You and me. We're a lot alike. Here's why... you probably haven't heard of a man by the name of Gerard Manley Hopkins until now. So when my tutor, Vahni Capildeo [a brilliant Trinidad-born poet and Rhodes scholar] assigned me an essay on how Hopkins's poetry and prose manifests voice, I said, "Sure." In my head, I was thinking something along the lines of "What the ____." I'll leave it up to you to fill in the blank. But after reading Hopkins's works and doing some reading on his background, it occurred to me that this Hopkins guy is brilliant. We've all had to skim some Robert Frost in high school, or read Whitman's "O Captain, My Captain" in history [it's about Lincoln's assassination], but this Hopkins fellow was completely new to me. When I think poetry, I have a tendency to think "Grrreat. Emo stuff. Red roses. Yuck." Meet Gerard Manley Butler: the most refreshing, intelligent, honest poet I've come across while being 'forced' into reading him. I feel I owe him an apology for writing him off as another sentimental poet, and think he's one man worth knowing. Before he wrote his poetry, he traced the origin of almost every word he would use, which can be easily overlooked, since (a) words like 'sillion' and 'vermilion' aren't commonly used and (b) who really takes the time to understand the history or connections of such words? Answer: not me. So when I had to take a closer look at his works, I was blown away. Not only do the words 'sillion' and 'vermilion' rhyme, but their original definitions parallel each other. Sillion = an arable plot of land. Vermilion = a brilliant red color. Yet 'vermilion' comes from the Latin word
vermis, meaning 'worm.' Thus, 'vermilion' and 'sillion' rhyme, but it's much deeper than that. So in case you've been wondering what I study for hours on end, it's the abstract details of random writing that actually matters much more than I realized, like the Latin word for 'worm.' Now that I've completely succeeded at sounding like I have no life outside of studies, I'll leave you with this little gem of Gerard's to satisfy your poetic craving.
THE WINDHOVER
I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his
riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As as skate's heel sweeps smooth on bow-bend: the hurl and
gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, -- the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! and the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous. O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
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