The Poet And His Flowers Poem by Daniel Brick
The Poet And His Flowers
In his loneliness
the poet began to envision
the whole world
as a field of flowers
native to his region.
It consoled him,
it gave him hope
that he could grasp
a beauty commensurate
to his dream of happiness.
A walk through
his field of wild flowers
early or late, himself bright
or blue - No! his mood counted
for nothing among wild things silent
and growing more lovely. They
are creatures of sun and rain
like himself. All things bow
to sun and rain in their turn,
scorching heat gentled by fresh water.
It was his good habit
to rise from his desk, littered
with papers, covered in scribbles
and corrections, and leaving behind
the poems he was writing simultaneously,
and carrying nothing, his mind as empty
as his hands, leave his house
and enter the flower field, there
to live through sensations for a while
until he was fully restored. He saw
two stalks of Wild Rye
bending away from each other,
like an index finger and middle finger
shaping a victory sign. From within
the rye, a lordly Sideoats Gamma
arched over, with tiny petals
hanging downwards, like a row of bells
too shy to ring in the silence
of growth. Thimble Weed shoots
rose up straight without restraint.
A patch of Stiff Goldenrod made
a stand as sturdy as the nearby
Sumac Bush. Surrounding the sumac,
Black-Eyed Susan, abundant and thriving,
displayed their bold energy.
Bergamot and Yellow Cone Flowers
vied with each other in height,
useless to say which is the taller.
And Bergamot's swirling scent made
the air heavy with sweetness.
Blazing Stare should have a stanza
to itself because it displayed
a different kind of light, glowing
from within and growing brighter -
it is an angelic apparition among flowers!
His walk come full circle, the poet cast
one last look over the flower fields.
'Someday, ' he shut his eyes, 'I will see
Ophelia gathering flowers and won't
hesitate to speak to her. Until then,
'I will settle for the visitation
of angels.' His eyes wide open, he smiled
and sighed at the same time. He returned
to his writing desk and the four
poems in progress... The night flowed on.
We should be grateful for every line of poetry Keats managed in his short life.
Your knowledge of flowers is very good. Though I am sure what your trying to say in this poem is more about the poet and his view of the flowers than the flowers themselves, but the flowers are what stood out for me! The majority of them I had never even heard of! But your imagery and metaphors helped me understand what your poet is seeing.What he is thinking in search if inspiration (which is something that all of us poets can relate to if I do say so myself.) I must ask, where did you get the inspiration for all the flowers? Your garden perhaps? You did such and excellent job in sensory! All the sights and smells of the flowers! I'm glad I got to read it.
this poem tells the true story of the poet. He will walk through many fields of flowers in his mind. excellent
The poet in this poem reminds me, Daniel, of my poem Imagine Me, written in the first person. One view might be that we seek sensation simply to escape the other things that face us- inner demons or whatever. But then I think, what we focus or dwell on is always a choice, and why not dwell on the beautiful? Paul, inspired as I believe, by the Spirit encourages us to do this in his letter to the Philippians- Whatever is true, whatever is honest, whatever is noble... And it's certainly true that what we choose to dwell on shapes our perspective. Which is why, as I understand it, Jesus deals with this in the Sermon on the Mount in the passage that begins, The eye is the lamp of the body... For the beautiful, the good... Glen
The poet's room is littered with papers. The scorching heat is gentled by the fresh water. The swirling scent made the air heavy with sweetness. The poet creates new kinds of images and expressions. Do we smell the Keatsonian aroma in these lines?
There are not so many flowers here in North Russia - that' s why the poem about flowers seems fantastic even even it is based on reality!
Let me exclaim with Marie Shine.... Wow! I am lost in this paradise of flowers! Their exotic beauty and scent is an inspiration to any poet! I am reminded of Wordsworth's Daffodiles. For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. I am sure your excursion to the flower field has gifted you with such an experience!
Oh the ever effervescence beauty of nature, that no man can ever reproduce even though thru Art and Literature we try. But as a very good poet you have certainly tried with this poem, not without success.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 3:02:23 PM # 1.0.0.1119
............this is truly a beautiful poem.....and to walk in a garden even in imagination is an enjoyable experience...just being in the embrace of nature on a mountaintop.... or at the seashore is a pleasure to remember always....enjoyed this beautiful poem....