Easter: The Windhover, By Gerald Manley Hopkins
My favorite poem in English is this one, by Gerald Manley Hopkins.
The Windhover
To Christ Our Lord
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
Dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird — the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
First, an observation — I typed this myself instead of pasting it from the Internet. This is a practice I recommend: Rewriting favorite passages word-for-word is a worthwhile for anyone who wants to learn the art of writing. Copying great writing is an excellent way to process the words . Copying forces the learner to notice details embedded in writing that are will not emerge from just reading it, even over and over.
Explanation of the poem
So what does it mean? Let’s step through it, keeping in mind that I’m not a professional critic, let alone a Hopkins expert.
A windhover is a kind of a hawk. Note that the subtitle dedicates the poem to Jesus Christ (Hopkins was a Jesuit priest). The beauty of this opening is that, complicated as the poem may be, Hopkins is telling us that the poem is about a hawk and Jesus before we even get to the first line. From there, It does not take much of a leap to see that the windhover will be a symbol of Jesus.
Although it is probably too simplistic to make a one-to-one correlation, windhover = Jesus, for a first analysis it is more than good enough. And thus, before we even get to the first word of the poem itself, Hopkins has given his game away. This is a bit of a relief: As readers we can sit back and enjoy the poem without having to decipher the basic meaning. So no pressure, we can have fun here.
The “morning’s minion” is, of course, the windhover. _Minion_ means servant, but it also means the one who is most favored, and that would be Jesus, the Son and favorite of God. The speaker catches the windhover in the morning, and it seems to be sailing in the sky on an upward air draft (“in his riding / Of the rolling air beneath him”), turning around and around as it rises (“a skate’s heel swings smooth”). Hopkins compares the circling of the bird to an ice skater making smooth and graceful loops on a frozen lake, an image that implies speed and control, and great athleticism.
For a few lines the speaker lingers on the bird, his language circling around just like the windhover — “the hurl and gliding…my heart in hiding stirred for a bird.”
It is part of the greatness of this poem that it hangs there, like the bird in space, pausing in the glory of the windhover, and by extension, basking in the glory of Christ. Even the language itself makes circles. Look at “forth on a swing,” “hurl and gliding,” “heart in hiding,” “rebuffed the big wind,” and “stirred for a bird” as examples of the words going in circles.
Then comes the action. The windhover “buckles,” which is probably the most discussed word in the poem. What does buckle mean, and how does a bird buckle? Buckle can mean to sag down, or to shake on one’s foundations. This could be an allusion to the crucifixion of Christ, since Jesus would have buckled under the weight of the cross. The bird swoops down, it loses its elevation, it buckles.
But mostly when I think of buckle I think of two things joined together, like buckling the ends of a belt. The fire that breaks from the windhover when it buckles is both a “billion times told lovelier” but also “dangerous.” Two opposites coming together. Christ is like that, both human and God, suffering and glorious, powerful and weak, humbled and exalted. This is what is buckled together: beauty and danger. In the same line we have the word “chevalier,” which is a knight. A knight buckles on his sword and his armor, so here again we have two things joined together.
Then the poem becomes something altogether different. Hopkins skips a line and starts talking about a plow. “Sillion” is plowed up soil, and Hopkins is talking about how soil, when wet and turned up in the sunlight by a plow, gleams (“gash gold-vermillion”). Gold and vermillion (bright red) are the color of the sun, and so what the speaker is observing is that plowed up soil can glow when the sun shines on it.
Seems like a letdown, doesn’t it? We’ve gone from a glorious bird climbing a wind thermal and sweeping down, to mud turned up on the ground.
But this is Hopkins’s point. Christ is glorious. The real world is dull and dark (“blue-bleak”). Only the reflected light of the sun makes the soil bright. In the same way, only the glory of God makes humans shine, and even then, poorly in comparison to the windhover.
The poem starts out in glory and greatness, and ends up staring at the ground. It starts out ideal, and ends with the simple and practical. In a way, the entire poem buckles (brings opposites together). No wonder the word “buckle” sits near the center of the poem, between the windhover and the sillion.
Probably the greatest Easter poem ever written. I never tire of reading it. Of course, to understand it you have to get down in the dirt a bit, and glory in the sillion. Ah, my dear.
