Why Read Hopkins?

Image: How would you tell a young poet why he or she should read Gerard Manley Hopkins?

Paul Mariani: There are so many reasons for young (or old) poets to read Hopkins. There’s the history of influence: of Hopkins’ direct impact on poets as diverse as Wallace Stevens, Hart Crane, Auden, Dylan Thomas, Robert Lowell, John Berryman, Seamus Heaney, as well as his indirect impact on hundreds of other poets. There’s the authority of his voice, whether he is celebrating the world around him—kingfishers and dragonflies and windhovers and doves, or snowflakes and the taste of plums or the smell of summer hay, or whether he is plumbing the depths of loss and existential isolation, the felt loss of his one friend, God, in “I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day” or “Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, not feast on thee.” But then too the magnificent Handel-like oratorio sweep of “That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and in the comfort of the Resurrection,” answering Lyell and Darwin with another kind of time, God’s time, aeonic or instantaneous as the flash of the atomic bomb. Hopkins remains a standard by which those for whom God and the Christ or the maternal face of Mary are distinct counters in the summing up of what Reality has to offer us.

From an interview with the author of a new biography of G.M. Hopkins, which I am eager to read.

Poetry Is a Bird

Poetry is a bird.
Prose is....a potato.

So said Billy Collins, two-time American Poet Laureate, this past weekend at a conference I attended in Nashville.

It has made me rethink my whole blog.

I have had poetry on the blog,
and I have had birds on the blog.

But I've also had a whole lot of potatoes on the blog.

So here is word of gratitude to you loyal potato eaters (my least favorite Van Gogh, by the way....) Thank you for reading my prose-filled blog entries!

And to relieve you of the boredom of eating potatoes, here is a poem I came across, written by yours truly in fifth grade, I believe. I also wrote music to go with it, but I don't know how to put that on here just now. (With the music it comes aross more rhythmically than it does on its own.)

Look into my eyes,
And you will have a surprise,
Because I wear false eyelashes.

NB: for the record, I never had false eyelashes. I do remember learning of their existence and thinking them a very strange thing. Thus the little song.

Acquarius

I just went out to water my backyard petunias, which means only three plants, two in hangers. They looked like they really needed it, and I realized it must have been several days since I watered them.

I don't enjoy watering plants, mostly because most of the watering has to be done in the summer, when it's hot. I've lived in the South most of my life, but I've never gotten used to the heat. I get migraines from it and sometimes feel sick if I get hot enough. (It's not to the point of heat exhaustion, I've looked into that, but it really does affect me.)

Besides that, I'm lazy. When I'm in the house, it's easier to stay in the house. Good old inertia is the only explanation for not having watered the plants on the porch.

Oh, no, there's also forgetfulness. I was blonde at one time, for a long time, you know. And that artsy-absentminded-professory type, just that somehow I became a therapist instead of an artist or a professor. But anyway, the personality stayed the same, and I am good at getting absorbed in one thing and forgetting about all kinds of other things.

So, as I was on the porch just now, watering the poor pink petunias, the thought came to me that according to the Zodiac, I'm an Acquarius. A Water Carrier!

And while I'm not planning to start orienting my life by astrology, there's something about having that ancient symbol to connect with that makes the idea of watering over the summer seem a bit more doable.

Maybe I can get myself a toga to wear, a uniform, for this important duty. Something to make it more adventurous. Maybe I'll go buy a new watering can. And I must start wearing my hat when it gets hot. Though the wide-brimmed straw hat would not quite go with a toga....

Well, I'm just thinking out loud. I have a feeling the biggest part of this is my old friend discipline. Training myself to think about it, remember it, do it, and just deal with the heat. Years ago I heard that discipline means remembering what it is you really want. And while I want to stay inside and not get hot, especially not get migraines, I also really want my plants to survive. It really isn't fair to plant them and then neglect them.

But I know myself well enough to believe that the Acquarius image just might help! It doesn't hurt to have fun in the process of being disciplined, does it?

Bird in the Morning

Like the king going to check on Daniel in the lion's den, I arose early in the morning and went to check on the bird.

It was still there, though it had hopped up from the flowerpot to a new perch on the scrollwork.

And I saw an adult robin on the mailbox nearby that seemed very much to be keeping its eye out for the little one.

Since that morning I haven't seen it, so I'm assuming that with the mama nearby, the little one got its flying lessons and is off exploring the wider neighborhood now.

Baby Bird

I went out earlier to plant some more flowers and do some watering, but I didn't get two steps out the door before noticing a little baby bird standing on the next-to-top step.

I didn't want to scare him, so I just stood there and said non-scary things to him, and eventually he hopped his way over to one of the flowerpots, fluttered his wings a bit, and perched on the rim.

I sat for a long time watching and talking to him. He never moved from that spot.

Eventually, as it was starting to get dark, I went on and did my planting and watering, even watering the pot the bird was on (very carefully, of course, not letting the water touch him), and he just stayed there.

I came inside, fixed and ate supper with Drazen, did some laundry and cleaning up. And then I just had to go see if he were still out there, and safe.

He was. Still perched on the flowerpot, with his little head tucked down, sleeping. I could see him breathing, slowly and deeply.

How I pray that he will be safe through the night, and that he will grow strong and be able to fly. What a precious little visitor to have!

My Last Pansies

When I wrote the title up there, Browning's "My Last Duchess" came to mind. It was never a favorite of mine, but reading it just now, this part seemed appropriate, as I have been told I am bit like this, though not by people who minded, but kind of liked this quality.

Anyway, I think the pansies are just beautiful, and I can never get rid of them to plant new flowers without saving the last ones in a vase on the table. (Obviously, these had not yet made it to the table.)

And now Browning:

She had
A heart how shall I say? too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least.

Hope up close, and a bunny

The peony of hope, from yesterday's post, opened sometime in the past 18 hours.




And this little bunny, along with the irises of yesterday's post, also came from Grandmother's yard. Right now he's at the base of the birdbath, but he moves around.