Dr. Kevin Korus: Experiencing the garden through poetry
As a senior in college, I found myself needing one English credit to graduate with my Bachelor of Science in horticulture, so I decided to take a poetry class. The professor tasked us with writing a particularly difficult unrhymed poem called the sestina. This complicated French verse form consists of six stanzas each containing six lines, followed by a three line “envoi” that closes the verse. The ends of each line in each stanza contain the same six words; however, these words appear at the end of different lines in each stanza. The final three-line envoi contains all six words, two per line. Below is a diagram showing the arrangement of the six repeating words.
1 2 3 4 5 6
6 1 5 2 4 3
3 6 4 1 2 5
5 3 2 6 1 4
4 5 1 3 6 2
2 4 6 5 3 1
(6 2) (1 4) (5 3)
I decided to write about one of my favorite things, gardening. The professor enjoyed my work and selected it for publication. I would like to share my sestina with you. I hope you enjoy it.
The Garden
Dirt under fingernails, saline eyes sting.
Dust sticks to sweat beads, see a bud,
my eyes gleam. Coreopsis yellow and
green. Beauty made from blood and tears,
years of work. Older, wiser oak knows
best. Never quit, never rest, never break
for oak knows best. Storms bend but never break
limbs that creak and crack and quake. Pollen will sting
the eyes, itch the tongue, and run the nose.
Cotton mouth cooled by ice cold Bud.
Small stream, moist soil, maybe baby’s tears,
and a ground cover. Weeping Norway and
periwinkle blue accentuates red and
yellow. Mundane green — hidden — break
the monotony among the pillars and tiers
of espalier firethorn. A sting
burns my pride, blight on a bud.
No flowers this year, next year — who knows?
Spring purple beauty, I wonder if it knows?
Gnarled bark, twisted limb, orange, and
leaves cordate. Beautiful red bud
Cercis Canadensis, and as if to break
my own, covered in hearts. Interesting
thing, that trees with no personality bring tears
when dying. Sap oozing like tears
from a wound to deep to mend. Resounding no’s
swim around my head; answers to questions of will and won’t and may. Sting
on the shoulder regains consciousness and
I turn to see Bombus terrestris. His drone breaks
the silence as he flies from bud
to bud endlessly searching. Nectar from bud
brings pleasure, the venom courses. Tears
form but do not fall. Green thumb hands break
the soil, I resume my work. The seed knows
when to come to life. I bury it and
walk away, my part done; to God the rest. And the sting.
Oh! The sting now red burns hotter still. Flower bud
opens, and fleeting beauty brings unceasing tears,
for everyone knows that inevitable winter must break.
— Dr. Kevin Korus is the Agriculture and Natural Resources Extension Agent for UF/IFAS Extension Alachua County. Contact him at kkorus@ufl.edu or 955-2402.
This article originally appeared on The Gainesville Sun: Dr. Kevin Korus: Experiencing the garden through poetry
