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A ‘terrible sonnet’
This is one of the ‘terrible sonnets’ written while Hopkins was in Ireland, probably in 1885, with its revision dated to 1887. The title was made for the sonnet by Robert Bridges, being taken from the first line. For a general note on these sonnets, see Spelt from Sibyl’s Leaves. Unlike that poem, however, this is a very God-centered poem, with frequent allusions to the Bible.
Subtexts
Job
There are a number of subtexts. The book of Job in the Bible is about a man wrestling to understand why God has allowed all sorts of calamities to fall on him, and is thus the model theodicy. In the end, God speaks to him when he comes to the end of his questions. In the sonnet, Hopkins is still left with his questions. He does attempt one answer, but it seems only to lead to further questions.
Keats, Tennyson and Shakespeare
Other subtexts include:
- Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale, where the poet considers suicide as a way out of his intense misery, and also Ode to Melancholy, where he discusses embracing misery, as a way of entering into life more fully
- Tennyson’s The Two Voices also discusses suicide, and we note the two voices in the sestet here- ‘O which one?’ Hopkins cries
- Hamlet’s ‘To be or not to be’ speech in Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
- Try to read Hamlet’s ‘To be or not to be’ speech.
- What is the difference between deep depression and despair?
Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist--slack they may be--these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against
me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to
avoid thee and flee?
Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer
and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy,
would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling
flung me, fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each
one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my
God!) my God.
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