Light On Dark Water

The diamond as a symbol of the soul has been on my mind lately; I know I’ve referred to it in some comments here and in conversation with a friend. It always makes me think of this Hopkins poem, “That Nature Is A Heraclitean Fire” (which I recall having the subtitle “And of the comfort of the Resurrection”). Hopkins stretches his already eccentric technique to the breaking point here, and I hardly understood the poem, and never really cared much for it, until I heard someone read it really well.

Here’s our future, folks, if we’ll have it:

In a flash, at a trumpet crash,
I am all at once what Christ is |, since he was what I am, and
Thís Jack, jóke, poor pótsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
Is immortal diamond.

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