A Close Reading of Hopkins’ Go d ’s Gran d e u r.

Mark Wenger, October 3, 2007.

What is to be done with a spring that has been wound too tight? A sprung mechanism will
no longer work, but sprung rime works far more effect upon the attentive reader/listener. In the
sonnet, God’s Grandeur, Hopkins pushes the limits of enunciation to elucidate a complex claim –
mainly, that the evidence of the creator is nearly imperceptible in this man-centered cacophonous
place where people plod, except for the whispered wooing of covert flirtation sent out by the creator
to creature through creation.
The Petrarchan sonnet pattern is the first clue to a relational quandary as central to these
lines – the octave setting up the problem, the sestet offering a possible solution, so characteristic of
the form. The simple masculine end rhymes are deceptive – belying the complex assonance,
consonance, and tricky rhythm pattern within the lines.
The first line sets forth a seemingly straight forward claim, in seemingly straightforward
iambic pentameter. Unfortunately for the unwary, “grandeur” can be pronounced two ways, with
either the emphasis on the first or second syllable. Which one is it? Iambic meter would require
stress upon the second syllable, while the most accepted pronunciation for the word “grandeur”
would require stress upon the first syllable. Iambic meter would also require the stressing of the
word “the” while a more natural reading would practically overlook, or telescope the pronunciation
of “the” into the word “with” (before it) as well as “of” into the final syllable of “grandeur”. The
attentive reader is forced to ask “which pronunciation do I use? Do I overlook two seemingly
insignificant words, or is the poet offering subtle hint of something else? Hopkins could easily have
avoided this quandary by writing the first line as follows: “The world is charged with God’s
grandeur” – which he clearly indicates as possible in the title – but this would have made the line
iambic quarto-meter, while the line as it is written allows for iambic pentameter, but only with a
reader overlooking, or forcing, elements of the line to fit the preconceived pattern. This puzzlingly
inability to simply read the line implies the central claim of the poem – that the reading of nature is
not as simple as it would seem for evidence of creator or of creature relationship to the creator.
This intentional stumbling rhythm, which requires re-reading and reconsideration, is found also to
great significance in the third line (where “to a” must be swallowed into the forced iambic meter or
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else add a sixth iamb to the line), while the ninth line requires a stumble in the pattern by the stress
upon the first syllable of “nature” (when iambic meter would stress the second). The latter, the first
line of the expected solution to the quandary, shows most plainly wherein the puzzle of the poem
lies – mainly, what is a believer in God to do with nature? Not knowing where to stress the word is
but an outward sign of a much deeper problem – what emphasis does one give to the conflicting
evidence concerning God which nature offers? The attentive reader (of both Hopkins and nature)
discovers the evidence is not as clear as one imagined.
Yet buried deep within this sprung rhyme is complex use of enunciation of words which
offers a possible solution to the confusion. The octave, while rich with plosives ([ch], [g], [t], [k],
etc.) and fricatives ([f], [sh], [z], [s], etc.), contains none which are heavily aspirated; yet, the sestet
contains approximately a half dozen aspirated syllables. A technique by which one may plainly see
this deliberate placing of breathy sounds is to read the sonnet with a lit candle held closely to one’s
lips (beware singeing oneself, although this exercise requires the flame to be close enough to singe!)
As one reads the octave, one will note no dramatic “flaming out” of the flame – nothing more than
the necessary breath required for normal enunciation causes the flame to flicker a bit throughout the
reading. When reading the sestet, however, the reader will plainly see (perhaps be even left in the
dark by) the frequent breathiness of words, particularly of “though” and the combination of “black
West went” (which are difficult to enunciate without adding more aspiration than the spelling would
indicate necessary) in line 11, “Oh” and “brown brink eastward, springs” (which, again, do not
require heavy aspiration, but in combination lend themselves to it) in line 12, and then most clearly
in line 13 (perhaps intentionally ironic – as conventional wisdom would indicate nothing fortunate is
to be found in such a line, just as little of grace is expected in cruel nature) where “Holy Ghost” will
more than likely blow the candle flame out.
All this indicates a subtle reality – the octave, which presents the problem of seeing much of
God in a world where man has trudged for so long, is largely without aspiration, while the sestet is
replete with it, subtly at first, but then quite plainly. It is helpful at this point to know (as Hopkins
did) that the Hebrew word for spirit is ruah – with denotations ranging from “breath” to “wind” to
“spirit” to “God’s evident working” (“And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”
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Genesis 1:2b) That aspiration becomes most evident in the line where the Holy Spirit is named is no
accident for Hopkins, a poet quite familiar with the Hebrew Old Testament.
A final, a perhaps even more subtle piece of evidence for Hopkins’ claim that the evidence
for the nature of the creator and his relationship with creation, as seen in nature, is not immediately
clear (but ultimately comforting rather than terrifying) is found in the pursing of lips throughout the
poem. In the octave an attentive reader will find that although pursing of lips is evident (reading the
poem out loud before a mirror is helpful), all of the pursing is more flat than rounded ([wrld] and
[djeu/r] in the first line, for example, but also the [oo] of “shook” and “ooze”) Only “Why” (line 4)
and “with” (line 6) have any discernable rounded pursing, but nether of these two words are stressed
in the rhythm pattern and one does not emphasize the pursing of lips in these two exceptions to the
rule of absence of well-rounded pursing of lips. In the sestet, however, one finds frequent examples
of well-rounded pursing of lips: [ow] of “down” (line 10), [ow] of “though” and [wae] of “West”
and “went” (line 11), and [ow] of “brown” and [wa] of “eastward” (line 12), and, dramatically, in the
final line of [wa] of “warm”, [wi] of “wings”. In the end, one realizes that the words reveal the
flirtatious nature of the evidence of creation – literally the reader must mimic the kissing motion of a
flirt seeking to catch the eye of the one with whom he wishes to engage in subtle suggestion of
opportunity for relationship – the creator subtly, flirtatiously sends easily overlooks hints of his love
for humans.
That a celibate monk would employ such sensual signals in so puzzling a drama as God’s
Granduer is for attentive readers richly, and yet wonderfully, ironic. The sensual wooing of creature
by creator through nature is literally evident in these lines, yet easily overlooked, just as those who
examine the natural world often miss the signs of a benevolent creator because of the more
frequently evident lack of pattern and discord in nature. Observations may lead to confusion, but at
the heart is a quiet wind that stirs chaos into order.