An Essay On Gerald Manley Hopkins

It is perhaps easy to assume that there is a natural contradiction between the role of a poet and the duties of a priest, based on the assumption that the viewpoints that they project onto the world are diametrically opposed. If this assumption is correct, then one naturally expects to see these contradictions and tensions evinced in the poetry of one who was involved in both vocations. This in itself is based on the notion that a literary work is a product of the psyche of the person who wrote it; it follows from this premise that a mind that is enmeshed in tensions between opposing ideals or modus operandi will create work that is equally contradictory. One way in which the role of poet and priest might be different is that they both use different means to convey their message. The poet conveys a message or ideal by means of their poetry; the priest by means of a sermon. The poetic work might act in a mimetic fashion; that is, it mimics the spoken voice - some to a greater extent than others - whilst the discourse of a priest is primarily spoken, and thus no mimesis is involved. This becomes pertinent with regards to Hopkins's work because he was credited with the invention of 'sprung rhythm', a type of rhythm that by means of its meter mimics the spoken word to a greater extent than, for example, iambic pentameter or other rhythms. Thus, in 'Felix Randal', there is an inconsistency of meter that retains far more similarities with normal speech than regular poetic meter does. 'Sickness broke him. Impatient, he cursed at first, but mended/Being anointed and all; though a heavenlier heart began some/Months earlier, since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom/Tendered to him. Ah well, God rest him all road ever he offended.' The meter here is evocative of someone preaching; the caesura in line five lends the first clause a grave, moralising tone - as does the verb choice 'broke'. The triple enjambment over the next three lines then allows the quatrain to accentuate in rhythm, which suggests an increasingly emotive state, which reaches its climax in the final line, in which another caesura breaks this rhythm to allow the ejaculation, 'God rest him all road ever he offended!' The way in which Hopkins uses sprung rhythm to not only lend emphases to the first syllable of each line but also to emphasise these stresses by varying the number of unstressed syllables allows an effective mimicry of the modulations of normal speech. The effect of Hopkins's idiosyncratic sprung rhythm combined with more regular poetic devices such as the caesura and enjambment implies the voice of a preacher, with its oscillations between gravity and levity. However, Hopkins's implication of a sermon by means of his poetry can be interpreted in two ways. The first is that Hopkins is able to use the poetic form as a platform on which he can fulfil his duty as a priest; that is, to preach. If one accepts this interpretation, then a viable conclusion is that there is no conflict between Hopkins's duty as priest and role as poet; he uses the latter to adhere to the former. The second interpretation is that if Hopkins feels the necessity to invent his own meter to convey his message, it is then implied that Hopkins feels that the devices available to him - that is, normal poetic meter and form - are inadequate for him to fulfil his priestly duties through his poetry. This is then indicative of a natural contradiction between his vocations insofar as they do not coalesce. Thus, Hopkins's use of sprung rhythm is not, to be seen as an indicator of a lack of conflict between the two roles; it is his attempt to reconcile that very conflict. Conflict between the roles of poet and priest may also arise from the fact that they are opposed in their ideology. Hopkins was a Jesuit priest, belonging to a school of theology notable for their asceticism. One of the Jesuit principles read as follows: 'Direct a man, first of all, to choose his state of life in view of God and Salvation; secondly, when his state of life is fixed, to order the details of his daily conduct on the same principle.' In this principle there is an all-pervasive Hebraism - devoting all of one's life and mind to the religious facet of one's existence - which can be said to be extremely stifling. This is further supported by Hopkins's diaries and letters, as well as Alfred Turner's biography of Hopkins, which notes that the priests at St. Beuno's were not allowed to read newspapers; they were expected to totally immerse themselves in their practice. This adherence to asceticism and strict routine can be seen as existing in opposition to the underlying ideals of poetic practice, such as creativity and freedom of thought and expression. If one accepts that the conflict of Jesuit ideals and poetic ideals does indeed exist, then one can conjecture that this conflict would affect Hopkins's poetry. There is certainly support for this suggestion, and this support arises as a result of analysis on a number of levels. On the metrical and syntactic level, the inventions of both the curtal sonnet - in 'Pied Beauty' and sprung rhythm are indicative of a desire to be creative and even transgressive; desires that would have undoubtedly been stifled by the rigor of Hopkins's Jesuit priesthood. On the linguistic level, there are countless examples of Hopkins's luxuriousness of language. In Spelt from Sibyl's Leaves, Hopkins writes 'Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable, vaulty, voluminous.stupendous.' The numerous adjectives in this first line are euphonic; they read both as a reverent evocation of the night that Hopkins is experiencing but also as an outpouring of descri ption. This luxuriousness of language and almost ecstatic descri ption is recurrent throughout Hopkins's literary corpus, perhaps no more so than in The Windhover: 'Daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon'. The recurrent consonance and compound adjectives in 'dapple-dawn-drawn' appears almost wilful; yet they speak of a freedom and escape that can be seen to have occurred not only as a result of a heightened religious awareness, but also as the result of an increased creative freedom. His reference to 'the mastery of the thing!' is not only able to be read as a moment of religious epiphany but also a moment of poetic epiphany. In the same vein, one can note what comes before this phrase: 'the achieve of'. Hopkins's use of a verb as a noun - that is, 'achieve' can be read as denoting 'achievement'. The use of the verb form connotes 'doing' - in fact, that doing has replaced being, such is the extent of Hopkins's creative epiphany. That Hopkins felt the need to place words in this alternative context might fairly be seen as an excessive desire for creativity, which in turn implies more than a normal poetic release. One can construe from this that Hopkins's preoccupation with transgressing linguistic and grammatical conventions suggests a conflict between the creative desire of the poet and the ascetic limitations of the Jesuit priest. It is fair to conclude that Hopkins did feel a desire to experiment with language to rather a greater extent than one might normally do, but one does not necessarily have to conclude that this is indicative of a tension between his role as poet and duty as priest. It may simply be that Hopkins's desire for experimentation was founded on purely aesthetic rationale. Hopkins was credited with seeking the 'authentic cadence', and he said that he saw the need to return to 'the naked thew and sinew of the English language'. What Hopkins means by both the 'authentic cadence' and 'the naked thew and sinew of the English language' is indeed somewhat ambiguous; what does the concept of the authentic cadence denote? The connotations are fairly clear: Hopkins felt that the conservative nature of poetry in England was to the detriment of the 'authenticity' of poetry at the time, as well as engineering a departure from the 'pure' English language. This is in itself questionable. One might reasonably ask to what extent it is possible to delineate the 'pure' English language; but in the context of this discussion the conclusion that is most appropriate is that Hopkins's experimentation is derived not from deeply-wrought conflicts between the poetic and the religious, but from thoughts and emotions that are purely concerned with aesthetics. Nevertheless, one might argue that the above quotations take the form of cognitive dissonance; they are Hopkins's attempts to rationalise the internal conflicts he was feeling. Another way in which the conflict between Hopkins's role as poet and his role as priest might manifest itself is through the way in which subject matter is presented and discussed in his poetry. The hypothesis that there is a conflict between the poetic and the religious, or the artistic and the ascetic can be tested by means of looking for tensions or ambiguities in either the denotative qualities of the language or the connotations that can be drawn. In 'The Windhover', Hopkins discusses a moment of religious awakening: 'My heart in hiding/Stirred for a bird'. On first reading, there is little ambiguity here: Hopkins's 'hidden heart' has been 'stirred' by the epiphany of the morning, leading first to the ecstatic exuberance of the first two stanzas, which is then diluted into the rather more rationalized emotion of the final triplet: 'No wonder of it'. However, there are indeed certain ambiguities in these lines. One such ambiguity is the line 'here/Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion/Times more lovelier, more dangerous'. The chief ambiguity is that created by the word 'buckle', because it determines the meaning of all that follows. Hopkins here invokes an ambiguity of the fourth kind as proposed by Empson; the verb 'buckle' has two meanings. The first is buckle as in 'to collapse'; that is, the idea of one's legs buckling beneath them. This interpretation suggests that the protagonist is encumbered by the burden of religious understanding that he now has to bear - the duty, in short, of a Jesuit priest. However, the word 'buckle' can also be read as 'strap in'; as in the sense of to buckle one's seat belt. Should one accept this interpretation, then it reads as a desire to remain in the state of heightened awareness and vigour that Hopkins' protagonist is experiencing. The contradiction here is indicative of the conflict that can be seen throughout the entire poem; the conflict between the 'danger' of leading the ascetic life of the Jesuit, but the almost equal danger of a life without God, in which the 'heart [is] in hiding' easy as that option may be. Nevertheless, it is worth noting that this conflict is resolved by the conclusion of the poem: 'Sheer plod makes plough down sillion/Shine.' The words 'sheer plod' allude to Hopkins's training as a Jesuit priest, in which he was compelled to undergo rigorous training. That the 'sheer plod' has the result of making 'sillion shine' and 'blue-bleak embers' 'gash gold-vermilion' states by means of allegory that the religious training that Hopkins has undergone enables him to see the world not only more clearly - he says that he feels 'No wonder of it'; 'it' is ambiguous but can be inferred to refer to the world - but also as more beautiful; sillion shines, and the lukewarm embers are ignited, and suddenly become resplendent, gushing 'gold-vermilion'. In this sense, however, it is not so much that The Windhover presents a contradiction between Hopkins's poetic role and his duties as a priest; it is more that Hopkins uses his poetry to reconcile a conflict that results from his duty as a priest. In this sense, one could conclude that there is a harmony between the two vocations, because one is used to alleviate conflict in the other. This concept - that of a conflict in the poem being resolved by the conclusion - is one that recurs throughout Hopkins's poetry. In 'The Wreck of the Deutschland', another spiritual crisis is evident. On one hand, Hopkins writes 'Dost thou touch me afresh?' The question here is that of a person who feels distanced from God; this was not a sensation that Hopkins was alien to. It has been noted that Hopkins felt, at times, the feeling of total separation from God'; this is an example of those moments when his duty as a priest - to evince an unwavering and wholehearted faith in God - conflicts with not his role as a poet but his existence as a human being; inconsistent and prone to doubt. Yet, in this instance, the conflict is resolved by the end of the stanza: 'Over again I feel thy finger and find thee'. The consonance of 'f' can be said to create euphony in the final line of the stanza. Hence the phonetic cohesion of the line is indicative of the security that Hopkins's protagonist feels as a result of the regaining of his faith. It is notable that Hopkins does not imply that finding God is necessarily easy; the verb choice 'find' implies searching; the implication being that one has to seek God if he is to 'feel thy finger'. The tone here is, however subtly, faintly didactic and is suggestive of the message a priest might deliver. Accepting this conclusion, 'The Wreck of the Deutschland' is a moment in which Hopkins's role as poet coalesces seamlessly with his role as priest; he is able to deliver his doctrinal message by means of his poetry. One of the problems with this conclusion is that it presumes subtlety on the part of the reader; it is not an obviously didactic message, and it is further obfuscated by the use of the personal pronouns. One might argue that a priest's message should be conveyed by means of second person pronouns, so as to obviate any doubt that the address's moralizing is aimed at the receiver. This is not necessarily so much of an issue in poetry; a reader is more prepared to accept a certain solipsism on the part of the poet. Hopkins's inner conflict is perpetuated throughout the poem, but it is presented in the terms of the first person. 'The frown of his face/Before me, where, where was a, where was a place?' Again, an ambiguity serves to illustrate the crisis at hand. It is debatable whether the first instance of 'where' corresponds to the preceding phrase 'before me', in which case it questions where the face referenced was to be found, or whether it is a tentative attempt to form the question 'where was a place?' This is again the fourth type of Empson's seven ambiguities; whether the interrogative pronoun refers to what precedes it or what succeeds it, the conclusion drawn is that of displacement and conflict in the speaker. However, despite this oscillation between doubt and resolution that occurs throughout 'Wreck of the Deutschland', there is indeed a resolution. 'Let him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east.' Not only does the clause 'Let him easter in us' indicate the belief that one should allow God to enter their life, it is notable that this message utilises second-person pronouns; in this instance, Hopkins deigns to be inclusive as opposed to exclusive. This provides further support for the suggestion that supposing a conflict between the solipsistic role of a poet and the inclusive role of a priest is fallacious. Hopkins, in 'The Wreck of the Deutschland', is able to reconcile that conflict, even if it does take thirty-five stanzas to do so. In the poems discussed thus far, there has always existed a sense of ambiguity over two issues. The first of these is whether a conflict between the role of a poet and duty of a priest does indeed exist, and the second of these is whether Hopkins is aware of such conflicts. A poem that provides perhaps the most compelling evidence for the lack of conflict between the two vocations is To R.B. a poem that is the most autobiographical of those analysed, but is also the one that conveys the strongest sense of cohesion between the Jesuit ideals and the poetic ones. It was earlier remarked that Hopkins's use of idiosyncratic language and syntax could be seen as indicating a sense that the devices at Hopkins's disposal were inadequate as a means by which to convey the Catholic message. In To R.B., however, Hopkins places the Jesuit message into a meticulously formulaic poetic form: the Petrarchan sonnet. It is also an instance of the spiritual conflict that pervades so many of Hopkins's other poems; however, in this instance, the conflict is external, and afflicts someone else: Robert Bridges, Hopkins's close friend and agnostic. Thus, in writing To R.B., Hopkins is fulfilling another of the Jesuit duties; to try and spread Christianity as far as was possible. In using a Petrarchan sonnet, Hopkins creates a wonderful harmony between the message he desires to convey and the form that it is conveyed in. True to the form of a Petrarchan sonnet, the first two quatrains - or octet - present the conflict at hand; the necessity for Bridges to renounce his agnosticism. Hopkins does this subtly, by means of metaphor: 'The strong/Spur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame,/Breathes once and, quenched faster than it came,/Leaves yet the mind a mother of immortal song.' The simile of religion as being like a 'blowpipe flame' involves the use of yet another ambiguity; the differing connotations of fire. On one hand - and given the context, it is more likely that this is the interpretation Hopkins wished a reader to reach - fire implies vigour, and an enlivening force. Thus, the simile suggests that by accepting religion, Bridges will be left with 'the fine delight that fathers thought.' On the other, a blowpipe flame is transient, and Hopkins appears to be aware of this: it 'Breathes once' and is 'Quenched faster than it came'. However, the former interpretation is supported by the suggestion that renouncing agnosticism will 'Leave yet the mind a mother of immortal song'. The sestet of the sonnet, however, reconciles any potential conflict - in fact, it reconciles the conflict for Bridges: 'Now, yields you, with some sighs, our explanation.' In the simplest way possible, the message conveyed is clear; the only plausible conclusion to the poem is that Bridges will 'yield our explanation' and accept religion. On a more subtle level, the reading holds as well: Hopkins's use of anastrophe on the final line reverses the verb and pronoun. That 'yields' precedes 'you' implies that the 'yielding' must come before the pronoun can be acknowledged. This thus suggests that the action of accepting religion must come before any true notion of self becomes possible. This is not simply a one-way relationship; as the duty of the priest feeds off the medium of poetry, so does the subject matter of the priest allow Hopkins to exercise his creative abilities. Whilst the meter and form are more recognizably normal, Hopkins is still able to utilize his syntactic inversions - as in the above anastrophe - and internal rhymes, such as in