59. My love is like a red, red rose
Roses on Valentine’s Day and Rose Day
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My love is like a red, red rose
Retrospectively for Valentine’s Day, 14 February, and Rose Day, 7 February.
Many people celebrated love yesterday in the simplicity of a greeting card, whether it was receiving an anonymous one from a secret admirer, or sending a card anonymously to someone you admire, or simply for fun. Perhaps you sent a card to a new love or one to the love of your life of many years. Maybe, as the tradition in many countries has been, you sent a card to a friend, not for romantic reasons, but to express gratitude for friendship. Did you add to the card by celebrating with music, dancing, or a candlelit dinner? However, you spent Valentine’s Day, I hope the day made you happy.
If you are feeling disappointed today, 15th February, that Valentine’s Day excluded you, I remember the feeling. As a teenager, 15th February was often a day of great disappointment, as there had been no envelopes arriving at our house addressed to me the day before.
I was in my twenties when I first received the romantic gesture of a dozen red roses. They were very beautiful and everyone was curious as to who my secret admirer was, while I looked for a suitable receptacle in which to display said red roses in our student flat. I averted my eyes from the ideal vase we were in possession of, the holder for the toilet brush. In the meantime, a bucket would have to do until we found something better - a plastic plant pot without a hole in the bottom. As I tried to arrange said red, red roses in the white plastic plant pot, I noticed a red, red dribble of blood down my arm: I had caught my hand on the thorns. It was an omen I should have heeded, that romance brings pain and the roses fade and die after a couple of weeks.
Romantic? Moi? Other Valentine’s gifts are available: you can’t eat or drink roses.
Symbolic? That’s what rose, and the poetry in which they feature, are all about. This week, I am looking at how roses feature in literature, especially poetry and the symbolism of the rose.
Let’s start where we left off a few weeks ago, with Robert Burns’ poem:
A Red, Red Rose
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June
O my Luve’s like the melodie,
That’s sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve you still, my dear,
When all the seas gang dry.
Till all the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun
And I will luve you still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.
And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ twere ten-thousand mile!
It reads as a song, and as you read it you want to sing it. You might recognise how A Red, Red Rose has inspired contemporary musicians: Bob Dylan, Adele, The Proclaimers… But I’ll save that for another article, or hope that a guest writer steps forward…
And it’s a this point I go off task and on to You Tube to listen to different versions of the song, realise how even more lovely it is when sung, and spend the rest of the day singing it to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, although it has its own tune:
And I will luve you still, my dear,
When all the seas gang dry.
Isn’t that a lovely way of saying how deep is your love?
Here the rose is the first symbol of love at its romantic best: the beginning, the summer when a rose blooms strongest and brightest, (although the old gardeners amongst us know that the blooms last into autumn and thrive in winter are the best!)
Burns uses the symbolism of the rose with its hidden thorns in the last few lines of The Banks o’ Doon or Ye Banks and Braes:
Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose
Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree
But my faus lover stole my rose
And ah! He left the thorn with me!
The rose here is a symbol of the young woman’s virginity; the thorn a symbol of the false lover’s betrayal and possibly leaving her pregnant with no support.
A similar theme of the rose symbolising innocence, joy and beauty being corrupted occurs in William Blake’s poem:
The Sick Rose
O Rose, thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies by night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
It never ceases to surprise me how powerful these eight short lines are, especially the contrast between ‘joy’ and its rhyming word in the final line: ‘destroy’.
Here’s a response to an earlier Writing Challenge from regular guest writer Neil Sledge:
Tears of a Rose “It’s all petals and thorns,” said she as we walked Through the forest until dawn, we spoke of dreams and talked And oft’ times we sat, leaning ‘gainst a tree Or we’d lie flat, saying not much, feeling free “There’s beauty and ugliness, light and darkness; And joy but despair, good fortune yet also unfair With soaring heights and deepest lows, The ocean of life ebbs and flows.” I wanted to hold her then, To bring some comfort, when She sighed once more, with no hint of scorn, “Life, you know, is just petals and thorns.” Never wish for life to be a bed of roses when you know there are thorns lurking in there! Enjoy the flowers and chocolates and have a happy week!
Writing Challenge
There is more to say about flowers than can fit into this post, so if you are inspired to write something on this theme I’d love to read it.
Send to: julie@julielaminauthor.com