Spanish word bitácora which is a ship’s blog but really defines a blog to me), I am a pretty literate person.
It is of no consequence of importance that I will meet my oblivion literally.
And no matter how rosy this red rose is, when I saw it as I cut it, and scanned it I saddened while thinking of my Rosamaría who so much liked this particular red rose.
Nonsense Song
by W. H. Auden
My love is like a red red rose
Or concerts for the blind,
She's like a mutton-chop before
And a rifle-range behind.
Her hair is like a looking-glass,
Her brow is like a bog,
Her eyes are like a flock of sheep
Seen through a London fog.
Her nose is like an Irish jig,
Her mouth is like a 'bus,
Her chin is like a bowl of soup
Shared between all of us.
Her form divine is like a map
Of the United States,
Her foot is like a motor-car
Without its number-plates.
No steeple-jack shall part us now
Nor fireman in a frock;
True love could sink a Channel boat
Or knit a baby's sock.
La rosa colorada…
Gabriela Mistral
La rosa colorada
cogida ayer;
el fuego y la canela
que llaman clavel;
el pan horneado
de anís con miel,
y el pez de la redoma
que la hace arder:
todito tuyo
hijito de mujer,
con tal que quieras
dormirte de una vez.
La rosa, digo:
digo el clavel.
La fruta, digo,
y digo que la miel;
y el pez de luces
y más y más también,
¡con tal que duermas
hasta el amanecer!
