The first few words we all knew well, but then
we stumbled, stuttered, reached for precious lines,
our halting voices so unlike the smooth
and sweeping windhover that Hopkins wrote
about. And still, despite our bumbling,
despite our clumsy starts and awkward spurts,
an ecstasy of plume still winged through our
attempts. The language sang, its embers glowed,
its music stirred vermillion. And our eyes
were shining, too. No wonder of it: even
plodding, ploughing fields can make the soil
gleam. With love, we ploughed that sonnet’s lines
until they shined, until the air between
us plumed and swooped, until we, too, were shining.
here, friends, is the poem we were reciting.
Hopkins buffs goofed, buffed
poetry by heart, with heart
polished to a shine
YES!
Hopkin’s masterpiece’s – when read aloud – always reminds me of eating the chewy “Limpa” bread made in Sweden, my mouth performing Olympic level gymnastics!
My favourite line in “The Windhover is
“High there how he rung up on the rein of a wimpling wing.”
….. glorious….
Reciting from memory the poem, even (or maybe especially) together, is impressive. Your poetic, narrative recall of the activity brings out the marvel and the closeness in that occasion. The music stirring vermillion, as you say, is visceral as well as creative, as is all of it. Happy Holidays to you and yours.