December 9, 2020
As Kingfishers Catch Fire
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 Whát I dó is me: for that I came.
I say móre: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is —
Chríst — 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.
A few weeks after my sinus surgery, my
olfactory sense was restored. It had been years really since I could
smell. Every now and then I'd get a whiff of something, but it was rare.
Now, I am inundated. My hot tea, my food, my cleaning products, my beauty
products, my sweet puppy (whom I thought had no odor--alas!), even stores have
particular smells. I can now distinguish my mask from Stan's because of the
residual aroma of his mouthwash and aftershave. Cooking is more fun.
Eating is more fun. And the wonderful smells of Christmas: pine, cinnamon, and
apple cider are glorious!
Hopkins' poems have the same effect on
me--aurally. The rhythm of the consonance and thickness of the assonance
are too much for some. Some critics find fault with the difficulty of
reading and occasional awkwardness of the poem's diction. I had an
English/Religion professor at Boston University, Geoffrey Hill, a noteworthy poet in his own right, who
would begin each class with the reading of Hopkins' poetry. It was
magical. Maybe it was the British accent, but certainly it was the care,
the passion, and the reverence of his reading that tuned Hopkins' music so
sweetly. Professor Hill made Hopkins' sprung rhythm unwind with force and
fervor.
This is one of my favorite poems, and it is
especially fitting to be included in this blog since it deals with finding our
true purpose--being authentic or the authenticity of being. Hopkins turns
the noun into a verb (as we so often like to do in English; "stress"
becomes I am "stressing" about this, for example.): Selves —
goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,/ Crying Whát
I dó is me: for that I came. The flashing beauty of the kingfisher
and the dragonfly, the noisy clanging of the bell and the rock thrown into the
well with its rich echoing lends itself so wonderfully to the cry of "Me!
This is me! This is who I am and why I'm here!"
And that purpose is given even greater impact
as the transition is made to Christ--the just man. I was always frustrated
as a child when I would look up a word in the dictionary and find the word as
part of its definition: patience--the state of being patient. But here the
"just man justices" doesn't have the same effect. He is justice. He
is love, He is grace. He is Christ and He does what He came to do--keep
grace. Usually one thinks of grace as something freely
given--isn't that how we sing about it in our hymns? Why "keep
grace"? What is the poet saying here? I think "keep" here
means sustain. The love of Christ, his sacrifice, is what continues
grace. And how does that continuing grace work? Through the body of
Christ. Believers are the lovely limbs of Christ. I don't
understand why people talk about social justice as something apart from the
gospel. To be like Christ is to love like Christ--to act, to help, to meet
needs. We are to live "[t]o the Father" through the lovely
limbs and eyes of Christ--serving selflessly and sacrificially. God help
us to be that for which we came!
