Leslie Young Correthers: The Forgotten Poet of the Garden

April 25, 1948

On this day, the garden of earthly delights lost one of its most enchanting cultivators.

Leslie Young Correthers, an American poet and artist of remarkable charm, breathed his last, leaving behind a legacy as delicate and enduring as the flowers he so lovingly portrayed in verse.

Ah, my dear fellow gardeners and lovers of the written word, how often do we find ourselves stumbling upon forgotten treasures, hidden like shy violets in the undergrowth of time?

Such is the case with our dear Leslie, whose works have sadly slipped into the shadows of literary history. Yet, like the most tenacious of perennials, his spirit persists in the form of tiny, precious volumes of garden poetry that continue to captivate those fortunate enough to discover them.

These diminutive books, no larger than a gardener's palm, are veritable seed packets of whimsy and wonder. With titles that sing of nature's beauty - These Shady Friends (Trees), Blooming Friends, and More Blooming Friends - they evoke a childlike awe that we, as gardeners, know all too well.

Over his lifetime, Leslie, or 'Reggie' as his friends affectionately called him, lovingly cultivated about half a dozen of these literary bouquets.

I must confess, dear readers, that I harbor a particular fondness for these pocket-sized marvels. Each one I've managed to unearth (primarily through the modern wonder of eBay) feels like a rare bloom, carefully preserved between the pages of time. Imagine my delight upon discovering that one of my prized copies bore Reggie's own signature! It was as if a secret garden gate had swung open, inviting me into a world of botanical whimsy.

Now, shall we take a stroll through the enchanted garden of Leslie's poetry? Let us begin with his ode to that most fragrant of herbs, Lemon Verbena:

If I were allowed only to grow
One fragrant herb I know I'd choose
Lemon Verbena. Oh yes, my views
Are prejudiced, I'll admit it is so.
But I love the way
She scents my garden
At close of day
On a silver plate,
In a crystal bowl.
A spray of her leaves
Delights my soul.

Can you not almost catch the citrusy perfume wafting from these lines?

Leslie's deep affection for this humble plant is palpable, painting a vivid picture of twilight in a garden, the air heavy with the scent of verbena.

But our Leslie was not content with mere sweet sentiments.

Oh no, he had a mischievous side, as evidenced by his portrayal of that most beguiling of flowers, the Foxglove:

The fox-glove in the garden
Is very, very sly.
She always looks at the earth below -
Not at the passer-by.
But I will tell her secret,
Known only to birds and trees.
When no one is near
With her spotted lips
She eats the bumble-bees.

What a delightfully wicked twist!

In Leslie's garden, even the most innocent-looking blooms have secret lives and desires.

One can almost imagine the foxgloves nodding conspiratorially in the breeze, their spotted throats hiding evidence of their insectivorous misdeeds.

But let us not forget that every garden has its darker corners. Leslie, ever the keen observer, did not shy away from the more sinister aspects of the plant world.

Consider his warning about the ominous Monkshood:

Beware of the Monkshood-
His deep purple cowl
Is a tricky disguise-
He's as wise as an owl.
You may think that he bends his head over to pray -
He doesn't - he brews fearful poisons all day.
He's a wicked magician, by evil obsessed
Don't be tricked by his acting nor how he is dressed.

Here, Leslie reminds us that even in the most idyllic of settings, danger can lurk beneath the surface. The Monkshood, with its "deep purple cowl," stands as a botanical Iago, a reminder that beauty and peril often walk hand in hand in the natural world.

It is a tragedy, dear readers, that Leslie Young Correthers' work has been allowed to fade into obscurity. His poetry, with its unique blend of whimsy, beauty, and a touch of the macabre, offers a perspective on the natural world that is both refreshing and timeless. In his verses, we find not just descriptions of plants, but characters with personalities as varied and complex as any in a Shakespearean play.

As we tend our own gardens, both literal and metaphorical, let us keep alive the spirit of Leslie Young Correthers.

May we look upon each bloom with the same sense of wonder and imagination that he did, seeing not just flowers and leaves, but stories waiting to be told.

And perhaps, if we're very lucky, we might stumble upon one of his precious little books, waiting like a forgotten seed to burst into bloom once more in the sunshine of appreciation.

So, my fellow gardeners and poetry enthusiasts, let us raise our trowels in salute to Leslie Young Correthers, gone these 75 years but ever-blooming in the hearts of those who cherish his words.

May his garden of lost words continue to flourish, delighting readers for generations to come, and reminding us all of the magic that can be found in even the smallest corners of our gardens.