This is the perfect time to share Mary O’Neill’s poem “What Is Blue?” from her enchanting poetry book Hailstones and Halibut Bones. The reason why it’s the perfect time is because Gentians are in finally in bloom.
When I first read Mary’s poem, I was familiar with Forget-me-nots but I had no idea what a Gentian was. Google gave me the prosaic information but I wanted to actually find the flowers, and to find the flowers in Grantham. I was on a quest, and GGC Veep and gardener extraordinaire Janie Clark came to the rescue. She had planted Gentian and showed me where to look and told me they were expected to bloom in a month or so. Yesterday Janie invited me to see some new flowers. I was in her garden for a long time before I spotted the Gentian. There’s always a feeling of magic when flowers quietly pop up waiting to be found. They are waiting to be found by pollinators and have no idea of the human beings who patiently look for them and shower them with admiration.
When I first read Mary’s poem, I was familiar with Forget-me-nots but I had no idea what a Gentian was. Google gave me the prosaic information but I wanted to actually find the flowers, and to find the flowers in Grantham. I was on a quest, and GGC Veep and gardener extraordinaire Janie Clark came to the rescue. She had planted Gentian and showed me where to look and told me they were expected to bloom in a month or so. Yesterday Janie invited me to see some new flowers. I was in her garden for a long time before I spotted the Gentian. There’s always a feeling of magic when flowers quietly pop up waiting to be found. They are waiting to be found by pollinators and have no idea of the human beings who patiently look for them and shower them with admiration.
What is Blue?
By
Mary O’Neill
Blue is the color of the sky
Without a cloud
Cool, distant, beautiful
And proud.
Blue is the quiet sea
And the eyes of some people,
And many agree
As they grow older and older
Blue is the scarf
Spring wears on her shoulder.
Blue is twilight,
Shadows on snow,
Blue is a feeling
Way down low.
Blue is heron,
A sapphire ring,
You can smell blue in many a thing:
Gentian and larkspur
Forget-me-nots, too.
And if you listen
You can hear blue
In wind over water
And wherever flax blooms
And when evening steps into
Lonely rooms.
Cold is blue:
Flame shot from a welding touch
Is, too:
Hot, wild, screaming, blistering Blue
And on winter mornings
The dawns are blue.
By
Mary O’Neill
Blue is the color of the sky
Without a cloud
Cool, distant, beautiful
And proud.
Blue is the quiet sea
And the eyes of some people,
And many agree
As they grow older and older
Blue is the scarf
Spring wears on her shoulder.
Blue is twilight,
Shadows on snow,
Blue is a feeling
Way down low.
Blue is heron,
A sapphire ring,
You can smell blue in many a thing:
Gentian and larkspur
Forget-me-nots, too.
And if you listen
You can hear blue
In wind over water
And wherever flax blooms
And when evening steps into
Lonely rooms.
Cold is blue:
Flame shot from a welding touch
Is, too:
Hot, wild, screaming, blistering Blue
And on winter mornings
The dawns are blue.
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The Gentian and Forget-me-nots are from gardens of Jane Deane Clark, Elise Kendall, and Sharon Parker. The video is of a field of Forget-me-nots that blanketed the forest floor behind the Shakespeare Garden. By luck and to my delight, I happened upon it one May morning. I was enchanted by the sound of the birds, the bees and the wind.
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