Post by FilmFlaneur on Apr 24, 2024 19:29:28 GMT
No worst, there is none
Gerard Manley Hopkins
No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-old anvil wince and sing —
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling-
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief."'
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap
May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small
Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
One of G M Hopkins' 'Terrible Sonnets' written by the Jesuit poet in deep depression towards the end of his life, this poem is the one of the set that comes closest to describing outright failure of belief. Here the Comforter brings no comfort, Mary no relief, and life ends only with death, the only thing he has to look forward to. Hopkins was a troubled homosexual who spent his short life within the church and whose fame as a poet was largely posthumous. From the hand of someone who worked hard at his faith - he only just missed being a priest - the honest gloom and despair of such a work is both troubling and affecting.
Gerard Manley Hopkins
No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-old anvil wince and sing —
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling-
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief."'
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap
May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small
Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
One of G M Hopkins' 'Terrible Sonnets' written by the Jesuit poet in deep depression towards the end of his life, this poem is the one of the set that comes closest to describing outright failure of belief. Here the Comforter brings no comfort, Mary no relief, and life ends only with death, the only thing he has to look forward to. Hopkins was a troubled homosexual who spent his short life within the church and whose fame as a poet was largely posthumous. From the hand of someone who worked hard at his faith - he only just missed being a priest - the honest gloom and despair of such a work is both troubling and affecting.