544
PARTISAN REVIEW
complacent obtuseness, and yet arouse no remark: that is the measure
of Hopkins' originality." But in those days an undergraduate caught read–
ing Hopkins was likely to have a copy of
Modern Love
or a selection
of Bridges flung in his face by an irate don as an example of the
English language in its purity. During the nearly twenty years that have
elapsed since Dr. Leavis first noted the melancholy state of things in
New Bearings in English Poetry,
despite a great deal of bad psycho–
analytical criticism on Hopkins produced during the 'thirties, there has
also been a great deal of excellent evaluation, and one had begun to
grow optimistic. But optimism in literary matters is always premature,
and Mr. Winters' recent two-part essay in
Th e Hu·dson Review
has again
made Dr. Leavis' warning very much to the point. The second part of
the essay strikes me as chiefly an addition to American humorous litera–
ture (if one can forget Mr. Winters' impertinent condescension to Hop–
kins long enough to smile), but the first part of the essay, which lays
Mr. Winters' unmistakably Georgian cards (slily marked with scansion
notations) on the table, is an attempt to lure us all back to a literary
scene in which Dr. Robert Bridges is a modestly clothed Colossus and
poor Hopkins (whose mind, Mr. Winters believes, maintained at best
a precarious balance) an interesting but embarrassing failure who, if
one is great-hearted enough, (and never suppose Mr. Winters isn't)
may be given a pat on the head for effort. "Who," asks Mr. Winters
from an elevation that would make most critics dizzy, "is this man
to lead us so far and blindfold into violence? This kind of thing is a
violation of our integrity.... " Although it's obvious from the essay
that Mr. Winters was left behind after all, the answer to his question
should be insistent: Hopkins is one of the half-dozen best poets using
the English language since the death of Keats. Mr. Winters, true
enough, believes that Hopkins deserves a place among the twelve or
fourteen best British poets in the nineteenth century, but it would be
interesting (perhaps not) to see his list of the others.
With Mr. Winters' essay rankling in my mind I have been able
to read
Immortal Diamond
and Mr. Iyengar's book with an enthu–
siasm I might otherwise have lacked. They arc obviously timely. Mr.
Iyengar has written an intelligent and compact little book on Hopkins'
life and poetry that students should find convenient and useful, but
with that kind of recommendation there is no need to linger over it
here, except to add that one is grateful, things being as they are, when
presses are kept decently and innocently occupied with work like this.
Immortal Diamond
is a more impressive effort, a compilation of twelve
essays by Jesuit priests on different aspects of Hopkins' poetry and char-
