Saturday, March 28, 2020

Golden Currant






Golden Currant ( Ribes aureum )



 
Locked down to an acre
alive with spring's current,
silver-gold greyed green in
the storm's blue sky farewell,
each arch of yellow stars
on the hill petals honey,
drenches the stench
of rats in the brushpile, of death
with vanilla.

Old dog in her grave
sleeps under shadow
as I pass and remember
her breath with my breath.
Circular rites of the riding mower
trance me an order  
on a grass chaos'd dancefloor, dream me
away from the too solid walls 
stale with canned howls, wilted laments

demon-pitchforked in piles
from screens to my skull.
Shadows posture and strut,
sicken and die, cry in
the night under my pillow.
On the hill, golden currant
knows this spring's secrets,
this spring of its hundreds;
just a silver-lined scent

from some hungry sodbuster
now dished in the dustbowl,  
whose catalogue currant
is never in fruit. Dead brothers
all, under the flowers
wind-snapped in March color
that will flood this dark rampage
with a grave-sealing  spice.

March 2020













posted for earthweal's

(themed for last week's 'Silver Linings')

 











Note:"Ribes aureum, known by the common names golden currant,  clove currant {etc}...is a small to medium-sized deciduous shrub...The plant blooms in spring with racemes of conspicuous goldenyellow flowers, often with a pronounced, spicy fragrance similar to that of cloves or vanilla... The berries were used for food, and other plant parts for medicine, by various Native American groups across its range in North America" ~wikipedia







Photos  Ribes aureum, March 2020 © joyannjones










20 comments:

  1. "Dream me away from the too solid walls" I think many of us are spending time dreaming of freedom from this nightmare that has become reality. In my den, I wonder
    about the hundreds of spring's loss.

    You have me pondering those secrets and I wonder will we find answers?

    Stay safe and healthy...

    PS. I don't think we have those golden currents growing here in the northeast.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. They are a native plant, not very common nowdays. My state was settled by ranchers and farmers at the turn of the 20th century. Everything they planted was edible, and much of it came from catalogues back east, or starts from a neighbor. My acre has an apricot tree, and two pears remaining from the original farmstead, as well as the currants, but they are all too old to bear, and indeed, I think the apricot may be finally gone. Thanks for reading, Truedessa, and for the kind comment.

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  2. Your golden currant bush is so beautiful and healthy. I think of Chinook, dreaming under its shadow, where she likely dreamed in life as well. The trance of circling your acre....I can feel it in your poem...........when all is uncertain, there is reassurance in routine, mowing the lawn as if the weeks ahead will still unfurl before us.

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    Replies
    1. The weeks do unfurl--it's what they will bring that is the problem. Thanks Sherry.

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  3. Such a silver lining, lighting up the current moment with such lush proletarian gold! Your Scorpio was in the channel, dead and alive, sour and loving at once -- rats in the brush pile, ghost dog in the routines, the shadow of losing waking to spring days like this. All of a rich and fragrant and impossibly simple / forgettable bouquet which is enough for me, thank you thank you, "grave-sealing spice" or "-stealing," - Brendan

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, B. yes, 'stealing' works just as well or better. Simple seems to be all I can reach right now.

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  4. I saw this picture on your FB page, and I always love to see your growy things in pictures that you've taken. And ah, dear Chinook, sleeping in the shade, no cares. It pangs my heart to think of her gone, so I don't even like to imagine how that must still feel for you. I was missing Bosco sorely earlier today and talked to him some; then this little cuddle bum I call Zacky took my ind elsewhere and back to my belly-scratching duties. ;-)

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    Replies
    1. Yes, but she is present everywhere in my life, so I never really am not passing her and thinking of her with love. Thanks, dear friend. I know you understand.

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  5. Flowers are definitely silver linings in this time of grief. Your poem is lovely. Thank you for sharing the delight of your acre.
    May you be safe and well.

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    Replies
    1. You and your doves as well, Myrna. Thank you.

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  6. What a feast of language this is.I particularly like
    "trance me an order
    on a grass chaos'd dancefloor, dream me
    away from the too solid walls
    stale with canned howls, wilted laments"
    You keep such a high standard! JIM

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    Replies
    1. Thanks Jim. And thanks for the Beatles memories.

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  7. What a glorious colour the flowers of the golden currant have! I love the phrase ‘arch of yellow stars’. The dark undertones reflect the way we feel at the moment, especially:
    ‘Circular rites of the riding mower
    trance me an order
    on a grass chaos'd dancefloor, dream me
    away from the too solid walls
    stale with canned howls, wilted laments’.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Kim, check your spam folder for my comment. And thanks.

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  8. Ah, Chinook - the wind beneath the yellow branches now, as well, come to visit with each rustled leaf ~

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    Replies
    1. It's a special place out there in back. The fence the currant grows along divides me from the haunted cowyard of my horse-rescuing neighbor, so one or another fostered quarterhorse is always keeping his donkey company. Chinook used to climb over the fence and chase them til they chased her back. One of these days I will take my husband's ashes back there to join her. And hopefully my son will do likewise with mine. I am too Okified to want them anywhere else. ;) Thanks for stopping by to read, dear friend. I'm always around if you need an ear.

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    2. Thanks, Joy. My treatment has been postponed, as the oncologist doesn't want me anywhere near a med center filled with the infected - radiation would impact my immune system, and that would not be a good combo. So, Lupron courses my veins and keeps the cancer at bay, for now. We'll see what comes in July. Some fools in April are we, eh?

      I hope you stay well ~

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    3. Yes, as the old song goes, crazy on a ship of fools. I'm glad to hear that you are not being injected and exposed, and sorry to hear the ordeal is only postponed, and not unnecessary. Of them all, tho, radiation was the easiest on my husband and did the most good, so hopefully when either normalcy returns, or society adapts to this insanity, it will do the same for you. Til then, I hope both of us stay well. Take care, and do as I do--cultivate a healthy paranoia. ;)

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  9. Golden is not usually the hue of choice to evoke death. But strange times bring many surprises and they are often for our own good. We need the poet now more than ever to see the grand scale of things, even if her present scope is an acre. That land has seen a lot; bless you for actually listening to it and learning from it.

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"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats