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Gerard Manley Hopkins: The Major Works…
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Gerard Manley Hopkins: The Major Works (Oxford World's Classics) (utgåvan 2002)

av Gerard Manley Hopkins

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439343,443 (4.25)5
A collection of the best-known poems by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889). One of the Victorian eras greatest writers, Hopkins reputation has continued to grow since his death. This anthology of works by one of poetrys most daring innovators will undoubtedly become a best-seller. The collection includes The Windhover, The Caged Skylark, Carrion Comfort, Spring and Fall and Inversnaid.… (mer)
Medlem:TheDito
Titel:Gerard Manley Hopkins: The Major Works (Oxford World's Classics)
Författare:Gerard Manley Hopkins
Info:Oxford University Press, USA (2002), Paperback, 480 pages
Samlingar:Ditt bibliotek
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Gerard Manley Hopkins: The Major Works (Oxford World's Classics) av Gerard Manley Hopkins

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I've really only read a few poems in here, and those, over and over. God's Grandeur, The Windhover: To Christ Our Lord, Pied Beauty, Spring and Fall: To a Young Child -- all written roughly during the same period are my very selected favorites, and the ones most anthologized. I am going to shelf this as reference and mark it as a re-read.

But I want to say a word about Hopkins as a poet. For one like I am, essentially disinterested in active religious thought (I practice religious thought that consists of thinking about how religious thought works rather than having religious thought myself, in strictest terms), finding the appeal in Hopkins' overtly religious poetry has been something of a replacement for my laid-aside religious nature. His synestheia induced joy and nature worship in the language of Christianity is at once comforting and healing for me. Perhaps it's not so bad a thing (you listening Dawkins, Hitchens et al?) to find God to be something that makes you weep for beauty and filled with love.

On the other hand, that same religion made Hopkins hate himself and his nature, and his final wishes were that all his poetry would be destroyed by his friend. Luckily, his friend didn't keep to that desire, or we would be much more impoverished. ( )
  wickenden | Mar 8, 2021 |
His work is is beautiful. One of my favorite poets ( )
  WonderlandGrrl | Jan 29, 2016 |
Way back when, in the days before Evening All Afternoon, I wrote about being so struck by the unexpected meter and richly textured language of Gerard Manley Hopkins's poem "Pied Beauty" while, of all things, taking a standardized test, that I wrote down the first line of the poem on a piece of scrap paper and shoved it into my pocket. My discovery of Hopkins probably still takes my personal prize for most intense aesthetic experience in a testing environment; never mind that I got the answer wrong. Ever since then I've meant to explore his poetry more fully, and the time has finally come...although I must admit that it's coming slowly.

Not that "Pied Beauty" is an uncharacteristic example of his oeuvre. Far from it: if anything, I've been surprised by the extent to which every poem of Hopkins's seems to be utterly representative of the rest of his work. They are nearly all, like "Pied Beauty," deeply attuned to the natural world, and, like "Pied Beauty," almost all those written after 1875 are in Hopkins's characteristic sprung rhythm. (Sprung rhythm differs from normal English-language verse in that it counts total stresses per line rather than total syllables. So technically, you could have as many syllables in a poetic foot as you wanted, as long as only one of them were stressed—a trick beloved of Bob Dylan. You could also potentially have many single-syllable feet in a row.) Almost without exception, Hopkins's word choice is as rich and suggestive as in "Pied Beauty," and his syntax is often much more complex. And, possibly most defining of all, his fervent, sometimes tortured Catholicism is the raison d'être of all but a small handful of these verses.

My slow progress is, I think, down to a combination of the last two qualities: the sheer density and unexpectedness of Hopkins's imagery is a plus, but a challenging plus. The religiosity, I must admit, gives this religious agnostic pause when consumed in larger doses than a poem or two at a time. I can't help but feel this is a personal flaw (a great book can be about anything, after all, and I read plenty of novels by and about Christians), but there you have it. Fantastic imagery, compelling rhythm, lots and lots of Christ and the Christian god.


GOD'S GRANDEUR



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 oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

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 soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.



And, for all this, nature is never spent;

   There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

   Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastwards, springs—

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Yes, I chose to pull this poem because of the odd image of God's grandeur "oozing" oilily; there are a few things here that might tie into the disgust project. Before I go there, though, a little diversion into Hopkins's odd placement in time; to me, he almost seems to belong to any era except the late 1800s, when this poem was actually written. The sprung meter, although pioneered by Hopkins in modern verse, was something he claimed to have gleaned from old English folk songs and nursery rhymes. This, together with his love of alliteration, archaic word forms ("reck," "trod") and almost kenning-like compound forms (no great example in this poem, but "The Windhover"'s "dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon" leaps to mind) give his poetry a faux-medieval cast. The oddness and experimentalism of his versification strikes me as Modernist. The way in which he cleaves to the natural world in the face of human corruption ("nature is never spent; / There lives the dearest freshness deep down things") strikes me as high Romantic, as does the sheer intensity of his spiritual angst. I suppose the religious piety itself is the only thing about Hopkins that comes off as particularly Victorian, if you don't count the seven years during which he refused to write poetry out of a sense of duty to his priestly order.

It makes that test question very devious, is all I'm saying.

In greater seriousness, what about the grandeur of God massing and oozing like oil? The image communicates well the pervasiveness Hopkins is getting at here—that the entirety of Creation is so super-saturated with God's grandeur that it seeps out of the world like oil from a crushed olive, and masses as it "gathers to a greatness." Like a staining sauce about to drip onto the carpet, or pitch seeping out of a wounded tree. So yes, hard to ignore, certainly. But also kind of gross, don't you think? Maybe "gross" is going too far, but disturbing. There's something disquieting about the idea of any substance "oozing" out of every surface around one, regardless of what that substance is. But come to think of it, there's also something a bit contradictory about even trying to imagine "grandeur" that "oozes." Grandeur as a bright flash "like shining from shook foil," yes: light is usually conceptualized as clean and illuminating, both Godlike qualities. It's hard to be contaminated by light, or even by fire. But oil, especially oil described as "oozing" (as opposed to, say, anointing), strikes me as both dirty and obscuring, more like the "blearing" and "smearing" of trade and toil a few lines later, than like anything grand or numinous.

I mean, personally, I quite like this image of an oozing, oily god. A very tactile, yet slippery god. One of the things that drew me to "Pied Beauty" was Hopkins's celebration of an imperfect, impure-seeming creation:


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.

Elsewhere, though—even elsewhere in this poem!—Hopkins seems to hew to the more traditional opposition between "freshness" of the natural world and man's "smudge" and "smell." The Holy Ghost broods with "bright wings," which associate the divine with both nature (birds' wings) and the light that flames out "like shining from shook foil" in the second line. Even in "Pied Beauty," my reading is that Hopkins is able to appreciate the odd and "fickle" because they are backed by the everlasting, uncorrupted being "whose beauty is past change."

So to associate the divine itself with oozing oil caught me off guard. I'm not sure what to do with it, but I quite like it. Maybe it's meant to suggest the dangerous aspect of God; after all, the following line is "Why do men then now not reck his rod?" where "reck" denotes concern or alarm, and the divine "rod" brings to mind that of Aaron (which turns miraculously to a serpent when laid before the Pharoah, then consumes all the rods of the Pharoah's sorcerers). So maybe the contaminating and dangerous elements of an "oozing" substance are reflected in the aspects of God that test and punish. "Crushed," in the Biblical tradition, brings to mind the serpent crushed under Christ's heel, which is echoed by the mention of the rod, and even something "flaming out" with purifying fire could be dangerous. These hints of threat and punishment seem an odd fit for Hopkins's theology, which at first flush appears more of the "Commune with the goodness of Nature and you're communing with the goodness of God" variety, but it's probably more complex than that. After all, the man did write a long poem appreciating the divine powers behind a shipwreck.

So, I continue along my slow way. I'll leave you with Hopkins being slightly more predictable but no less lingually delicious about the degeneration of humanity; I don't need to comment in-depth except that the penultimate line is one of my favorites in Hopkin's catalog thus far.



THE SEA AND THE SKYLARK



On ear and ear two noises too old to end

   Trench—right, the tide that ramps against the shore;

   With a flood or a fall, low lull-off or all roar;

Frequenting there while moon shall wear and wend.



Left hand, off land, I hear the lark ascend,

   His rash-fresh re-winded new-skeinèd score

   In crisps of curl off wild winch whirl, and pour

And pelt music, till none's to spill nor spend.



How these two shame this shallow and frail town!

   How ring right out our sordid turbid time,

Being pure! We, life's pride and cared-for crown,



   Have lost that cheer and charm of earth's past prime;

Our make and making break, are breaking, down

   To man's last dust, drain fast towards man's first slime.
4 rösta emily_morine | Sep 6, 2011 |
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This collection, edited by Catherine Phillips, was first published as Gerald Manley Hopkins (1986) in the series "The Oxford authors". It was reissued in the "Oxford world's classics" series as The major works (2002).
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A collection of the best-known poems by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889). One of the Victorian eras greatest writers, Hopkins reputation has continued to grow since his death. This anthology of works by one of poetrys most daring innovators will undoubtedly become a best-seller. The collection includes The Windhover, The Caged Skylark, Carrion Comfort, Spring and Fall and Inversnaid.

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