Tricolored Heron
Lines from
As Kingfishters Catch Fire
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; 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,
Crying What I do is me; for that I came . . .
Your heron is catching fire,George! I've read the poem several times and wonder if we ever overcome our need to focus on and pay tribute to self. Or have I misinterpreted?
ReplyDeleteThanks for your lovely comment, Barb. This poem circles around in the end to our relationship with God, so perhaps your understanding will be enhanced by the last eight lines I omitted: "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 in man's faces." I used only the first part of the poem in this posting because I felt that the central point being made by Hopkins is true, regardless of whether one is a Christian or not. The central point, in my view is this: All things created are unique, and we honor both creation and the source of creation, however one defines it, by BEING what we are called to be. The kingfisher is designed to catch fire, so that's what it does; the dragonflies are designed to draw flame when the sun penetrates their diaphanous wings, so that's what they do; the struck bell "flings out broad its name," for that's what its made for. In short, we fulfill our purpose and honor our creation when we become what we were designed to become — when we joyously follow our individual calling — or, to put it another way, when we do not pretend to be anything other than our authentic selves. That's my take, but others may read it differently. That's the joy of poetry; the reader is allowed to enter the poem and become a part of it.
DeleteThis reminded me that I recently saw a page in one of Billy Collins' notebooks in which he wondered "whether we live in words like bees live in honeycombs".
ReplyDeleteI think we do live in words, Dominic, and some of us — you would be one — live deeper in words than others. Correction: Maybe I should say that you appear to live in words and musical notes.
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