November 12, 2014
The Poet and the Clod

From Father Gerard Manley Hopkins’ journals:

Nov. 8— Walking with Wm. Splaine we saw a vast multitude of starlings making an unspeakable jangle. They would settle in a row of trees; then one tree after another, rising at a signal, they looked like a cloud of specks of black snuff or powder struck up from a brush or broom or shaken from a wig; then they would sweep round in whirlwinds — you could see the nearer and farther bow of the rings by the size and blackness; many would be in one phase at once, all narrow black flakes hurling round, then in another; then they would fall upon a field and so on. Splaine wanted a gun: then ‘there it would rain meat,’ he said. I thought they must be full of enthusiasm and delight hearing their cries and stirring and cheering one another.

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Posted by Jerome Doolittle at November 12, 2014 02:22 PM
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Nothing like a clod to enhance poetry.

Posted by: Peter on November 14, 2014 8:40 AM
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