Another borrowing a few hundred years ago into English from Latin, the adjective “coriaceous” is deemed a “botanical nerd word” by the Toronto Botanical Garden. (In Latin, “corium” means “leather.”) How does this animal terms mix it up with the plant world? It is another metaphorical seed contained within the word itself. Think of the stiff and tough leaves of waterlilies or rhododendrons or oak leaves. Even tougher and stiffer after a long winter on the ground. The oak leaves pictured blew onto our patio this week, all bronzy and gleaming. They are beautiful in their own way, but we are ready for the soft greens of early spring so they seem to me distinctly out of season.
More on “Bracts”: According to my friend, Bob Bensen, bracts are modified leaves often thought of as flower parts. But they are leaves that are often a sign of flowers to come. Thanks, Bob!
Nicholas Hilliard (English, 1547- 1619). An Unknown Woman, aged 26, 1593. Watercolour on vellum stuck onto a playing card; 5.8 x 4.8 cm. London: Victoria and Albert Museum
Detail: Anthony van Dyck (Dutch, 1599-1641). Henri II de Lorraine, 1634. Oil on canvas; 204.6 x 123.8 cm. Washington DC: National Gallery of Art, 1947.14.1. Gift of Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney. Source: National Gallery of Art
John Witherspoon, an 18th-century Presbyterian minister, wearing preaching bands
The “Dissent Collar” worn by Ruth Bader Ginsburg, now in the Smithsonian
Today’s poem, “Collars,” was sparked by thinking about the botanical structures that support and decorate certain flowers. To me, these petal/leaf ruffs suggested collars, and that got me to wonder how collars have evolved.
About today’s word: Though I had guessed it was of German or Dutch derivation, I now understand that “bract” came into English in the 18th century from the Latin word bractea, which means “plate of metal.” I am still a little uncertain about which flowers sports petals rather than bracts, as well as how that determination is made. It seems that it depends upon location–bracts below and supporting petals/flowers–and often–but not always–in terms of texture and color, with bracts being more leaflike and a bit sturdier. Both petals and bracts can use color to attract pollinators, though. Today, I am content to recognize that bracts and petals are different but perhaps complementary structures, and to know that whatever they are called I find them both beautiful.
Dogwood, Calaway Gardens, 2011 (photo: Karla Schultz)
(Above, a gorgeous image of bracts by my sister, Karla)
(Two images of bracts–waterlilies in Bog Lake, Minnesota–2022)
Today I learned a new word, the catalyst for a new poem. The poem, “Citified Yawps,” was sparked by the word “awn.” I encountered this word for the first time this morning in the glossary of a venerable botanical reference book, Trees and Shrubs of the Upper Midwest by Carl O. Rosehdahl.
I don’t own this book, but my friend, Bob Bensen, retired plant scientist and poetry lover, kindly made a copy of its glossary for me. I knew immediately that I could use this list of terms as prompts–as seeds, in effect–for this year’s April poems. In addition, I could extend a little bit my patchy knowledge of the plant world.
For me, it is always helpful to have an impetus when faced with the blank page and the need to write a poem in the next hour. I don’t seem to do very well with prompts offered by other people, though–not sure why–and so this year I am planning to use botanical terms unfamiliar to me.
About today’s poem: “Citified Yawps,” was inspired by the word “awn” in the glossary form Rosendahl’s book. If you, too, are curious about this delightful syllable, the link above will take you to a precise definition and a photo. I hope that I have used the word correctly as well as metaphorically. The surprise to me was how this syllable offered me a luge ride right into the work of Walt Whitman, right to my favorite passage, 52, from his “Song of Myself” which contains the passage:
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
as well as that fabulous phrase, “barbaric yawps”.
Awns are described as the “beards” of grasses, and so the associations brought Whitman to mind immediately. (Is this a word that everyone else already knows? Probably! I am glad it is now a part of my own vocabulary.)
Whitman is not in my circle of all-time favorite poets, but his influence on modern poetry cannot be denied, clearly.
Wishing you joy and poems all April long!
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