As an undergrad discovering Hopkins, I loved this poem in spite of being partly or completely baffled by several parts of it. "Wimpling wing"? "Buckle"? And I only half understood the imagery of those last three lines, but felt them anyway. The vagueness of my sense of some of the images, and the fact that I didn't let it bother me too much, would probably have irritated Hopkins, who tried so hard to be excruciatingly precise in his descriptions.
I did sort of wince at "stirred for a bird." Still do.
Oh, I love that phrase, but then I am an unironic sucker for internal rhyme.
And yes, I remember reading this poem for the first time in high school and feeling that I did not at all understand what was going on --- but that the language was something I could just sort of surf along on, with its strange energy and momentum, and get taken somewhere, even if I didn't know where I was going. I still tend to read like that a lot . . .
I do, and I certainly share the propensity for the spare and the strange, though I don't think Allnutt struck me as she does you.
To say, more strongly, what the effect of The Windhover was on my 19 (?) year-old sensibility was: it was partly physical, an electrical kind of feeling. Whether I got the meaning exactly right just didn't matter.
"Electrical" is just the word. My sense of that has only intensified as I've understood, more and more, what generates that electricity in these poems. I am fascinated by all that, and learn from it, but it was certainly palpable the first time I encountered it, as a young and naive reader. What was there was there, and even without understanding it, I could sense the life in it.
Thank you for reading. and for taking the time to comment. It's been a great first week --- and responses from readers like you have done much to make it so. Thanks again!
As an undergrad discovering Hopkins, I loved this poem in spite of being partly or completely baffled by several parts of it. "Wimpling wing"? "Buckle"? And I only half understood the imagery of those last three lines, but felt them anyway. The vagueness of my sense of some of the images, and the fact that I didn't let it bother me too much, would probably have irritated Hopkins, who tried so hard to be excruciatingly precise in his descriptions.
I did sort of wince at "stirred for a bird." Still do.
Oh, I love that phrase, but then I am an unironic sucker for internal rhyme.
And yes, I remember reading this poem for the first time in high school and feeling that I did not at all understand what was going on --- but that the language was something I could just sort of surf along on, with its strange energy and momentum, and get taken somewhere, even if I didn't know where I was going. I still tend to read like that a lot . . .
But then you also remember that piece I did for you on Gillian Allnutt, so you know how much I'm willing to grant to the spare and the strange!
I do, and I certainly share the propensity for the spare and the strange, though I don't think Allnutt struck me as she does you.
To say, more strongly, what the effect of The Windhover was on my 19 (?) year-old sensibility was: it was partly physical, an electrical kind of feeling. Whether I got the meaning exactly right just didn't matter.
"Electrical" is just the word. My sense of that has only intensified as I've understood, more and more, what generates that electricity in these poems. I am fascinated by all that, and learn from it, but it was certainly palpable the first time I encountered it, as a young and naive reader. What was there was there, and even without understanding it, I could sense the life in it.
My goodness these pieces are fantastic. Thank you both.
Thank you for reading. and for taking the time to comment. It's been a great first week --- and responses from readers like you have done much to make it so. Thanks again!