Repeat that, repeat

James and I have come up with a collaborative writing project that you’re welcome to join as well! The idea is to share your thoughts on a poem through writing: there are no restrictions on the format, as long as you publish your words on your website. Let us know when you’ve written something (e-mail), so we can add a link to your submission at the end of our posts. The poem is Repeat that, repeat by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889, poem published in 1918):

I couldn’t fully make sense of these words at first glance, but recognised beauty in them straight away. Is that a hallmark of great poetry? Being struck by its beauty on a level almost beyond conscious thought? I knew the definitions of all of the words except for trundled,¹ which rolls off the tongue. But understanding the parts does not always lead to understanding the whole.

When I sound these words out loud, I feel the poet’s surprised delight at the Cuckoo’s thrill, bursting forth from the bushes. He takes it all in with open ears and open heart; his whole body reverberates with the beauty of his surroundings. The joy of the Cuckoo’s exclamation echoes his joy of being surrounded by Nature; the splendour of the surrounding Nature is elevated by their shared delight. I count myself lucky to know this feeling: this feeling of not just being outside in Nature, but this feeling of being included in Nature.

That feeling is so delightfully sweet that you wish you could put it on repeat forever. To me, these words speak of shared joy, of the interconnectedness of life, of lifting each other up: the single shared life of all living beings. After all, it’s not just the same space-time we all share: we collectively shape the experience of living our lives. It reminds me as well of people voicing their ideas, bouncing those ideas off of each other, building on the echoes from fertile ground, until the whole becomes more than the sum of its parts.

Our thoughts and feelings are mostly private things, kept inside. It’s hard to express their richness sometimes; when we’re filled to the brim with a ballad of sadness or of love. I barely read any poetry, I can see more poems in my future now. Reading poems to spent a moment in a stranger’s shoes, whose words echo across space and time to reverberate in the hollow of your heart. Words are meant for sharing. I wonder what words James was willing to share with us today: read them here. What words will you share with the world?