Dear friends,
It’s April. In much of the Northern Hemisphere, spring is springing. With apologies to those who live in places where other seasons are arriving, I thought it would be a good idea to look at Gerard Manley Hopkins’ gorgeous sonnet “Spring,” one of my favourites of his.
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring – When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling. What is all this juice and all this joy? A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy, Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning, Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy, Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.
“Spring” by Gerard Manley Hopkins; poem is in the public domain
My favourite line is “What is all this juice and all this joy?” For a while, I lived next to a field in the northwest of Ireland that seemed like a field of the world. In it, there were patient sheep and their bouncy offspring; there were foxes; I saw hares racing like deer (literally as I am writing this I am keeping half an eye on a prancing squirrel outside my window at Butler University in Indianapolis). I saw cows, hedgehogs, red squirrels, pine martens. Also in that field were field mice and small birds of many colours, dun and delicious — long-tailed tits plucking feathers from the bodies of dead birds to line their sock-like nests for their many eggs.
I am struggling, like many, with the news from places I care about, and I wonder how practices of serious care will prevail. Despite what some might say, we know that care for each other is a political force that must be at the imperative of public service. We enter the room of such care through different doors, for sure, but I struggle to know how to uplift care when brutality seems the fluency and empathy is made an enemy. It is not frippery, for me, to turn to a poem that looks at land. While Hopkins’ language about Christ feels far from my interest, I am not far from the “sour with sinning”. I hope that the “worthy the winning” might be found, for those who suffer most.
To turn to art, whether that’s Hopkins’ poem above, or The Unsung Collective’s rendition of Max Richter’s reversioning of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, is an act of nurturing the imagination. None of these artists had to make what they made, and they made them in times where terrible things too occurred. And, many years later, we turn to them to remember ourselves. And in such remembering, I have a hope — a small hope, because art does not make saints of us — that our energies might be turned to that which sustains, grows, and flourishes, rather than reduces, commodifies, and threatens.
This week I’m curious where you land as you read Hopkins’ poem: What line — what juice, what joy, what sinning, what winning — leaps, hare-like, out to you or even from you?
Even as I am finishing this, I see the word “richness” and think of what nature teaches about what such a word means, in season and out of it, Northern Hemisphere’s approach of spring, Southern’s oncoming autumn, equatorial seasons in the long knowledge of knowing the in-between of tides and winds and harvests.
PS: I was delighted to talk about Kitchen Hymns with the delicious Poetry For All people in St. Louis the other week; that episode of their podcast is up. I also met the singular and magnificent Kate Bowler in the Carolina of the North a few months back; our conversation is also now up. Also, if you are looking for a great spring poetry practice, the magnificent poet Sunnah Khan is hosting online Poetry as Prayer workshops; all proceeds go to support displaced Palestinians.
Poetry in the World
A list of events: Online and in Australia (Melbourne, Queenscliff, Sydney), Ireland (Cork, Dublin, Listowel), and the US (Chicago, Indianapolis, Memphis)
April 7, Indianapolis, Indiana, US
I’ll be at Butler University as part of its visiting writers series. No need to register, and you can find the details here.
April 9, Chicago, Illinois, US
In the afternoon, I’ll be offering — along with museum educator Marielle Epstein — a gallery tour at the Art Institute of Chicago, looking at how art and poetry invite us to be present to each other. You need to register, and you’ll find details here.
April 10 & 11, Memphis, Tennessee, US, and online
I’ll be back at Calvary Episcopal Church for two events: an evening interview on the first day and a midday sermon on the second day (the sermon will also be livestreamed). Both events are free to attend, and you can find details here.
April 26–27, Melbourne, Australia
I’m giving a two-day retreat on “Poems on Being with Each Other,” with the Small Giants Academy lovelies. Registration here.
May 2–4, Queenscliff, Victoria, Australia
I’ll be speaking at the delicious sacrededge festival. More info here.
May 7, Sydney, Australia
The marvelous Miriam of Poetica is organising a poetry reading in the evening. Get tickets here.
May 8, Sydney, Australia
I’ll be speaking in the morning at the Welcoming Cities Symposium. Registration here.
May 8–11, Melbourne, Australia
I’ll be speaking on the Saturday (May 10) of the Melbourne Writers Festival. Festival info here.
May 13–17, Cork, Ireland
I’ll be reading and conducting an interview at the Cork International Poetry Festival. Details here.
May 20, Dublin, Ireland
I’ll be reading at the International Literature Festival Dublin (ILFD). You can get a ticket here.
May 29, Listowel, County Kerry, Ireland
I’ll be reading at Listowel Writers’ Week. Information here.
It’s still a dark and dreary world out there. I’m working on finding my spring lift, although I normally enjoy the winter time. The politics of the US have overwhelmed me I’m sorry to say. Until yesterday. The damp, rainy day here in Maine was emblazoned with people out marching, from tiny towns to the state capitol and everywhere in between. Spring has sprung!
For me it's:
"When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;"
As graduate of environmental science I love the juxtaposition of the human label 'weed' with its negative connotation and the vital energy afforded of the season. Where nature, the Divine if you will knows no distinction between plant favoured or despised.
I also love the sound of this line with its alliteration, aspirated 'h' in wheel and the 'sh' at beginning and end of words. It gives to me a moistening in the mouth and the idea of effortless rebirth and growth. A mouth watering line.