Roses Are Blue

Surely not? And yet... With Valentine's Day fast approaching, I figured this unusual rose-tinted approach to the theme of  blue might catch a few eyes and touch some hearts.

But blue roses - everybody knows they're about as real as unicorns, or silk purses made from sows' ears; as contrary to the laws of nature as time-travel, walking on water, or bread landing buttered side up.  And yet... Just marvel at the beautiful image below, not photoshopped in any way. So what's the story?

Blue Rose (i)

Scientific fact states that blue roses naturally don't exist. Of course they don't. The genus Rosa simply lacks the specific gene that allows roses to achieve a true blue colour. And yet... Blue roses have been written about for hundreds of years in oriental and middle-eastern literature, and because they don't exist in nature it means they have come to symbolise magic, mystery, perfection and a longing to attain the unattainable.

In fact the keen desire for blue roses also led to one of the earliest examples of man's ingenious attempts to improve on nature. The 12th century Arabic agricultural treatise 'Kitāb al-filāḥah' explains how a bush bearing white roses could be made to produce blue flowers by the injection of blue dye into the roots or bark of the plant. So that was how it was done, by trickery. And it's still the way today.

Even with all our marvels of modern science, recent attempts to biologically engineer blue roses by genetically adding the blue pigment delphinidin to the structure of rose DNA have merely resulted in a pale lavender flower. Although the market for them is significant (and there are lots of bogus sites on the internet selling blue rose seeds), it seems that the holy grail of true blue roses will continue to elude us and those beautiful blue blooms will only be attained by artificial means, by dyeing. 

In 1886 when Rudyard Kipling was just twenty-one and living in India, he wrote a poem titled 'Blue Roses' that contained the lines: 

She would none of all my posies

Bade me gather her blue roses. 

Half the world I wandered through, 

Seeking where such flowers grew. 

Half the world unto my quest 

Answered me with laugh and jest. 

Home I came at wintertide, 

But my silly love had died 

Seeking with her latest breath 

Roses from the arms of Death.

Although Kipling's verse is heavily Pre-Raphaelite in mood, I took the sentiment of it, along with a sprinkling of particle physics and the Portuguese seaside, as a starting point for a contemporary reading, this latest semi-ekphrastic poem from the imaginarium...

Blue Rose (ii)

Azul*

No faulting wanting more than he could give 

but heavens, such vaulting desire born out of

a hothouse holiday romance fast blossoming

in Alte's quaint streets, idle hours for love fun

and laughter, up down strangeness and charm

but top and bottom it's all quarks and no gluon

this elementary covalence of two. Perforce on

the final night everything flies apart, he means

no harm but still a summary rejection, leaving 

blue Rose shedding tears shredding azul petals 

on the threshold of dejection, outmanoeuvred 

in a game called love by hoping for perfection

and though right now she'd like to die, in time

she'll press the flowers within a Book of Hours

and dedicate her sorry heart to a higher power.

* Portuguese name for the blue rose; also the name of a strategy game, and a term for Heaven.

To send you away weeping, here's a musical bonus, not Joni Mitchell this time (though her 'Roses Blue'  could have served). This is the inimitable Freddie Neil singing his lovelorn classic: Blues On The Ceiling

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Love, Toast and the Little Things

I used to hate Valentine’s day. I think shy geeky girls with glasses and braces, who spend break times in the library, usually do. Because it is one of those days that, rather than affirming that someone loves you, actually confirms that you are in fact unpopular, uncool and definitely not sweet enough to warrant an overpriced card complete with a crappy hallmark poem.

But that was Upper school and that, thankfully, is like a distant planet; still orbiting my memory but no longer a place I inhabit.  Things change . You realise that life isn’t going to pan out like an animated Disney picture, and that love is about more than chocolate and expensive gifts. When you’re younger, being loved on Valentine’s day seems like the most important thing in the world, but when you get older you learn that being loved day after day is far more essential and special. For me, it’s not the big and grand gestures that say a lot, but rather the little and everyday ones.

When he brings me coffee in bed and we start the day with a proper conversation. When he holds my hand. When he sends me a thoughtful text message or tweet. When he leaves me a note. When he writes me a poem on the fridge. When he makes me toast, just as I like it. When he wipes my tears and says he still believes in me. When we read poetry to each other. When he surprises me with flowers.

These aren’t Valentine’s day gestures, they are just everyday moments that make me feel special and loved. They are moments that make me realise just how lucky I am.

I’ve found that person that you just ‘click with’. Who loves your bad bits just as much as your good bits. Who inspires you, gives you reason to smile and generally just makes you a better person.

Shaun probably doesn’t realise that he inspires me, makes me a better person and a better poet – because I’ve never taken the time to tell him. Because I get caught up in the mundane things – being annoyed about the mess he’s made, the pile of unwashed dishes, the mountain of laundry – and I sometimes forget to thank him, to acknowledge the things he has done. He really has helped to make me a better poet; my world was small, closed off and a little dark before I met Shaun, and as a consequence my poetry reflected my environment. But Shaun changed my world, turned it upside-down, added a few torches and flares and knocked down a couple of walls. He reminded me how to have fun, and most importantly taught me how to love again.

And suddenly there was so much more to write about...

I’m going to finish today’s post with a poem, a love poem that I wrote a few months ago, and which was inspired by my very wonderful Shaun.

Love

When he makes me toast
he turns the toaster down
from his ‘5’ to my ‘3’

Leaves it to cool
before spreading with butter
(scraping  the excess back onto the knife)

Cuts it into four irregular triangles –

just as my mother did when I was small.

Thank you for reading,
Lar.

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Love poems for Valentine’s Day

For anyone that hasn’t visited a shop this month, for anyone who happens to have a penis and for anyone who just hasn’t got around to anything yet- consider this my gentle nudge- tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.
Fittingly, the blog theme this week will be romance. Romance and poetry go together like, well, any emotion and poetry. They fit.

It seems only yesterday that I was drafting and redrafting one of the best poems I have ever written- and romance ticked it all over. Summer 2010 and I was perched outside a coffee shop practically goose-stepping with my pen. Look at me, I’m being a poet was a great look for me at the time and something worked because that very same poem that I gave to Lara continues to be an important part of my life. I’m not posting it. I don’t even have a copy myself. I have drafts and scraps but I think the only copy of it is tucked away with her somewhere and, as sentiment goes, I think that is a pretty nice one. The poem was probably crap. It was presented nicely though. It had been drafted and worked at. The message and the pitch had been tightened up from a fairly shabby starting point and, after a decent few afternoons of scratching away, we can fast forward to now- still together as we approach Valentine’s Day. 

If you think you might have one of those women in your life that would appreciate a poem for Feb 14^th, why not give it a go. There are plenty of sites to help you along the way and if you have a look through the archives, plenty of ‘How to write’ (for want of a better phrase) posts on here. She will appreciate the thought but perhaps don’t shirk out of present buying duties on my part (unless you’ve already done the no-gift deal, as I have, magnificently). Just a heads up really. 

As regular readers may note, I keep promising poems. I keep writing them and not having them to fit, I’m not just being lazy. I have had a few on my mind though and, as I may or may not be writing something for tomorrow, there isn’t going to be a new one today either I’m afraid. What I have put together is a list of some lovely romantic poems that you lazy buggers can copy, paste and print out for your other half- should you be getting all soppy…

Should you be wallowing home alone tomorrow, Braga v Besiktas is on ESPN and I have no doubts in saying that Bridget Jones is on offer somewhere near you (as is pizza and ice cream I’ll bet). Have a read of some of these- they might even cheer you up.

Shakespeare-Sonnet 18  Betjeman- A Subaltern's Love Song  CarolAnn Duffy - Love

BillyCollins - Sonnet  PeterDale- Vigil  PamAyres - Yes, I'll Marry You, My Dear

JennyJoseph- The sun has burst the sky John Masefield-Beauty  Coleridge- Desire

FelixDennis- We Knew Immediately  HelenDunmore- Wild Strawberries

Thanks for reading, S.

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