Dear Feste, It is so good of you to draw attention to the poem as you have here. Feste, for me, the inspiration to post this poem came at a moment of extreme tension and strife. And once I had decided to make Gerard's Mary the medium of my intentions, a palpable change came over the entire reality of this controversy. I felt that Lord Knows and myself were literally blessed by the Immaculate Conception--and through her grace, we were, in our very being, reconciled. Without explanation. I consider this a miracle, and that Hopkins' poem, in all that it says, to have been the only means available in the universe in that moment to staunch the wound that had opened up inside each of us.
And I have felt, ever since that moment, that I could say nothing more, else I would be stepping on the reality that Mary through the very specific meaning and power of this poem had created. I still sense that Mary through Hopkins is determining the context of this entire affair, and it has kept me quiet until I read your post. There is no other explanation for how the violence was taken from us, and although neither Lord Knows or I comprehend how this happened, we are both aware that the Virgin Mary through this poem acted upon us, acted upon the entire context of this dispute. Your appreciation for the poem, Feste, provides the occasion for me to say all this. Lord Knows and Robin, we both received the love "Of her who not only/ Gave God's infinity/ Dwindled to infancy/ Welcome in womb and breast,/ Birth, milk, and all the rest/ But mother[ed] [this] new grace". "God...let dispense/ Her prayers his providence..."--Right here on FFL, right in that very moment of extreme and unassuagable violence. She changed us, Feste, through the perfection of the intelligence of Gerard Manley Hopkins. "World-mothering air, air wild, Wound with thee, in thee isled, Fold home, fast fold thy child." Lord Knows and Robin were fast folded inside Mary Immaculate. She has healed us both, and we will never know how this happened. [Our understanding remains perhaps the same; but our experience cannot engender that same antipathy.] I feel that Mary will always be between me and Lord Knows. And this makes me very careful as my "ghostly good" would create more words on this forum. She has touched the "deathdance in [our] blood". And even in your experience here, Feste, I feel her influence upon me--and upon you in making you say what you have said. Robin --- 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. > > --- 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. > > > > > >
