my mother’s flowers

Posted byJoão-MariaPosted inPoetry (English)Tags:, , , , , , , , , , , ,
Her dog, Faísca, posing for a picture.
Translated from (15), Álea de Vidro, in (ANABASIS)

There’s also my grandmother’s garden, published a while back, if you like looking at flowers.

Thank you,
João-Maria.

Published by João-Maria

A tick clinging to the bristles of a purple boar.

42 thoughts on “my mother’s flowers”

    1. Thank you, Dhania. Your photography is stunning; soaked in light, technique and beauty.
      I’m glad I could resonate with that beautiful aesthete brain of yours, because Gods know I do not have one.
      Again, a thousand thank-yous for your immense kindness.

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    1. Thank you so much, Muskan, you are so kind. And yes, they are, and they are only a parcel of the actual garden. I didn’t include everything, because I couldn’t photography everything in a day and I thought it would become overly long.
      She has tended for the flowers for about fifteen years, and my father deals with the fruit trees, which are about a hundred. They also have all sorts of vines, and always bring a plant when they travel.

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    1. My mother too prefers her roses, but she truly has an appetite for anything she can grow. It just has to grow, haha.
      I’m hopeful that, wherever your mother is, she still enjoys the luminance of her garden.

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      2. São os abelhões, ou então mata-cavalos, como se chamam na minha zona. E sim, picam, e podem picar várias vezes, pois não perdem o ferrão.
        A sorte é que são muito audíveis a voar, parecem pequenos helicópteros, portanto, é só uma questão de fugir logo!

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  9. May I introduce myself: “I am a strong and hairy man who loves flowers” … I admit that this is a “new passion of mine”. In my childhood I loved to paint zombies and skeletons, but when I showed my paintings to my parents they was a little concerned about my interests. They told me “why don’t you paint flowers?”, and I always responded that flowers are for little girls. How time can change a person. Now I love flowers, I cannot get enough of them. Flowers are for strong man, for Achilles who needs even thousands of them for curing his wounds, for the sport man who needs Arnica to cure his bruises, or Daisy for inner trauma. We need them so much and they offer their help.

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    1. Hello, Isuret (I haven’t read the name of that chemical in a long deal of time).
      I never saw flowers with any dual, anthropomorphic or even neurolinguistic symbolical chargings, although it is indubitable that they exist (and oh, do they exist). I was raised in a very silentious place, in fact, and I couldn’t name most of the flowers my mother and grandmother grew when I was a child, let alone whatever they might have meant; they grew them for the merest act of growing.
      Even then, however, I never saw flowers as symbols of growth, or healing, rejuvenation, lethality or subterfuge, or might or love or honour, or innocence or candour or fluidity. I’ve always seen them as expression, of any kind, of any form, to the very purpose of their expressive vividness, which is to lure, seduce those busy elements of the natural space to stop, view, and feel whichever was to be felt, whichever one wants to feel. In a sense, flowers are artists. That’s what I think of them.

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      1. Sure there are different aspects of plants and maybe we consider one or two aspects only if we don’t need the other aspects:

        – Biologic functionality, they enable life, give food to insects (and insects helps them with pollination) and indirectly they feed birds
        – Beauty, because perfect functionality is represented by the golden ratio, and the golden ratio is related to eternity, which is perceived by us as beauty and perfection
        – Electromagnetic balancing … and I mean literally electromagnetism like the good old school physics, because the structure of plants can ionize the air, which again attract rain clouds
        – Subtle energies balancing, they heal the environment on a more subtle level, where radionics works, on the pre-physical level, in between matter and spirit. You can observe this when a problem arise and new flowers grows in vicinity because they “are needed” to perform a work in the area (example: in the vicinity of people who have a big problem with alcohol Carduus marianus grows, the main remedy for liver and alcoholism in homeopathy)
        – Remedies, they are perfect remedies, well balanced in minerals, substances to unblock energies and meridians, with an effect to the mind and soul

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      2. Oh, no, Isuret, I didn’t mean what they are actually for. I understand their purpose, as they are the reproductive organs of their plants.
        I meant more in terms of associative substance, which you referred to in your original comment with “flowers are for girls”, which is a statement with the appreciative modal value enshrouded as an epistemological certainty. I merely said that I have no cultural tethers to flowers outside of their aesthetical purpose, which is that of attraction for pollination, which I then extend onto a veritable symbolical catalogue concomitant with a humanised psyche which re-interprets the utility of an existing object into an image of purported substantial association.
        I’m thinking mythopoetically, with added visual cognition, not in terms of science or objective utility. Y’know, since this is a poetry blog, haha.

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      4. I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to sound exclusionary or dismissive, truly. I’m just in the habit of speaking artistically, around here. Habitude is a terrible thing.
        I’m sorry, I hope you didn’t take offense.

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      5. No, I’m fine. I see that I’m too have “a habit” in thinking in metaphysical terms. I wonder what will happen if we can merge both points of view, because this would for sure open the field of view a lot more.

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      6. What I said was entirely metaphysical. I think you mean esoteric, which is a field of view I very much envy. Alchemy, spirituality, hermeticism, that’s all tremendously interesting. I’m yet to read Jung’s thoughts on the matter, but I will start there.

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    1. I’m a cheater, I photographed them at the pinnacle of Portuguese Spring, thus, not only do flowers hold their divine starkness, so does the filigreeing dense-white opulence of the Mediterranean sun add to their vividness.
      Don’t tell anyone, please. I still have my artistic integrity.

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