Today is the anniversary of Gerard Manley Hopkins’s death in 1889. The poet died of typhoid fever (or perhaps Crohn’s disease) while in Ireland. 129 years ago, the “blue-bleak ember” of Fr. Gerard’s life fell and broke and revealed an “immortal diamond,” and we’re still writing and thinking about him–and most importantly still reading his … More The Transitus of Gerard Manley Hopkins
Tomorrow will mark the 129th year after Gerard Manley Hopkins’s death. His final poem, “To R.B.” was written in the last few months of his life and sent to his friend, the Poet Laureate, Robert Bridges. Taking up Horace’s pregnancy metaphor of a poet holding a poem back for nine years, Hopkins’s final apology is a … More The “Immortal Song” of Gerard Manley Hopkins
This post was how we celebrated National Cat Day last year, but looking back, I couldn’t think of a better way. First let’s celebrate with theorists and cats! And second let’s celebrate with these lines from Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:” The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, The … More Happy National Cat Day!
It’s Alfred Tennyson’s birthday today. He was born on this day in 1809. Why don’t we celebrate him with the same vigor he celebrated Arthur Hallam’s birthday in his great elegy, In Memoriam A.H.H. Tennyson wrote this poem, with its cantos of raw grief enveloped by a calmer ring of a Prologue and an Epilogue, to mourn … More Happy Birthday Tennyson
Originally posted on Nick Owchar:
For I will consider my cat Jeoffry… We lost a major figure in the world of poetry at the end of June, Geoffrey Hill, and as I’ve scrolled through the posts of Call of the Siren, I realize I haven’t written very much lately … but when I have, some…
So – Croker, Macsikker, O’Shem – I ask you what are poems for? They are to console us with their own gift, which is like perfect pitch. Let us commit that to our dust. What ought a poem to be? Answer, a sad and angry consolation. What is the poem? What figures? Say, a sad … More “A Sad and Angry Consolation”: On the Loss of Geoffrey Hill
Be honest. You just read that in Giles’s smooth accent. But let’s transition to another accent for today. One a little less smooth, one that inexplicably transitioned to a rebellious Cockney. Yes, dear readers, let’s think of William the Bloody, but not just in any way, but as William, the Bloody Awful Poet. We know … More Last Time on Buffy the Vampire Slayer…