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No -- but I'm looking that up! On Sat, 22 Dec 2001, Candice Ward wrote: > > Do you know Geraldine Monk's 1993 collection _Inter-REGNUM_? She takes on > Hopkins in a big way there via a poetic meditation on the 1612 Lancashire > witch hangings. It's a real tour-de-force, and what I find especially > thrilling is her re-voicing of Hopkins's "Blessed Virgin Compared to the Air > We Breathe," in the mouth of one of the witches, thus: > > Demdike Sings > > Wild air, > world-mothering air, > nestling me everywhere, > that's fairly mixed > with riddles > and is rife > in every least things life > and nursing element > > (Welcome in womb and breast > Birth-milk draw like breath) > > Do but stand > where you can lift your hand > skywards; > round four fingergaps > it laps > such sapphire-shot > charged, steeped sky will not > stain light. > > Mark you this: > > It does not prejudice > the glass-blue days > when every colour glows. > > Each shape and shadow shows. > > The seven or seven times seven > hued sunbeam will transmit. > > Perfect. > > Not alter it. > > ________________________________________________ > For those who may not have the Hopkins poem handy, here are its opening > lines and an excerpt from a later passage on which Monk's poem also draws: > > The Blessed Virgin Compared to the Air We Breathe > > Wild air, world-mothering air, > Nestling me everywhere, > That each eyelash or hair > Girdles; goes home betwixt > The fleeciest, frailest-flixed > Snowflake; that's fairly mixed > With, riddles, and is rife > In every least thing's life; > This needful, never spent, > And nursing element; > My more than meat and drink, > My meal at every wink; > This air, which, by life's law, > My lung must draw and draw > Now but to breathe its praise, > Minds me in many ways > Of her who not only > Gave God's infinity > Dwindled to infancy > Welcome in womb and breast, > Birth, milk, and all the rest > .... > > Again, look overhead > How air is azur`ed; > O how! Nay do but stand > Where you can lift your hand > Skywards: rich, rich it laps > Round the four fingergaps. > Yet such a sapphire-shot, > Charged, steep`ed sky will not > Stain light. Yea, mark you this: > It does no prejudice. > The glass-blue days are those > When every colour glows, > Each shape and shadow shows. > Blue be it: this blue heaven > The seven or seven times seven > Hued sunbeam will transmit > Perfect, not alter it. > > > If you know the poem or have a copy to consult, you can get a better idea of > the effects Monk achieves by what she leaves out (think on those > "fingergaps" of Hopkins', for instance)--but I'll be talking with her about > Hopkins and much else besides in her forthcoming Feature interview, so stay > tuned for that and "Manufractured Moon," her poem sequence. > > Candice >