Gerard Manley Hopkins

thumb|right| What I do is me: for that I came. thumb|right|The just man justices; Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces; Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is — Christ… Gerard Manley Hopkins (28 July 1844 – 8 June 1889) was a Jesuit priest and English poet whose posthumous, 20th-century fame established him among the finest Victorian poets. His experimental explorations in prosody (especially in regard to sprung rhythm) and his vibrant use of imagery established him as both an original and daring innovator in a period of largely traditional verse. Quotes On this day by God's grace I resolved to give up all beauty until I had His leave for it. Journal entry (6 November 1865), as reported in In Extremity: A Study of Gerard Manley Hopkins (1978) by John Robinson, p. 1 What I do is me: for that I came. "As Kingfishers Catch Fire, Dragonflies Draw Flame" (undated poem, c. March - April 1877) - Analysis and information regarding this poem at the Gerard Manley Hopkins Society I say more, the just man justices; Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces; Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is — Christ — 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. "As Kingfishers Catch Fire, Dragonflies Draw Flame" (undated poem, c. March - April 1877) Letters, etc thumb|right|It is a happy thing that there is no royal road to poetry. The world should know by this time that one cannot reach Parnassus except by flying thither. thumb|right|I think that the trivialness of life is, and personally to each one, ought to be seen to be, done away with by the Incarnation. It is a happy thing that there is no royal road to poetry. The world should know by this time that one cannot reach Parnassus except by flying thither. Diary (April 1864) For I think it is the case with genius that it is not when quiescent so very much above mediocrity as the difference between the two might lead us to think, but that it has the power and privilege of rising from that level to a height utterly far from mediocrity: in other words that its greatness is that it can be so great. Letter to A.W.M. Baillie (10 September 1864) Do you know, a horrible thing has happened to me. I have begun to doubt Tennyson. Letter to A.W.M. Baillie (10 September 1864) I think that the trivialness of life is, and personally to each one, ought to be seen to be, done away with by the Incarnation. Letter to E.H. Coleridge (22 January 1866) I am surprised you should say fancy and aesthetic tastes have led me to my present state of mind: these would be better satisfied in the Church of England, for bad taste is always meeting one in the accessories of Catholicism. Letter to his father, Manley Hopkins (16 October 1866) I thought how sadly beauty of inscape was unknown and buried away from simple people and yet how near at hand it was if they had eyes to see it and it could be called out everywhere again. Journal (19 July 1872) All the world is full of inscape and chance left free to act falls into an order as well as purpose. Journal (24 February 1873) Every true poet, I thought, must be original and originality a condition of poetic genius; so that each poet is like a species in nature (not an individuum genericum or specificum) and can never recur. That nothing shd. be old or borrowed however cannot be. Letter to Coventry Patmore, published in The Letters of Gerard Manley Hopkins to Robert Bridges (1955), edited by C. C. Abbott, p. 263 No doubt my poetry errs on the side of oddness. I hope in time to have a more balanced and Miltonic style. But as air, melody, is what strikes me most of all in music, and design in painting, so design, pattern, or what I am in the habit of calling inscape is what I above all aim at in poetry. Now it is the virtue of design, pattern, or inscape to be distinctive, and it is the vice of distinctiveness to become queer. This vice I cannot have escaped. Letter to Robert Bridges (15 February 1879) The poetical language of an age should be the current language heightened, to any degree heightened and unlike itself, but not...an obsolete one. Letter to Robert Bridges (14 August 1879) Take breath and read it with the ears, as I always wish to be read, and my verse becomes all right. Letter to Robert Bridges (25 October 1879 ) Our Lord Jesus Christ, my brethren, is our hero, a hero all the world wants. Sermon (23 November 1879) For myself I make no secret, I look forward with eager desire to seeing the matchless beauty of Christ’s body in the heavenly light. Sermon (23 November 1879) Religion, you know, enters very deep; in reality it is the deepest impression I have in speaking to people, that they are or that they are not of my religion. Letter to A.W.M. Baillie (22 May 1880) I hold with the old-fashioned criticism that Browning is not really a poet, that he has all the gifts but the one needful and the pearls without the string; rather one should say raw nuggets and rough diamonds. Letter to Richard Watson Dixon (17 October 1881) I always knew in my heart Walt Whitman’s mind to be more like my own than any other man’s living. As he is a very great scoundrel this is not a pleasant confession. Letter to Robert Bridges (18 October 1882) By the by, if the English race had done nothing else, yet if they left the world the notion of a gentleman, they would have done a great service to mankind. Letter to Robert Bridges (3 February 1883) You do not mean by mystery what a Catholic does. You mean an interesting uncertainty: the uncertainty ceasing, interest ceases also... But a Catholic by mystery means an incomprehensible certainty: without certainty, without formulation there is no interest;... the clearer the formulation the greater the interest. Letter to Robert Bridges (24 October 1883) It kills me to be time’s eunuch and never to beget. Letter to Robert Bridges (1 September 1885) That is the great end of empires before God, to be Catholic and draw nations into their Catholicism. But our empire is less and less Christian as it grows. Letter to Coventry Patmore (4 June 1886) A great work by an Englishman is like a great battle won by England. It is an unfading bay tree. Letter to Robert Bridges (13 October 1886) It seems then that it is not the excellence of any two things (or more) in themselves, but those two things as viewed by the light of each other, that makes beauty. "On the Origin of Beauty: A Platonic Dialogue" Beauty … is a relation, and the apprehension of it a comparison. "On the Origin of Beauty: A Platonic Dialogue" Wessex Poems and Other Verses (1918) Online at Bartleby.com thumb|A comfort serves in a whirlwind: all Life death does end and each day dies with sleep. I have desired to goWhere springs not fail,To fields where flies no sharp and sided hailAnd a few lilies blow.And I have asked to beWhere no storms come,Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,And out of the swing of the sea. "Heaven-Haven", lines 1-8 Elected Silence, sing to meAnd beat upon my whorlèd ear,Pipe me to pastures still and beThe music that I care to hear. "The Habit of Perfection", lines 1-4 Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb: It is the shut, the curfew sent From there where all surrenders come Which only makes you eloquent. "The Habit of Perfection", lines 5 - 8 Thou mastering meGod! giver of breath and bread;World’s strand, sway of the sea;Lord of living and dead;Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh,And after it almost unmade, what with dread,Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh?Over again I feel thy finger and find thee. "The Wreck of the Deutschland", lines 1-8 Hope had grown grey hairs,Hope had mourning on,Trenched with tears, carved with cares,Hope was twelve hours gone. "The Wreck of the Deutschland", lines 115-118 Abel is Cain's brother and breasts they have sucked the same. "The Wreck of the Deutschland", line 160 The world is charged with the grandeur of God.It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oilCrushed. "God's Grandeur", lines 1-4 Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soilIs bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. "God's Grandeur", lines 5-8 There lives the dearest freshness deep down things. "God's Grandeur," line 10 Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies!O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air!The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there! "The Starlight Night" (1877), lines 1-3 Nothing is so beautiful as Spring—When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrushThrough the echoing timber does so rinse and wringThe ear, it strikes like lightning to hear him sing. "Spring", stanza 1 I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his ridingOf the rolling level underneath him steady air, and stridingHigh there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wingIn his ecstasy! "The Windhover", lines 1-5 Glory be to God for dappled things—For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. "Pied Beauty", lines 1-3 All things counter, original, spare, strange;Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:Praise him. "Pied Beauty", lines 7-11 Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks ariseAround; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behaviourOf silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavierMeal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies? "Hurrahing in Harvest", lines 1-4 I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour. "Hurrahing in Harvest", lines 5-6 Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,All the air things wear that build this world of Wales. "In the Valley of the Elwy", lines 9-10 Ask of her, the mighty mother:Her reply puts this otherQuestion: What is Spring?—Growth in everything. "The May Magnificat", stanza 4 My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,All felled, felled, are all felled;Of a fresh and following folded rankNot spared, not oneThat dandled a sandalledShadow that swam or sankOn meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. "Binsey Poplars", lines 1-8 O if we but knew what we doWhen we delve or hew—Hack and rack the growing green!Since country is so tenderTo touch, her being so slender,That, like this sleek and seeing ballBut a prick will make no eye at all,Where we, even where we meanTo mend her we end her,When we hew or delve:After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. "Binsey Poplars", stanza 2 When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I’ll not play hypocriteTo own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; butThat piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allowsAlarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it? "Peace", lines 3-6 Felix Randal the farrier, O he is dead then? my duty all ended,Who have watched his mould of man, big-boned and hardy-handsomePining, pining, till time when reason rambled in it and someFatal four disorders, fleshed there, all contended? "Felix Randal", lines 1-4 Poor Felix Randal;How far from then forethought of, all thy more boisterous years,When thou at the random grim forge, powerful amidst peers,Didst fettle for the great grey drayhorse his bright and battering sandal! "Felix Randal", lines 11-14 Margaret, are you grievingOver Goldengrove unleaving? "Spring and Fall", lines 1-2 Ah! as the heart grows olderIt will come to such sights colderBy and by, not spare a sighThough worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;And yet you will weep and know why. "Spring and Fall", lines 5-9 Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressedWhat heart heard of, ghost guessed:It ís the blight man was born for,It is Margaret you mourn for. "Spring and Fall", lines 12-15 What would the world be, once bereftOf wet and of wildness? Let them be left,O let them be left, wildness and wet;Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet. "Inversnaid, lines 13-16 How to keep—is there any any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, lace, latch or catch or key to keepBack beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, … from vanishing away? "The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo: The Leaden Echo, lines 1-2 Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty's self and beauty's giver. "The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo: The Golden Echo, line 19 Wild air, world-mothering air,Nestling me everywhere,That each eyelash or hairGirdles; goes home betwixtThe fleeciest, frailest-fixedSnowflake; that’s fairly mixedWith, riddles, and is rifeIn every least thing’s life. "The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe", lines 1-8 I say that we are woundWith mercy round and roundAs if with air. "The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe", lines 34-36 World-mothering air, air wild,Wound with thee, in thee isled,Fold home, fast fold thy child. "The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe", lines 124-126 Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of manIn me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. "Carrion Comfort", lines 1-4 That night, that yearOf now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God. "Carrion Comfort", lines 13-14 No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring. "No Worst, There Is None", lines 1-2 O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne’er hung there. Nor does long our small Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all Life death does end and each day dies with sleep. "No Worst, There Is None", lines 9 -15 I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.What hours, O what black hoürs we have spentThis night! "I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark, Not Day", lines 1-3 I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decreeBitter would have me taste: my taste was me;Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I seeThe lost are like this, and their scourge to beAs I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse. "I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark, Not Day", lines 9-14 Natural heart’s ivy, Patience masksOur ruins of wrecked past purpose. "Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray", lines 6-7 My own heart let me have more have pity on; letMe live to my sad self hereafter kind,Charitable; not live this tormented mindWith this tormented mind tormenting yet. "My own heart let me have more have pity on", lines 1-4 I am all at once what Christ is, ' since he was what I am, andThis Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ' patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,Is immortal diamond. "That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the Comfort of the Resurrection", lines 22-24 Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contendWith thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why mustDisappointment all I endeavour end? "Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend", lines 1-4 Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain. "Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend", line 14 The widow of an insight lost she lives, with aimNow known and hand at work now never wrong.Sweet fire the sire of muse, my soul needs this;I want the one rapture of an inspiration. "To R. B.", lines 7-10 The best ideal is the trueAnd other truth is none.All glory be ascribed toThe holy Three in One. "Summa", lines 1-4 The Principle or Foundation An address based on The Spiritual Exercises, written by St. Ignatius of Loyola, the Spanish founder of the Society of Jesus. He is so great that all things give him glory if you mean they should. So then, my brethren, live. Any day, any minute we bless God for our being or for anything, for food, for sunlight, we do and are what we were meant for, made for — things that give and mean to give God glory. It is not only prayer that gives God glory but work. Smiting on an anvil, sawing a beam, whitewashing a wall, driving horses, sweeping, scouring, everything gives God some glory if being in his grace you do it as your duty. Comments on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola When I compare myself, my being-myself, with anything else whatever, all things alike, all in the same degree, rebuff me with blank unlikeness. I find myself both as man and as myself something more determined and distinctive, at pitch, more distinctive and higher pitched than anything else I see. Searching nature I taste self but at one tankard, that of my own being. I consider my selfbeing … that taste of myself, of I and me above and in all things, which is more distinctive than the taste of ale or alum, more distinctive than the smell of walnutleaf or camphor, and is incommunicable by any means to another man. For human nature, being more highly pitched, selved, and distinctive than anything in the world, can have been developed, evolved, condensed, from the vastness of the world not anyhow or by the working of common powers but only by one of finer or higher pitch and determination than itself. Quotes about Gerard Manley Hopkins There are basically three kinds of poetry: first, poetry which is divine (inspired); secondly, poetry which is crafted; and thirdly, poetry which is inherited. It reminds me of Gerard Manley Hopkins. He has a letter to a friend of his in which he speaks of writing and how there are three voices of the poet: the Olympian (inspired); the Parnassian (when you're really a good poet, you don't write bad poetry but sometimes you write so-so poetry), and finally, there's jargon. 1978 interview in Conversations with Audre Lorde (2004) The tension of Hopkins is nearer to activity: it is activity, muscular, violent, and formal. Muriel Rukeyser The Life of Poetry'' (1949) External links Poems by Gerard Manley Hopkins at PoetryFoundation.org Online texts of Hopkins Poems: First Edition (1918) Gerard Manley Hopkins Society Ltd, Ireland Monasterevin Hopkins Society, Ireland Category:Poets from England Category:Clergy Category:Jesuits Category:Catholics from England Category:1844 births Category:1889 deaths Category:People from London Category:Victorian poets Category:Roman Catholic priests‎