I can’t tear myself away from home these days, nor am I getting much of anything done around here. The peonies are in bloom. And I don’t want to miss a moment of their brief, luxuriant season. Most mornings I’m in the garden within minutes of waking, to pay my quiet respects to the outrageously generous display going outside our door . At dusk I wander, scissors in hand, cutting fragrant armfuls to carry inside. For this week only, there are peony bouquets everywhere. Every vase and jar I own is full, the air is thick with the sweet, subtle scent, and still they come, a succession of blooms. I cherish every one.
If you were to drop by my house for a cup of tea and a chat this afternoon, I’d send you home with peonies.
But as it happens, I’m here alone on this June day, typing at my little table on the porch. There’s no need, and no room, for yet another bouquet in the house. And so I offer you, instead, a bouquet in words and photos. Here are my dear peonies and some lines – from poets and gardeners and ancient Chinese haiku artists — that pay them homage. Inhale deeply. Peony season, like life itself, is precious, fleeting.
Peonies
Heart-transplants my friend handed me:
four of her own peony bushes
in their fall disguise, the arteries
of truncated, dead wood protruding
from clumps of soil fine-veined with worms.
“Better get them in before the frost.”
And so I did, forgetting them
until their June explosion when
it seemed at once they’d fallen in love,
had grown two dozen pink hearts each.
Extravagance, exaggeration,
each one a girl on her first date,
excess perfume, her dress too ruffled,
the words he spoke to her too sweet—
but he was young; he meant it all.
And when they could not bear the pretty
weight of so much heart, I snipped
their dew-sopped blooms; stuffed them in vases
in every room like tissue-boxes
already teary with self-pity.
~ Mary Jo Salter
“The little boy nodded at the peony and the peony seemed to nod back. The little boy was neat, clean and pretty. The peony was unchaste, dishevelled as peonies must be, and at the height of its beauty. . . . Every hour is filled with such moments, big with significance for someone.”
~ Robertson Davies, What’s Bred in the Bone
By the Peonies
The peonies bloom, white and pink.
And inside each, as in a fragrant bowl,
A swarm of tiny beetles have their conversation,
For the flower is given to them as their home.
Mother stands by the peony bed,
Reaches for one bloom, opens its petals,
And looks for a long time into peony lands,
Where one short instant equals a whole year.
Then lets the flower go. And what she thinks
She repeats aloud to the children and herself.
The wind sways the green leaves gently
And speckles of light flick across their faces.
The charms of the ordinariness soothe the threat of anxiety.
~ Czeslaw Milosz
When the peonies bloomed,
It seemed as though were
No flowers around them.
~ Kiitsu
Peonies
This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers
and they open–
pools of lace,
white and pink–
and all day the black ants climb over them,
boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away
to their dark, underground cities–
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,
the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding
all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again–
beauty the brave, the exemplary,
blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?
Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,
with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?
~ Mary Oliver
In the stillness,
Between the arrival of guests,
The peonies.
~ Buson
Dusk on the flower
Of the white peony,
That embraces the moon.
~ Gyodai
Peonies at Dusk
White peonies blooming along the porch
send out light
while the rest of the yard grows dim.
Outrageous flowers as big as human
heads! They’re staggered
by their own luxuriance: I had
to prop them up with stakes and twine.
The moist air intensifies their scent,
and the moon moves around the barn
to find out what it’s coming from.
In the darkening June evening
I draw a blossom near, and bending close
search it as a woman searches
a loved one’s face.
~ Jane Kenyon
The peonies have fallen,
We parted
Without regret.
~ Hokushi
What peonies!
one poem per flower
will not do
~ Ryumin
Though mine,
I hesitate to pluck
the peonies
~ Baishitsu
Half a mind
to dress up and bow down
to the peony
~ Shiki
“It always seemed to me that the herbaceous peony is the very epitome of June. Larger than any rose, it has something of the cabbage rose’s voluminous quality; and when it finally drops from the vase, it sheds its petticoats with a bump on the table, all in an intact heap, much as a rose will suddenly fall, making us look up from our book or conversation, to notice for one moment the death of what had still appeared to be a living beauty.”
~ Vita Sackville-West
Oh, Katrina! Your beautiful peonies….. I wish you could deliver them to Orlando to help the emotionally devastated in Central Florida! So close…..knowing three families who have lost family members…..a peony, here….a peony there…..one step in front of the other….to feel the magnitude of this horrific tragedy…..one peony at a time! I see it:! I smell it, I love it!
Thank you so much for the ode to peonies!!! Poems,pictures…wonderful…they are just starting to open here in Michigan and I cherish their unruly,generous flowering.
My peonies are still tight buds straining to burst into bloom.
I love the pictures and I love the poems even more. Thank you for sharing both.
Oh thank you, thank you. In California, we don’t grow peonies, but I still spend the mornings in the garden – I love this line the best: “Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?
Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,” Yes! Yes! Yes!
Katrina,
Thank you for the peony pictures and words. When I see one of your emails I want to climb into bed and read and feel! Yesterday my daughter brought me a bouquet of her peonies! The scent in my home is so special. Your timing is perfect. I enjoy being at home also. Are you writing another book?
I missed mine this year. They came at a different time and I was in Brazil. So sad. They are in my top three favorite flowers. Wish I had more of them. Reading this I could almost smell them.
Thank you. It would be a pleasure filled with grace to share a cup of tea with you.
Your words so well convey a soul that understands so much on so many levels.
May your movement be with ease and may each day offer you promise and progress.
Thank you.
Peonies in this part of the world are two weeks past. It breaks my heart because I look at my parents’ wedding photos from this day in 1947, filled with bowls of peonies and they are two weeks later than they appear now. Global warming is real.
What a wonderful blessing today. Thank you! I have recently begun to enjoy the amazing peony, so this blog was a treat. Take care and thank you for your words and images, along with those of others.
You inspire me – for many years through many difficult times. You are an amazing woman and whenever I see your name pop up on my email I cannot wait to see what’s inside! Thank you!
I will plant a garden just for peonies next year. My one is not enough, though completely sufficient for now. Thank you.
I yearn for peonies. My Mom loves to garden, and at one time had beautiful gardens and one garden was dedicated to peonies. We would walk together through the garden and I would sniff, and she would tell. I would wear the fragrance if one was true to the scent. I live in the city and am starved for garden fresh flowers. I dream of one day soon living in a more nature oriented area and I shall plant peonies. Many of them. Thank you!
I too would be outside in the early morning to take in the beauty of your peonies! I may have to rethink my garden and find more space to plant additional peonies!
reading along, i felt i was at a gathering — amid the garden — of all my favorite poetesses and poets. across the arc of time and centuries and innumerable gardens, we all stand in awe of the same momentary explosion, exuberance. virginia wolff’s eye for detail, and mary oliver’s too, were a lesson (again) in paying attention. close attention. oh, to clip armloads at sundown each night. my old garden doesn’t have quite enough sun to sustain such an explosion. so, thank you……
Oh, Katrina, your peonies are gorgeous!! Reading this post and looking at your photos felt like one long, deep exhale. Thank you. xox
Katrina, thank you for this gracious open invitation to your exquisite garden party! Like a little bee, I’ve drifted from blossom to blossom, sampling the sweetness of each and losing myself amongst fragrant petals. The peony is truly queen of the flowers; with Shiki, my spirit bows low before such grace and majesty… Having circled aimlessly, flower to flower, studying perfection of color and form, I’ve made yet another circuit in order to absorb each well-placed quote. Mary Oliver and Jane Kenyon’s poems rank among my favorites, while some selections here are new to me. (Baishitsu’s reluctance to pluck flowers is also mine. Something deep within always prefers to let flowers live their brief days undisturbed…) Thank you for providing an opportunity to look “for a long time into peony lands. . .” This post is one I’m sure to revisit, just to be swept aloft once more by peonies and poetry… xoxo
Katrina,
Something so lovely, gone so quickly. Peonies were my favorite thing about living in Portland, Oregon. Now you’ve revived memories, and I can lean forward and almost smell them.
D’Anne
A nice tribute to the peonies thank you for sharing your knowledge about them.
Peonies remind me of my dear mother who passed away a couple of years ago. I just sold some of her costume jewelry and plan to buy peonies to plant in her memory.
I live in southern California where peonies do not grow well, or at all. When I travel to someplace where peonies are in bloom, I feel so lucky to see them. I didn’t realize how many others find them extraordinary. Thanks.
Your flowers are beautiful. And your words have perfectly captures the essence of June.
My mother-in-law grew up outside Chicago and has a love of peonies. Hot Southern summers, don’t bode well for peonies, but she has them in her yard. Some years they look spectacular. I love that you bring yours in. We had such a gorgeous May and early June with hydrangeas. A friend stopped by to cut some of mine for a baby shower she gave. I thought why on earth don’t I cut some for myself? I never did and now they are fading. If I can answer the question why I didn’t want to cut them more than I wanted them inside — it would probably unlock a lot. Or maybe not so much. 🙂
Thank you for the beautiful pictures and words. So, good to hear you are doing well. Beautiful porch and table cloth. My niece and her family are moving back to North Caerolina this month. She and her husband were married an Ash.
All the best!