Pied Beauty

This week I read a lovely article by Tish Harrison Warren called "Why Poetry is So Crucial Right Now” in her new column for the New York Times. Warren is the author of an excellent book called “Liturgy of the Ordinary,” which I highly recommend. In her article, Warren described a poetry course she took over the summer, and her explanation of what draws her to verse really resonated with me— “I hunger for a transcendent reality — the good, the true, the beautiful, those things which somehow lie beyond mere argument. Yet often…I find that my life is dominated by debate, controversy and near strangers in shouting matches about politics or church doctrine.” She goes on to say that “In this weary and vulnerable place, poetry whispers of truths that cannot be confined to mere rationality or experience.” I think she hits the nail on the head.

Perhaps here would be a good time to mention that it’s normal to be intimidated by poetry. I feel out of my depth in most poetry I read, even after studying English in college (maybe especially after studying English in college). My roommate Megan and I sometimes read poems out loud to each other only to admit that we have no idea what we just read. But then there’s fun in discussing what it could potentially be getting at.

In the conclusion of her piece, Warren referenced a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins; its opening line “Glory be to God for dappled things” is one I often think of. So I thought I’d share “Pied Beauty” with you all today, a poem that rejoices in the noticing of all things speckled, two-toned, and shimmering. And a poem that rejoices all the more in a God who’s “beauty is past change.”

Pied Beauty, by Gerard Manley Hopkins

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.