--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "feste37" <feste37@...> wrote: > > > > Lovely Hopkins poem, Robin. I have not read it before. Amazing images. I was > out walking on a breezy day here and I kept thinking of that line about the > wild air "world-mothering air, / Nestling me everywhere." It was almost like > breathing in the Virgin and being utterly surrounded and permeated by her > presence as she "Mantles the guilty globe." The whole poem is just > breathtaking. If one could truly enter into this poem and feel it in every > pore, one really wouldn't need anything else.
Thanks Feste, a breath of fresh air from you amidst all this carnage lately. I don't know about you but I needed this small, refreshing break. > > --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "Robin Carlsen" <maskedzebra@> wrote: > > > > Dear Vaj, > > > > At first I was delighted that you would repost this. You did understand > > that I am always invoking GMH here, that it is almost as if someone else > > invoked Maharishi. I have not identified Thomas Aquinas either--as once I > > identify my heroes they are likely to be tainted by the prejudice against > > me. :-) I don't suppose you thought I would pass this off as my own, having > > created it within about ten minutes after sending that last post to Lord > > knows. Anyway, to have the BVM as the medium of our communication this > > once, it makes me feel positive towards you. I wish you well, Vaj, and may > > the BVM heal us in this affair. Thank you. This poem has always meant a > > great deal to me and I have pored over it very very carefully to glean > > everything that it can give to me. GMH furnishes proof here of his personal > > relationship with the Mother of God. Good night to you. And blessings upon > > your friend Lord Knows. > > > > Robin > > > > --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, Vaj <vajradhatu@> wrote: > > > > > > http://www.bartleby.com/122/37.html > > > > > > On Aug 8, 2012, at 7:23 PM, "Robin Carlsen" <maskedzebra@> wrote: > > > > > > > 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 5 > > > > Snowflake; that 's fairly mixed > > > > With, riddles, and is rife > > > > In every least thing's life; > > > > This needful, never spent, > > > > And nursing element; 10 > > > > 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, 15 > > > > Minds me in many ways > > > > Of her who not only > > > > Gave God's infinity > > > > Dwindled to infancy > > > > Welcome in womb and breast, 20 > > > > Birth, milk, and all the rest > > > > But mothers each new grace > > > > That does now reach our race > > > > Mary Immaculate, > > > > Merely a woman, yet 25 > > > > Whose presence, power is > > > > Great as no goddess's > > > > Was deemèd, dreamèd; who > > > > This one work has to do > > > > Let all God's glory through, 30 > > > > God's glory which would go > > > > Through her and from her flow > > > > Off, and no way but so. > > > > > > > > I say that we are wound > > > > With mercy round and round 35 > > > > As if with air: the same > > > > Is Mary, more by name. > > > > She, wild web, wondrous robe, > > > > Mantles the guilty globe, > > > > Since God has let dispense 40 > > > > Her prayers his providence: > > > > Nay, more than almoner, > > > > The sweet alms' self is her > > > > And men are meant to share > > > > Her life as life does air. 45 > > > > If I have understood, > > > > She holds high motherhood > > > > Towards all our ghostly good > > > > And plays in grace her part > > > > About man's beating heart, 50 > > > > Laying, like air's fine flood, > > > > The deathdance in his blood; > > > > Yet no part but what will > > > > Be Christ our Saviour still. > > > > Of her flesh he took flesh: 55 > > > > He does take fresh and fresh, > > > > Though much the mystery how, > > > > Not flesh but spirit now > > > > And makes, O marvellous! > > > > New Nazareths in us, 60 > > > > Where she shall yet conceive > > > > Him, morning, noon, and eve; > > > > New Bethlems, and he born > > > > There, evening, noon, and morn > > > > Bethlem or Nazareth, 65 > > > > Men here may draw like breath > > > > More Christ and baffle death; > > > > Who, born so, comes to be > > > > New self and nobler me > > > > In each one and each one 70 > > > > More makes, when all is done, > > > > Both God's and Mary's Son. > > > > Again, look overhead > > > > How air is azurèd; > > > > O how! nay do but stand 75 > > > > Where you can lift your hand > > > > Skywards: rich, rich it laps > > > > Round the four fingergaps. > > > > Yet such a sapphire-shot, > > > > Charged, steepèd sky will not 80 > > > > 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. 85 > > > > Blue be it: this blue heaven > > > > The seven or seven times seven > > > > Hued sunbeam will transmit > > > > Perfect, not alter it. > > > > Or if there does some soft, 90 > > > > On things aloof, aloft, > > > > Bloom breathe, that one breath more > > > > Earth is the fairer for. > > > > Whereas did air not make > > > > This bath of blue and slake 95 > > > > His fire, the sun would shake, > > > > A blear and blinding ball > > > > With blackness bound, and all > > > > The thick stars round him roll > > > > Flashing like flecks of coal, 100 > > > > Quartz-fret, or sparks of salt, > > > > In grimy vasty vault. > > > > So God was god of old: > > > > A mother came to mould > > > > Those limbs like ours which are 105 > > > > What must make our daystar > > > > Much dearer to mankind; > > > > Whose glory bare would blind > > > > Or less would win man's mind. > > > > Through her we may see him 110 > > > > Made sweeter, not made dim, > > > > And her hand leaves his light > > > > Sifted to suit our sight. > > > > Be thou then, O thou dear > > > > Mother, my atmosphere; 115 > > > > My happier world, wherein > > > > To wend and meet no sin; > > > > Above me, round me lie > > > > Fronting my froward eye > > > > With sweet and scarless sky; 120 > > > > Stir in my ears, speak there > > > > Of God's love, O live air, > > > > Of patience, penance, prayer: > > > > World-mothering air, air wild, > > > > Wound with thee, in thee isled, 125 > > > > Fold home, fast fold thy child. > > > > > >
