I am just discovering Gerard Manley Hopkins. I am not exactly a fan, in that I have not read as many of his poems or studied their nuance nearly as closely as I have, say, the lyrics of some of the bands that I claim allegiance to. Perhaps if I had a recording of Hopkins poems it might change, but as it is, I am only just beginning to sit with him from time to time. First impressions: while there is an immediate pleasure I feel in speaking some of his lines, his poems are not exactly easy to read. I find that I need to sit with his words, to stare into them and to let them sink into me, until my insides are somehow molded by his insights. As I get to know him more deeply, it strikes me that the reason I like him is not merely for his way with words, which is something that gives me a glimpse of what brilliance is capable of, but because of the world that begins to emerge, or maybe to be revealed by, his writing.

Now, Hopkins is a Jesuit and a Catholic and I think that this fact might be part of the reason I like him. I am not saying that the fact that he is identified as such is what inspires me (like when I was a kid I liked the guy in MacGuyver just because he was from Minnesota). What I am speaking about is this: the reason that I like Hopkins is specifically because he writes who he is. As he said, “the just man justices,” which I suppose means that the Jesuit poet, what, poets Jesuitically? Well, sort of. See, when I read Hopkins, I do not get the sense that he is writing for anyone. He is not trying to sell his poems, or his problems, or his brilliant insights. He is neither looking for a market nor is he attempting to reach the broadest audience. Instead, his ambition appears to be a matter of reporting the beauty of perfect moments to people who might appreciate such beauty, or at least be open to having the conversation. Hopkins is a poet, and his writing both describes and informs his world. He writes about both what he sees and what he wants to see, and this, in turn, seems to inform what he sees, and wants to see. He writes life, informed by art, informed by life, etc. and we, as readers, read and find ourselves in his poems, and are molded by his poems.

I think Hopkins is all about describing perfect moments. What is a perfect moment? I am not sure, exactly, but I think that part of it has to do with any moment in which one experiences the joy and pain of creation with the gratitude of one who is fully aware that he or she is both witness and actor, subject and object, player and music. The other part is recognizing that we are creations that are given the gift of creating as we go through our own lives. I read Hopkins and I know that Christ is implied, always, everywhere, in the “ten thousand” faces described in lines not his. Jesus did not speak “Brothers” but he spoke of brothers. He did not speak of “rose moles all in stipple on trout that swim” but he knew the nature of all things, and all trades, their “gear, tackle and trim.” Christ, spoke “I AM,” and with those words, with every step and every word, what he did was truly, wholly, and only Him.

I see Christ when I read Hopkins. I pray when I read Hopkins. I do not mean to say that simply reading his words equates to prayer. Rather, when I read Hopkins I am moved to pray. When I read Hopkins I find that I am reminded of some deep well of life within myself, where emotions bubble up and allow me to call to mind some truly good and beautiful part of creation, like an amnesiac struck suddenly with a memory from his past life. The beauty of Hopkins is that his words ring true, and they make me want to live truly. When I hear his words, I remember that I do not wake up and go to work for a paycheck, but because I want to live as a loving man. I do not practice patience because it is a duty that has been put upon me, but rather, I learn patience because I want to see patience in the world. I read Hopkins and I am reminded of who I am called to be, because I get to celebrate his experience of Christ in all things. I am not sure how that works, exactly, but somehow, in his experience of life related in terms so striking, I am made more keenly aware of the glory of creation. I particular, I am reminded of the glory of this creation, who I am, and I recognize that I want to grow into the man that this creation has the promise to be. All the while, even as I grow, I know, “What I do is me.”

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