I adore Mr. Hopkins, and I just fell in love with this poem in my Victorian poetry class. Think his language choice is splendid, and I really love the bit about ooze and how it makes you think of primordial ooze, but the the last three lines just make me forget to breathe. :)
You should have a fic in the next half-hour or so. :)
I loved my Victorian poetry class. I think it was my favorite, even though my prof gave me a B solely because I didn't amuse him. I was analyzing poetry! I didn't realize he expected me to be funny while doing it!
Lovely poem. Admittedly, I only had a vague idea of what Hopkins was trying to say in the first half (poetry can be so frustratingly baffling to read at times). But I liked the rest of it, especially the last three lines. Overall, a nice Holy Week read. (Only four days until Lent is finally over...)
The first half is a bit dense with imagery, but I think main idea is that of souls drifting up to heaven while the earth burns away beneath. I really miss my poetry classes, and didn't quite realize it!
Okay, I re-read that first part after reading your comment and now it makes more sense. Seriously though, the official definition of poetry should really include the phrase "as difficult to decipher as a Conet Project radio broadcast".
I've never read this one before, but there's some great language and images in it.
It's really nice seeing all these poems, isn't it? Although I'm in a complete quandry about choosing one to post and am dithering between three or four at the moment.
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You should have a fic in the next half-hour or so. :)
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I'm excited about my fic. Yours is...well, not started yet, but it will be soon ;).
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Hope the fic lives up to your hopes. :)
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It's really nice seeing all these poems, isn't it? Although I'm in a complete quandry about choosing one to post and am dithering between three or four at the moment.
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