Yesterday, in a bookshop, I was given a coupon to vote for my favourite poem. A book is being compiled with poetry beloved of New Zealanders. If the poem you vote for is chosen, you receive a copy of the book. Great idea.
I must say, it took me a while to recall any poem – they seem to be stashed somewhere in a part of my brain labelled “Sorry we’re out, please try later”. I used to be able reel off all sorts of verse at the drop of a hat, but now, like jokes, I would probably only remember the last line, or part of it.
I came up with this, from Gerard Manley Hopkins, who I love for his syncopation and telescopic use of language:
Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change;
Praise Him.
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