University of Leicester Botanic Garden poem takes centre stage in county author’s collection this National Poetry Day

Local author Tim Relf, the first poet-in-residence at the University of Leicester Botanic Garden.

A poem inspired by the University of Leicester Botanic Garden will take pride of place in a local author’s book, which will be published shortly after National Poetry Day on Thursday 1 October. 

The poem, Desert House, was written by Tim Relf during his term as poet-in-residence at the Oadby beauty spot and features in his debut poetry collection, Not Even October. 

Set in the greenhouse displaying cacti and other succulents, the poem was sparked by a chance encounter with a visitor from South Africa and explores themes of home, memory and the natural world. 

With hundreds of events due to take place as part of National Poetry Day on October 1, Tim hopes the initiative will encourage more people to try reading and writing poetry.

He said: “Some may have been put off it by early experiences at school, but it’s a great way of expressing yourself, learning about the world and understanding people better.”

As well as writing poetry inspired by the 16-acre Botanic Garden and encouraging others to write, Tim used his tenure as poet-in-residence to spread awareness of the joys of gardening, and spark curiosity about plants, horticulture and the environment. 

“I was transfixed by the Garden the first time I visited,” he said. “Many families come here to relax and unwind, but it also plays an important role helping visitors learn about plants, the natural world and climate change. 

“Being here can transport you from Leicestershire to different worlds. There are rare specimens and so much colour – it’s a place to be inspired.”

Tim was the first poet-in-residence at the University of Leicester Botanic Garden, which underpins scientific research and teaching at the University and provides education programmes for all age groups, reaching out into the community to demonstrate the contemporary significance of plants in a rapidly changing world.

Desert House is one of 50-plus poems in Not Even October, which has been described by top actor Richard E. Grant as “incisive and moving”. Due to be published by Salt Publishing in early November, the book is attracting praise from poetry lovers and general readers alike. 

“I met a woman who’d grown up in South Africa and was so reminded of that country by the sights, smells and colours she encountered in the Desert House that she started crying the moment she entered it. It was very moving. It’s moments like that which often spark a poem,” says Tim, who is also a Penguin-published novelist.

“At a time of rapid climate change, it’s important that we all understand more about the natural world and the environment. The Botanic Garden helps people do this. As a haven of peace and quiet, it’s also a place to relax and unwind, and to spend time with family and friends. It’s a tremendous asset for residents of Leicester and further afield.”

Tim’s poem is reproduced below.

 

Desert House 

Today in the Botanic Garden a woman cried.
She stepped into a glasshouse, breathed in
and broke down. Home, she said,
it reminds me of home.

You tried to grasp the distance that could make someone
standing with a stranger weep in the heart
of Leicester. Stumped, you blurted how you live just
beyond that far wall. By the Tesco.

This is my favourite, you told her, pointing
at the golden barrel cactus – a prickly ball, daring
to be touched. You can’t look at it without wanting
to see if you could get your arms around it.

My God, she sobbed, touching the tongue of another –
a blue-green giant trumpeting its first-time flowering
in living memory. Our eyes tracked the spike skyward
to yellow ceiling-sweeping clusters. Agave, she whispered.

Ah-gar-vay, you repeated, in a way that made it sound a bit like
Dar-bee. In the cube of stony heat, shattered fragments
of a poem about this plant – a long-dormant
salty sentiment about dying tomorrow.

So much these days evaporates to this:
echoes, half-rhymes, reflections.
And your home? she asked. Your first home.
What reminds you of there?

That evening, it comes to you. The poem. Primo Levi. You scratch
at his dry lines, reach for that one despairing bloom.
Later still, a pink flower in a field and the scent
of a secret. Come see the ghost orchid, sweetie.