Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Distant flowers


I used to think growing flowers was for pansies, so I'd raise some flowers with attitude, like flowering sage and five-foot high marigolds--both were supposed to keep the aphids off my beans and tmatoes. They did. They also grew so tall as to almost chase me back into the house....Probably the high trees around my balcony, causing these plants to reach for the sky. It is the middle of November and the flowers are not wilting from the frost, though I myself fear I am dying a little this autumn. The summer has made me soft; it is wind-whistling time in this stage of my life and crows and ravens are blowing riffs.

At a certain age, you are supposed to have it all together, have life figured out (at precisely the time you have to, uh, go).

But those flowers, those durable flowers. Everything else in my container garden is dead, but the flowers are up there every morning, frost or shine, stabbing up into the murky blue, themselves yellow and blue, like the colours of my old agrarian country. Small wonder Vincent van Gogh was smitten.

I think of an old love.

Perhaps she's a flower, a distant flower
That blooms along the wall of a house
.

Faint heart never won fair lady, though I was not faint at all.

But love is blind. One step at a time.

I have exhausted all the steps of bravado and daring, and still she would not come.

Perhaps if I sent her a flower, the flower that I grew.

##

15 comments:

ea monroe said...

Ivan, you just keep getting better and better! ~Liz

Sienna said...

Ivan, that is beautiful, reflective and beautiful.

It's like poetry, (it's not a poem of course)-but it *feels like* poetry when you write like this:

"Verse is not written, it is bled;
Out of the poet's abstract head.
Words drip the poem on the page;
Out of his grief, delight and rage.”

Paul Engle (poetry collections )

Well, this is the time of your life; you mustn't cark it and leave us...you could be everlasting, everflowering...ha! or maybe deflowering (kidding!)

There is still a whole world out there waiting, it aint over till it's over.. :)

Pam

PS plus we need to keep an eye on Josie, the nude photography/nipples and everything, she needs us! (All of us :) )

TomCat said...

Beautiful, Ivan. And growing flower is for pansies, as long as it's pansies that your growing; they really appreciate it.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Liz,
Thank you.
You the sweetest thang.

Pam,
I should know of Paul Engle. I know that he is large.

Yep, Josie needs our support.
I think she works too hard and doesn't leave enough time for herself.
Always, always doing for others and neglecting oneself can lead to the BNB.

There is still time.
Foxy chicks. Gotta get. :)

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tom,

You are one subtle cat.

Donnetta Lee said...

Hi, Ivan! Really lovely. I enjoyed this. Hope you are doing okie dokie. Donnetta

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Donnetta,

Thank you.

A voice from Michael Moore country at last!
You sound much better.
Hope you are on the road to recovery.

Shesawriter said...

I don't know a damned thing. That's what I finally figured out. The older I get the cynical I become. But I also get dumber. Go figure.

Josie said...

Ivan, I just popped over to say hello, but for weird reason, I can't log in as me.

*sigh*

Josie said...

Faint heart never won fair lady.

Too true.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tanya,
Old Greek Play Dough says feeling like that is the beginning of wisdom.
All major philosophers felt that way before they became philosophers...It's when something bangs you so hard that you have to stop and think.
I'd say read "The Craft of Fiction", by almost any author. John Champlin Gardner and Steven King have books out by that title. All books of that type are useful.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Josie,

I'll have to ask my techie to have a look. Seems Benjibopper had to log in to comment here as well.
In the past, anybody could come in.

ivan@cretivewriting.ca said...

Josie,

Faint heart never won fair lady.

I am so intrigued by Pam sending those pictures of the baby rhino hooking up with an old tortoise in a zoo.

It fuelled my zany sense of humour.
"Faint heart never made it with a tortoise"?

eric1313 said...

They are flowers, Ivan.

I used to love a tall marigold named Jamie. She was as tall as I am, about six foot. Brown wavy hair, pale skin and blue grey eys like the frozen oceans of a northern winter.

She grew best in warm darkness at the Red Roof Inn with plenty of marijuana and Jack Daniels fertilizer.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Those neo-hippie chicks are something, aren't they?
I used to Know a Mary-Jane herself into Mary Jane and mushrooms.
She would sniff every flower in the Main Street decorative flower pots each morning.
Had to get right down there in correct sniffing position every time, like someone on an exercise show. My little Jane Fonda of the flowers.
You may get a kick out of the novel of an estranged friend of mine, Gerard Jones. He wrote a book then an audio pod, "Ginny Good." It is about a woman like you are describing. Needless to say, Ginny Good is realy good.