"Night-Blooming Jasmine"

And the night-blooming flowers open,
open in the same hour I remember those I love.
In the middle of the viburnums
the twilight butterflies have appeared.

After a while all noise will quiet.
There, only a house is whispering.
Nests sleep under wings,
like eyes under eyelashes.

Open goblets exhale 
the perfume of strawberries.
A light shines there in the room,
grass sprouts over the graves.

A late bee buzzes at the hive
finding all the cells taken.
The Hen runs through the sky’s blue 
yard to the chirping of stars.

The whole night exhales
a scent that disappears in the wind.
A light ascends the stairs;
it shines on the second floor: goes out.

And then dawn: the petals close
a little crumpled. Something soft
and secret is brooding in an urn,
some new happiness I can’t understand yet.


Translation by Susan Thomas of a poem written by Giovanni Pascoli (1855 - 1912)




The jasmine plants which I gave to Dad years ago are starting to flower again this year.  This is a pink Jasminum Stephanense which climbs over the wooden archway into the 'secret garden' , entwined with a deeper pink miniature climbing rose and a white jasmine which were also gifts from me to Dad.  A study of the lavender in the secret garden is included as an extra photo.  Light fading, I sat in a pensive mood on the step of the French doors tonight with the delicate scent of the jasmine drifting gently across the garden on the mild air.  Mum had some sad news this evening.  Her friend Pat from Church, who I also knew and liked, has passed away.  Pat had undergone several bouts of lengthy and draining cancer therapies.  Like Dad, she bore it all with fortitude, with dignity and without fuss.  A kind, gentle lady who will be very greatly missed.