Kelly Carr, Director of Public Relations and Marketing
Site established 1953
April - October Monday - Saturday 9 a.m. - 6 p.m.; Sunday 11 a.m. - 6 p.m.
November - March Monday - Saturday 9 a.m. - 4:30 p.m.; Sunday 11:00 a.m. - 4:30 p.m.
Closed: Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's
$5 for Adults; $4 for Seniors (62+); $3 for Children (3-12); Children 2 and under FREE; Garden Members FREE
Added to JGarden:
The Memphis Botanic Garden, Home of the Goldsmith Civic Garden Center and located in the heart of Memphis, is an exemplary regional center for horticulture and environmental enrichment. The Garden encompasses 96 acres and reigns as the garden showcase of the mid-South, as well as the home of Hardin Hall one of Memphis’ premier event facilities.
The Garden is open year-round and offers natural areas with native wild flowers as well as over 23 unique gardens, such as the renowned Japanese Garden of Tranquility (Seijaku-en) and the Little Garden Club Sensory Garden, The Rose Garden, Tennessee Bicentennial Iris Garden and Daffodil Hill. Featuring special events, educational events for adults and children, art exhibits, monthly wine tastings in Fratelli’s in the Garden Restaurant/Gift Shop as well as the Live at the Garden Summer Concert Series.
Saihoji Temple, Kyoto
Actuality is emblem here: a walled-in garden
With its hieroglyph of the heart a lake with lotuses,
And its stones and trees a figure of ascent
From painted maze and sensuous paradise
To the Pure Land of the mind, the interior garden.
All paths wind inward to this inward mirror --
Reflecting-pool of primitive solitude --
Where the mind, quiescent, meditates its shadow,
In the garden's Heart this cipher of the heart.
Some bonze cropped bald by wisdom's scythe, to glean
In Chinese glaosses on the Sakya sage
Reality's scattered kernels, planted here
A green and less laborious commentary:
Perpetual witness of the perfect stillness.
Only the moss speaks still, a living scroll;
From the lakeshore to the hillside a silver-green
Page of continuous discourse where the foot moves
More soundlessly that thought along the paths laid
Over ten centuries ago
For the saints rehearsing sutras.
Their path unfolding in a single text,
They moved on an obscure way more quietly
Than the arhat's mantras or the lohan's prayer;
And bruised no stone, no grasses in their passing,
The ground of their desire inviolate.
Nameless, they merged into indifferent turf,
Engrossed in one impartite grace of green,
Their separate deaths lost in this single life --
Men without memory, without distinction.
Though earth assumes them like a scroll rolled up,
The path is fragrant still because they passed here.