Pomegranate JarsPomegranate Jars

The pomegranate, it seems, has been around for at least as long as mankind itself, serving, appropriately enough, as both scapegoat and benefactor: whereas its multisyllabic name rolls deliciously off the tongue, its tartness puckers the mouth. Touted as a therapeutic agent since ancient times, it has also been blamed for all the ills of mankind, from Eve's fateful choice in the Garden of Eden to Persephone's decision in Pluto's underworld.

On the other hand, the pomegranate also became a prominent symbol of human fertility: when it is opened it spills an abundance of shiny, ruby-colored seeds. Its image was embroidered on the hem of the High Priest Aaron's robe, and its likeness was carved into the capitals of Solomon's temple. Medieval tapestries show the mythical unicorn tied to a pomegranate tree. Botticelli put a pomegranate in his Madonna's hand. Shakespeare chose a pomegranate tree for the tryst of Romeo and Juliet.

Before Galen, before Hippocrates, perhaps even before Imhotep, the pomegranate was a staple of the oral pharmacopeia, known especially and most intimately by women for reasons of their own. Pliny the Elder and Dioscorides both recommend the pomegranate for its medicinal properties. The juice is an astringent, and according to lore it heals, among other ills, wounds and disorders of the digestive tract. Ironically, this wound-healing fruit gave its name to a man-made wound-causing object, the hand grenade.

Finally, to round out the lore of this versatile fruit, it should be noted that the Spanish city Granada is named for the pomegranate, as is the syrupy drink mixer known as grenadin.

It should not be surprising then, given the fruit's ubiquitous presense throughout history, that decorative containers, some resembling the fruit itself, have been found among ancient civilizations. Pomegranate Jars (cover) is one such example. Part of a recent exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum of Art entitled “The Art of Medicine in Ancient Egypt,” the dimunitive glass vessels, a little larger than the pomegranate itself, date anywhere from about 1280 BCE to 1080 BCE, or from the 19th to the 20th dynasties. The museum's catalog note suggests that the smaller vessel represented the green, unripe pomegranate, too sour to eat, and thus was probably a medicinal container. The larger, golden vessel probably contained the more palatable juice of the ripe pomegranate and thus was a container for a refreshing drink. The openings of both vessels, it should be noted, suggest the opened pomegranate.

One would hardly think to call these pomegranate jars poetry. They are, after all, intended to be useful, functional objects. Yet poetry is what they are: elegant, lyrical, paens to beauty, a reminder that one has only to look about to discover the art in the useful.