Not long after I published my color image of this landmark on Trinity Bay, I received an email from photographer and friend Steve Gingold. It included this reprocessed version of the photo, and a few words:
The strong contrast and those beautiful clouds, I just had to…
The changes he made to the photo opened my eyes to the virtues of black-and-white photography in a new and visceral way. To put it simply, while my color version of the chapel would make a nice postcard, this is a photograph, and an invitation to a new way of seeing.
The association raised by the words of his email was equally delightful. They brought to mind William Carlos Williams’s famous poem titled “This is Just to Say”:
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox
and which you were probably saving for breakfast
Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold
Uncounted parodies of his poem have appeared over the years, and it seems appropriate to add this one to the mix.
I have changed the color that was in your photo
and which you probably preferred in the end
Forgive me this seems delicious so strong and so bold
Will the hungry ox stand in the field and not eat of the sweet grass? Will the owl bite off its own wings? Will the lark forget to lift its body in the air or forget to sing? Will the rivers run upstream?
Behold, I say — behold the reliability and the finery and the teachings of this gritty earth gift…
Eat bread and understand comfort. Drink water and understand delight. Visit the garden where the scarlet trumpets are opening their bodies for the hummingbirds who are drinking the sweetness, who are thrillingly gluttonous.
For one thing leads to another. Soon you will notice how stones shine underfoot. Eventually tides will be the only calendar you believe in.
from “To Begin With, the Sweet Grass” ~ Mary Oliver
Comments always are welcome.
The native Texas grass shown in the photo, giant bristle grass (Setaria magna) occurs in only a few counties, primarily along the upper coast.
For the complete text of Mary Oliver’s poem, please click here.
Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.
It’s unlikely Longfellow was comparing the child’s eyes to any of our native blue flaxes (such as Linum lewisii ), since none are found in the northeast. He may have been familiar with the introduced, blue-flowered species cultivated for food and fiber, L. usitatissimum, or even with L. perenne, another introduced species sometimes included in gardens for the blue accents it provides.
Whatever the source of his analogy, the comparison is apt — at least, for eyes. In extolling the flaxen-haired beauties of myth and history, poets obviously are referencing a different sort of flax. When I discovered the yellow-orange flaxes native to Texas, I thought they might have given rise to the expression.
Berlandier’s yellow flax (Linum berlandieri) ~ Gillespie County, Texas
As it happens, neither flower is the source of the expression ‘flaxen-haired.’ During processing, fiber from the plant’s stalks becomes soft, lustrous, and flexible, and takes on the appearance of blonde hair. The use of ‘flaxen’ to mean “the pale yellow colour of dressed flax” appeared in the mid-15th century, and literary references to flaxen hair appear as early as the 1520s.
Published in 1852, Leconte de Lisle’s Chansons écossaises, or Scottish Songs, included the poem La fille aux cheveux de lin, or “The Girl With the Flaxen Hair.”
Sur la luzerne en fleur assise, Qui chante dès le frais matin? C’est la fille aux cheveux de lin, La belle aux lèvres de cerise.
L’amour, au clair soleil d’été, Avec l’alouette a chanté.
Sitting amidst the alfalfa in flower, Who sings in the cool morning hour? It is the girl with the flaxen hair, The beauty with cherry lips so fair.
Love, in the summer sun so bright, Sang with the lark for sheer delight
Berlandier’s yellow flax (Linum berlandieri) ~ Bandera County, Texas
Between late 1909 and early 1910, French composer Claude Debussy included his composition “La fille aux cheveux de lin” in a first book of Préludes. A simple, glowing composition inspired by the poem, it suits our flaxen-petaled flax perfectly. You may recognize Debussy’s piece; you’ll surely enjoy it.