“Eye of newt, and toe of frog, wool of bat, and tongue of dog, adder’s fork, and blind worm’s sting, lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing. For a charm of powerful trouble, like a hell-broth boil and bubble.” —William Shakespeare
This is a grizzly list of soup ingredients, but Shakespeare was actually using folk names of plants in his poetic recipe. An “eye of newt” is a mustard seed; “a toe of frog” is the bud of a buttercup; holly leaves are “the wool of bat”, and “tongue of dog and “adder’s fork” are weeds whose parts resemble those of the cited animals. Over the ages, in all cultures, plants have been given names that refer to their appearance, use, or location. The colloquial terms are often sweet and lyrical; sometimes crude or lewd; at times gruesome; and always fascinating. All kinds of people and animals and their body parts, articles of clothing, food, and directives are mentioned. Lords and ladies and fairies and devils and bastards and biddies may wear gloves, petticoats, nightcaps, boots, and shoes. Fingers, toes, snouts, tails, toenails, and guts are dirty or bloody. People are ordered about: Betty-go-to-bed-at-noon, Jack-jump-about, one-two-three pee-a-bed, pick-your-mother’s-eyes-out, Robin-run-in-the-field.
One plant, Arum alpina or, A.maculatum has a list of over one hundred folk names. It is a common roadside weed in Europe similar in appearance to our Jack-in-the pulpit with an erect spadix enveloped by a leafy spathe. Flowers contain the sexual parts of plants but these are exceptionally suggestive and many nicknames allude to this. Sobriquets include cuckoo-pint, lords and ladies, cows and bulls, naked boys, Robin and Joan, sucky calves, dead man’s fingers, priest’s pilly, dog’s cock, and, my favorite, kitty-come-down-the-lane-and-jump-up-and-kiss-me.
Our native Jack-in-the-pulpit, Arisaema triphyllum, is in the same family and shares some folk names with Arum alpina. Both are referred to as Jack-in-the-pulpit, lords and ladies, and cuckoo-pint. This exemplifies the importance of the scientific binomial system developed in1753 by Carolus Linnaeus, where no two organisms share a name and, hence, there is no confusion about identification.
“Linnaeus was in reality a poet who happened to become a naturalist.” —August Strinberg
The binomial system may at first seem dry and complicated, and it uses Latin, a language no longer spoken, yet there is a lyricism in the two names. The first word (capitalized) is the genus, a group of plants with similar characteristics, a gendered noun. The second word (lower case) is the species, a specific unit within the genus, usually an adjective. Both words are italicized. The Latin name can refer to color, form, habitat, size, geography, or history. For example, our forget-me-not is a charming plant in the garden with sweet blue flowers. And there are forget-me-nots that thrive in water. They are two different species of Myosotis, a name meaning “mouse ears”, a reference to the appearance of the leaves. The species of the garden plant is sylvatica, meaning “of the woodlands” and the water plant is scorpioides alluding to the budded stem that resembles a scorpion’s tail. Not a mention of blue?
Color is often alluded to in species terms. Blue can be azureus (or azurea, or azureum, depending on gender), caeruleus, cyanus . Our annual bachelor buttons are Centaurea cyanus. (The genus name refers to the Greek myth of Chiron the centaur who is said to have discovered the medicinal properties of the plant.) Those with a good smell are often cited as odoratus or, even better sounding, fragrantissimus; those that are not so pleasant smelling are foetidus. Lathyrus odoratus is the fragrant annual sweet pea; Lonicera fragrantissima is the honeysuckle bush; Symplocarpus foetidus is our skunk cabbage.
Officinalis or officinale is a frequent species name that refers to the officina, the building in a medieval monastery where the monks prepared plants for healing. Often situated by the herb garden where the friars could gather plants to make dried extracts, infusions, decoctions, tinctures, and distillations. Every time that I see this term I have visions of barefoot, hooded and robed monks toiling in their gardens. Among the plants cultivated by the monks are borage, calendula, asparagus, magnolia, jasmine, sage, and ginger.
Often the genus or species name will cite a person associated with the plant’s discovery. One of my favorite annuals is Nicotiana langsdorffii, a green flowered tobacco plant native to Brazil, the species named after German botanist Georg Langsdorf. The genus, Nicotiana, refers to Jean Nicot, a French ambassador, who sent seeds of N.rustica to Queen Catherine de’Medici in Paris, beginning the French addiction to tobacco. Commercial tobacco is now derived from N.tabacum.
Most citations in Latin names are to male scientists or men of power. Two unknown species of lichen were discovered in recent years in the southern United States. The scientists, Jessica Allen and James Lendemer, decided to honor two women of the south. In 2015 they introduced the lichen Japewiella dollypartoniana and in 2019, Hypotrachyna oprah. That is quite an honor but I wonder if both women would have chosen an organism with a bit more glamour.
I love the folk names of the plants in my garden and the wild. Lady’s mantle, bachelor’s buttons, doll’s eyes, stinking Benjamin, and morning glories are endearing names. The Latin counterparts Alchemilla mollis, Centaurea cyanus, Actaea pachypoda, Trillium erectum, and Ipomoea tricolor are not as familiar but there is a music in the language, a classical order. There are no kitties running down the path, no bloody fingers, but there is a restrained and elegant poetry.
“Proper names are poetry in the raw. Like all poetry they are untranslatable.” — W. H. Auden
December 2021