Sunday, November 16, 2014

Let's Hear it for Hopkins: an Analysis of "As kingfishers catch fire"

Greetings, friends!

Something remarkable dawned on me today - I have a blog!  And I have been characteristically remiss about posting.  Unfortunately, until I am out of school in May I fear my posts will remain sporadic; however, I hope to make those few that do appear quite engaging.

That said, regarding Hopkins: an English writer during the Victorian period, Hopkins was a Catholic priest (a Jesuit) known for his rather curious style (known as "sprung rhythm") and his inventions of the terms "instress," "inscape," and "selving."  If you are unfamiliar with his life and with these terms (and in the interests of not prolonging this already necessarily lengthy post), may I direct you to his page on the almighty Wikipedia?

Though, I now note, that page has a section on the very poem I have examined (by the way, you can find the original poem online HERE), I have not used this article in preparation of my own interpretation and, as such, any similarities to that text are purely coincidental.

Very good.  And now....

“[W]hat in God’s eye he is – ”: Hopkins’s View of Selving in “As kingfishers catch fire”
By Caitlin Clancy
Copyright 2014
            In his vibrant poem “As kingfishers catch fire,” Gerard Manley Hopkins expresses the action of selving as he believes it occurs both in all of created beings and also, in a very particular way, in man.  For Hopkins, it seems that man not only selves differently than the animals, plants, or inanimate objects of the world, but also that man selves in a higher way – towards a higher end.  Man’s selving, in the view of Hopkins, poet and Catholic priest, is meant to make him more like the God in whose divine image he was created.  Human selving is, therefore, for Hopkins a process marked by acts of goodness, and thus of conformity to the will of God and the person of Christ.
At the outset of his work, Hopkins writes: “As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; / As tumbled over rim in roundy wells / Stones ring; …” (1-3).  The first part of Hopkins’s poem focuses on the created world and on all inscapes, living and nonliving, that exist within it: he highlights “kingfishers,” “dragonflies,” and “Stones.”  In these, Hopkins seems to – characteristically – see an expression of God and God’s glory: for him, “kingfishers catch fire” and “dragonflies draw flame” – that is, he associates these animals with the brightness and power of the element fire, itself often associated with God the Holy Spirit.  Moreover, Hopkins views these creatures as active, and as participating in God, the Prime Mover, through their own motion; the “kingfishers catch fire” and the “dragonflies draw flame” (1, emphasis added).  Even the nonliving beings, for Hopkins, here possess motion and action: the “Stones ring” as they are “tumbled over rim in roundy wells” (3, 2, emphasis added). 
Further, this action of created beings seems to constitute part of selving.  Hopkins writes that,
…like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves – goes itself; myself it speaks and spells
For Hopkins, the “kingfishers,” “dragonflies,” and “Stones” (and by extension, other created beings as well), are “like” the individual “tucked string[s]” which “[tell]” of themselves: “myself it speaks and spells” (1, 3, 7).  Thus their action, their motion, is directed towards attaining and expressing the fullness of their being. These creatures are, too, like “each hung bell” whose “Bow” through action (when it is “swung”) “finds tongue to fling out broad its name” – that is, proves able to communicate what it itself is (Hopkins 3, 4).  And this, moreover, they do with great energy, as Hopkins’s verbs convey: they “catch,” “draw,” are “tumbled,” “ring,” and “fling” (1, 2, 3, 4).  In Hopkins’s view, the essence of this energetic selving action is that “[e]ach mortal thing does one thing and the same”; put differently, all living beings, for Hopkins, selve – through a process of becoming more fully what they are and ought to be, they outwardly express their essence (5).  Every one of them “[d]eals out” its own “being” which “dwells” inside it (or “indoors,” as he puts it) (Hopkins 6).  Thus, all creatures display through their selving something of the glory of God with which they are endowed.
But while merely mortal beings – such as the animals and inanimate objects Hopkins mentions – may selve into inscapes simply by becoming more fully themselves alone, by each “go[ing] itself” and “speak[ing]” and “spell[ing]” its “myself” in the world, still human beings, for Hopkins, seem to be able to experience a higher kind of selving (7).  Hopkins indicates this when he transitions to his second stanza.  He states: “I say more:” – indicating both by direct wording and by punctuation that he is about to go beyond what he previously stated (Hopkins 9).  “I say more:,” Hopkins declares, adding, “the just man justices” (9).  This line is notable first for the fact that it is the first time in the poem Hopkins speaks directly of man – and thus his transition highlights all the more the difference he sees between the selving of human and non-human beings.  Moreover, when he does here refer to man, he speaks of “the just man” in particular who, apparently, “justices” (Hopkins 9).  Hopkins here cleverly changes a noun – justice – into an unusual verb (“justices”) (9).  What Hopkins here suggests, apparently, is that a human being, like all other beings, selves and becomes more what he is: in this case, “the just man” becomes more just by doing just actions (9). 
Hopkins, however, takes the matter further: for him, such a man “[k]eeps gráce: that keeps all his goings graces; / Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is – / Chríst…” (10-12).  Thus, man, or at least “the just man,” maintains grace within his soul (and so “[k]eeps grace”) by acting always in accordance with the grace and law of God and never contrary to it (he “keeps all his goings graces”).  Moreover, in so doing, such a man behaves, in God’s view, in a holy manner – that is, as Christ would – and in this way all the more “[a]cts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is” (Hopkins 11).  For the man who lives according to the law of God necessarily imitates Jesus and thus becomes like Him; hence, “the just man… / …in God’s eye” is, in a way, “Chríst” (Hopkins 10-11, 12).  It may also be said – and perhaps Hopkins deliberately means to intimate something of the sort – that not only is “the just man” in particular like Christ but, indeed, all men are, in a way, like Christ in God’s view, for He sees all human beings as his sons and daughters, and because Christ died to redeem all mankind.  Thus, as Hopkins, a Catholic priest, surely knows, all men ought to be like Christ – and so, in this way, it would seem that men are meant to selve into Christ-like beings.  They are intended to become “in God’s eye, what in God’s eye” they are – that is, the living image of His Son (Hopkins 11).
Hopkins expresses this sentiment again when he writes, “…for Christ plays in ten thousand places / Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his / To the Father through the features of men’s faces” (12-14).  It is men – men who live justly and according to God’s grace – who make Christ present in the world.  Through their actions and conformity to Christ’s image, men, far more so than any animal, plant, or object, are able to bring Christ to others and are the only earthly beings able to – like Christ – consciously do the will of the Father.  And, thus, through them “Christ plays in ten thousand places” and men become “[l]ovely” to God through their own beings (“through the features of [their] faces”) because they conform to His desire in the context of their own individual callings (Hopkins 12, 13). 
Thus man, for Hopkins, selves in a special way that the animal, vegetable, and mineral inscapes of the world cannot.  Man alone, for Hopkins, selves in such a way that he becomes not only more fully man, but also transforms to become more fully God-like.  Men, in contrast to other, lower, inscapes, selve by doing a will that is beyond their own. Hopkins states of the lesser beings in nature that they “[cry] Whát I dó is me: for that I came” – that is, their sole purpose would seem to be fulfilling their own limited existence through expression of their own essence and nothing more – but man’s task is much different (8).  Like Christ, who said, “For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me” (words that Hopkins echoes, and seems to deliberately use for purposes of juxtaposition, in referring to the selving of lesser creatures) man is meant to act according to God’s will rather than his own desire (John 6:38).
Hence, while it remains true that, in Hopkins’s view, “[e]ach mortal thing does one thing and the same” – that is, selves – still the manner of that selving proves different for creatures in different orders of being.  For Hopkins, because man is part of a higher created order than animal, vegetable, and mineral life, he selves in a singular way.  That is, man becomes more fully the likeness of the God in whose image he was uniquely made.  It is men, and men alone, who can please God in this way: through “the features of men’s faces” – and not those of any other created beings – does “Christ [play] in ten thousand places” and become “[l]ovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his / To the father” (Hopkins 12, 13-14, emphasis added).  To do this, moreover, man must become “just” and “[keep] all his goings graces” by imitating Christ and so, to some extent, becoming Christ in the view of the Father: he selves by “[acting] in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is” (Hopkins 9, 10, 11).  That is – man selves by becoming conformed not to himself, but to Christ.


Works Cited
Hopkins, Gerard Manley. Poems and Prose. “As kingfishers catch fire.” London: Penguin, 1963. 51. Print. 
The Holy Bible: Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition. London, Eng.: Oxford UP, 1966. Print.


Friday, September 26, 2014

On the Verge of October...

Or very nearly that, anyway.  It seemed meet to me that I get in at least one pseudo-post before September was out.  And how that month has flown away from me!  As ever, dear readers, I crave your indulgence for my extended leave....

For the present, then, I offer a few literary morsels to tease your little grey neurons.  Two have made their appearance already in The Crusader, and one (the first) is on its way to publication hopefully in this coming month's issue.  Good luck, then, and guess away!  Answers can be found on the "Answers" page above.

1M.
I point with three hands
I run without feet
I count without words
What am I?
  
2M.
Spreading arms
Above, below
Falling hands,
New ones grow
What is it ?

3M.
Tied to the floor
Laps at the roof
Mouth is the door
Jailer, the tooth
What is it?

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Finally! A Return to the More Poetic Side of Things....

Fair welcome back to you, friends!  My latest offering I provide you here, after somewhat of a long dearth of poetic productions; make of it what you will!  Just one reminder before you forge ahead: the world is not always as it seems....


+JMJ

Stille Nacht*

By Caitlin Clancy
Copyright 2014

“He said, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.’ Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.  When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.”
            1 Kings 19:11-14

The lamb cries out
In the sheltered fold
Against the cold
Against the cold
The lamb cries out
In the sheltered fold
And the ewe answers back

The wild white starts
Burn in the night
Ever so bright
Ever so bright
The wild white stars
Burn in the night
And the young child looks on

Softly the wind
Walks in the dark
Caressing the lamb
Fondling the lark
Softly the wind
Walks in the dark
And the prostrate world lies still.




*German for Silent Night.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Hot Off the Presses...

Riddles!  Hopefully some more poetry to follow soon;  I have had a few rather good ideas in recent days.  For now,  here are a few of my latest brain-benders.  Answers provided in the customarily indicated location (above).  Bon appétit! 

1L.
I am uncontrollable
Uncritical
And uncautious;
Women sought me
Bacchus taught me
Ophelia I drowned
Ludwig I crowned
What am I?


2L.
Hand of the leg
Prostrate on the ground
Moves to seek new places
Never knows what’s found
What is it?

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Curious Conundrums for the Month of July...

Good day to you!  Whilst my longer projects are still in a not-quite-finished state, here are some riddles to tease your wits as you while away the fair summer months.  Good guessing to you!  (Answers, as is customary, may be found on the "Answers" page above.)

1K.
I am not
And I will not be
I was
Before you were
No day dawns
Upon my watch
Nor future
Can occur

What am I?

2K.
Dimmed by daylight
Brightened by dark
Multiplied by division
Enlarged by destruction

What am I?


Friday, July 4, 2014

Midsummer Musings or That Which Is To Come

Well met and good greetings to you!  I fear this is an inexcusably short offering given the now (regrettably) expansive time gap betwixt when I last posted and the present; however, I am afraid I am moving into an ever-busier stage of life, and sometimes I am inattentive to my authorial duties.  That said, I do have some longer and (perhaps) more interesting pieces in the works, several of which I hope to post within the next month or two.  In the meantime, then, I hope you will enjoy what follows -- ! 


+JMJ

Last Thoughts

By Caitlin Clancy
Copyright 2014

Worlds meeting
Death’s greeting
Time’s fleeting
Kiss farewell

Ember sky
Mountains cry
Haildrops fly
Touch the dark

Wondering
Pondering
Thundering
In a cave

Who was I?
Where will I…?
Let me die –

Here be still. *



* N.b. To nip possible confusion in the bud: it has become apparent to me that there seems to be something of a fad in the literary world of late which likes to interpret modern poems in the most depressing and morbid light possible.  Though I know you, gentle reader, are surely a cut above the average, still I feel it necessary to mention that this poem is not in any way about suicide.  End disclaimer. 

Friday, March 7, 2014

Night in Heorot

Good Tidings to you, and a very blessed and holy Lent!

I have today a poem for you that I wrote not too terribly long ago, but which seemed appropriate both to fill the void in my rather sporadic posting and also to acknowledge this penitential season. (As to the latter - can you guess why?  Read it and see if you can decipher what I refer to!  ... And yes, I am incorrigible when it comes to riddles.  I turn everything into riddles.  Come to think of it, I am a riddle... but that subject I shall leave be as potential fodder for another post.)  

Happy reading, then, and God be with ye! 


+JMJ

Night in Heorot
By Caitlin Clancy
Copyright 2013

“About times and dates, brothers, there is no need to write to you for you are well aware in any case that the Day of the Lord is going to come like a thief in the night. It is when people are saying, 'How quiet and peaceful it is' that sudden destruction falls on them, as suddenly as labour pains come on a pregnant woman; and there is no escape.”
      I Thessalonians 5:1-3[1]

In a bygone age, our schoolboys read,
Good Hrothgar drunk his mead;
Beowulf rent mad Grendel’s arm
And gold was sowed like seed

In long-gone years we waged our fight
With battlements and spears,
But now we, spent, are moved to write
And war with unshed tears

The doom,
The doom,
The doom of our time
Is knocking at the gates –
And woe to the one who heeds not the war
And woe to the one who casts open the door
And fool be the one who tries to ignore
The flame-sword that God creates[2]

No fanfare greets the suited man
Who, nervous, tugs his tie;
No horn is blown for skirmish unknown
Where boys, silent, bleed and die –
Before the walls that never were,
But here that ought have been,
Under the red of a flashing sign
Behold the carrion birds again
And souls that learned not to cry

The doom,
The doom,
The doom of our time
Is found at the heart of the home:
It festers in the deep of a look
It billows large from the thoughts of a book
Its meaning moves with the castle-rook
Or the words soft-read from the tome

Though no sorcerer here
His magic works and
No dragon his fire blasts,
Yet some of the waves upon the earth
Come not out of the sea
And some of the ones who rise and walk
Are born unnaturally
And some still lurk in the close–cropped verge
And eye those going past –
Yea, and behold, the monsters still rise
From up out of the grass!

The doom,
The doom,
The doom of our time
Comes not in battle array
It looks not to put upon hearts its fear
Nor seeks to make stallions charge back and rear
And tears not from mothers a wishful tear
But rends us now twain with cold thoughtless steel
Swung silent in the fray

Listener, be watchful; take back with you
This caution, this thought, this word –
That not all you feel and think and do
Is distant from what you have heard
Remember that good gold given well
Can snatch a soul from the depths of hell
Remember that fealty to one’s lord
Has worth above the dark world’s fjord
Remember the fate of Volsung’s young           
And that some deeds are best left unsung
And, above all, by our God who forgives,
Remember, remember that Grendel lives!




[2] Reference to Genesis.  A fool is he who tries to reenter Eden against the command of God.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Red Courage

There is not much to say about this post, so I will let it speak for itself.

God bless!
Caitliceach Cailín


Red Courage
By Caitlin Clancy
Copyright 2014

You barely remembered
The shrapnel
Or how the shell
Found your side

All you knew
Was the sickening stab
Of the thought
That they all had died

And that moment
When you would
Beg them
To leave you lying there

To leave you lying there

To let you go from where
The cannons
And the rifles blare
To leave you lying there

To let you go from there,
With the smoky,
Bleeding air;
To leave you lying there.

Then amid the muzzles’ flash
Bright and quick
You saw her sash
Dancing in light

You heard your child call
In a voice
So very small
‘Don’t leave me lonely here’

Don’t leave me lonely here
Don’t leave me lonely here
Was ever a cry so dear?

Pain gushing
From your side
You saw Him
Who made the world His Bride

Your own dark crimson tide
Beside that ocean
Seemed
To ebb –

I won't leave you lonely, dear,
Let me come to dry your tear,
Don’t leave me lying here –
This life also is of God.






Friday, February 14, 2014

February Flutterings: St. Valentine's Day and Norse Poetry

Greetings, my friends!

I meant to post nearly two weeks ago now, but was interrupted and, regrettably, forgot to return and post what I had intended!  My apologies for the omission.  

The poem I have selected for today is, I believe, in the spirit of St. Valentine's Day, though not in the Hallmark sense.  Rather, I take it to be more in the spirit of faith, sacrifice, and martyrdom - after all, St. Valentine was such a one, and the true love he exemplified (and which can also be seen in all loves: married, dating, or simply the love between friends) must of necessity be sacrificial love if it is to be in any sense real. (I will spare you the rest of my theological-philosophical treatise on the nature of human and divine love here, but I do hope I can, with today's poem, and the encounter between Christian and pagan faiths contained therein, point very vaguely towards some degree of this love.)  

One last note before I let you keep reading: in this poem I dabble a bit in the use of a device of old Norse poetry known as the "kenning."  Kennings are endless fascinating, in my undoubtedly correct opinion, and if you are curious you can gain a basic knowledge of them HERE.

Enjoy & God bless!

+JMJ
Bjorn
By Caitlin Clancy
Copyright 2014

They came from the doors
Of the deathless realm
And salted our fields behind

Grey smoke wafts about
The mist-shrouded helm –
A new scar upon a young mind

The dragon-head rocks
Like the world we lost
Like the home-hearths they broke and burned

Too late did we look
Through the piercing frost
Our lesson by fire would be learned

Red ripples brush my stiff shoulders
Green folds blow, wave-wrap my waist
God’s tears drench down from the Heavens
Would that my word had been ‘haste!’

Black haze belonged to that morning
And bronze-heat consumed the fast night
To long lay the day in their trusses
To short sped our trial and flight

The strike of the cold on my temples
The taste of the newcomer’s scent
Surely the Temple was gladder,
When God’s own high garments it rent!

Leaning on pine-hewn post-prison
Fast-tied hands begging for help
But none here will heed Supplication
Unless for to drown it a whelp

In chains for cold priestly silver,
Bound tight for beloved Freyja’s tears[1]
Sword-sleep[2] strewn about like the ashes
The sun hewn down by Thor’s spears

A sigh escapes the prisoner
The dark boy turns to read
He finds her face is open
Unmarked save fear and need
Whate’er he sees her hiding
His own lips do conceal
Perhaps after long waiting
Her fresh-made wound will heal

His hard thoughts fight inside him
His feeder-of-raven[3] heart
Begins to learn the question
That makes all lordly art
But ignorance is blinding
And he has none to tell
The wound-hoe[4] at his side
Has marked the world as fell

Brown hide of Gunnr’s horse[5]
Enslung[6] about his form
Dark eyes breed black hist’ry
Which ash fires still keep warm

The sky-jewel[7] fades
The west is caught
In the slumber-storm of night
The helmsman nods upon his oar
And stirs to keep them right
The winter ices over them,
The tall mast and the side,
But still the boy looks onward
And thought, if she had died...

A flicker of the bane-of-wood[8]
Wakes gently in his breast
Of sleep, food, home, her kinfolk –
Of all she is bereft
Dark windows to a lighter soul
Glance from prow to stern
None will see it, none will know,
But only one will learn

She shivers in the ice-blast
Enwrapping her soft form
Then sudden, light and tranquil –
Wolf-skin to keep life warm
She wakens and she wonders
She aches to turn her head
But sees nothing save starlight
From eyes long dry and red

A sigh once more
And then a tear
And then the world is gone
Her white neck arching slowly,
Head drooping like a fawn

Beneath, the swan-road[9]
Breathes away
And blows to other lands
Wanderers bearing precious hoards
And girls with gentle hands

Beneath the prow
New warrior’s heart
Bleeds like the birds he slew
Dark eyes give out cold burning drops
Recalling slaughter-dew[10]
Faces flicker in the night
Children he never knew

He turns and then recoils –
His image in a shield
Was this, then, why he toiled?
For this broken, blemished yield?
Hard hands unloose the woven belt
‘Round ancient, sterner sword
A clatter strikes upon the deck
Of steel and broken cord –
Repulsed his one day’s hist’ry,
He inhales the life restored,
And in that still salt darkness
He made a girl his lord.




[1] “Frejya’s tears” : A Norse kenning meaning gold.
[2] A kenning: death.
[3] The kenning for “warrior.”
[4] The kenning for “sword.”
[5] “Gunnr’s horse” – a wolf.
[6] A coinage of mine.  Means “slung about” – as in, a cape that is hung about one’s shoulders.
[7] A kenning denoting the sun.
[8] The kenning meaning “fire.”
[9] A kenning meaning “the sea.”
[10] A kenning: blood.

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Mid-January Mind Games

And for my customary between-posts-interlude: riddles!  The latest brand and style.  Enjoy!

1J. 
Wide, glowing orb
Or slimmer slice
Dies back and grows
White-hued as ice

What is it? 

2J.
Red-capped as a cardinal
Black-frocked as a priest
White-speckled as an old dog
Lithe, tapping, airy beast!

What is it? 

N.b.: Answers, per my custom, are found on the "answers" page above.