Masterful Poems 3: “The Lantern Out of Doors”

“Out of sight is out of mind.”

Never was a truer word spoken. As soon as I walk away from a task for a minute, it’s likely I won’t remember what I was doing until I stumble upon it a while later. This is most tragic when I’m making grilled cheese. But the tendency has an even worse effect: I can often forget to care for people who aren’t in my direct line of contact day in and day out. I fully intend to check up on them, reach out to them, and pray for them, but instead my myopic mind focuses on the people and tasks right in front of me, and I fail to follow through. 

Even people with the best memories and the most helpful reminder strategies may still fail to pursue someone when he or she need it most. We can unintentionally contribute to feelings of hurt, loneliness, and maybe worse. Sadly, it’s the nature of humanity to be inconstant; our good intentions aren’t enough. This is just the predicament that today’s poem talks about. 

“The Lantern Out of Doors” by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Sometimes a lantern moves along the night,
That interests our eyes. And who goes there?
⁠I think; where from and bound, I wonder, where,
With, all down darkness wide, his wading light?

Men go by me whom either beauty bright
In mould or mind or what not else makes rare:
They rain against our much-thick and marsh air
Rich beams, till death or distance buys them quite.

Death or distance soon consumes them: wind
What most I may eye after, be in at the end
I cannot, and out of sight is out of mind.

Christ minds: Christ’s interest, what to avow or amend
⁠There, éyes them, heart wánts, care haúnts, foot fóllows kínd,
Their ránsom, théir rescue, ánd first, fást, last friénd.

My Favorite Poet 

You may remember from a previous post that Gerard Manley Hopkins is my favorite poet. He was a Jesuit priest living in England in the mid- to late-1800s, and he wrote the most intricate poems in praise of the Creator. Take a minute to savor the flawless word selection and rhyme scheme in this piece, and after this post be sure to scamper off and read some more of his poems. You won’t regret it!

Now, down to the nitty-gritty. 

A Universal Curiosity                                                                    

Have you ever noticed that our eyes are always drawn to light in the darkness? At night I find myself staring at glowing power buttons in my baby’s room or the headlights passing in front of my house. People glare at the cell phone user in the front of a dark movie theater and grit their teeth. Even Gollum knew he had to give Frodo specific instructions in the Dead Marshes: “Don’t follow the lights.” But once the light is off or gone, we don’t usually continue to think about it. We’ve moved on. After all, it wasn’t that interesting. 

In Hopkins’ day, before electricity was made available to people, I’m sure it was even more absorbing to see a lantern passing his window in the night. Hopkins confesses his curiosity and wonders where they’ve come from and where they’re going so late. He watches their light bobbing away, wading through the darkness until it’s out of sight. 

The Attraction of Bright Beauty

Unpacking his metaphor, Hopkins muses about the magnetism of certain people. Some folks seem rather ordinary, but there are those whose “beauty bright” attracts our inner eye. He doesn’t mean that physical appearance (“mould”) is the only characteristic that draws us to another person; it could also be their mind, personality, similarities, or “what not else,” so long as they’re “rare”—a light in the darkness. 

Those who are blessed with this kind of radiance pierce the thick, damp darkness that often clouds our perception. We’re dimmed by a preoccupation with our own affairs, but the “rich beams” of these souls attract our heart’s gaze…at least until they’re out of sight. Both separation and death effectively remove their light from our vicinity, and then they are gone.  

The Sad Truth

No matter how unique a person is, “death or distance soon consumes them,” snuffing out their radiance. Like a lantern winding its way around a bend in the road, their light is gone no matter how hard we peer after it. We cannot be at the end of their road to meet them there, so we are consigned to strain our eyes after them until we give up and move on. After all, “out of sight is out of mind” eventually.

Granted, those most precious to us leave an eternal imprint on our hearts that time does not erase. But Hopkins is probably speaking here about those whose time in our lives is more brief—lanterns passing in the night, if you will. And although the tendency to forget is awful, Hopkins isn’t the only one who struggles with it. In fact, he makes sure to use both “my” and “our” throughout the poem, including us in his confession. He lived cloistered away from society, but he had seen enough of human nature to know that every passion is subject to entropy, and self-absorption is universal. 

Our First, Fast, Last Friend

But note the simplicity of this reassurance: “Christ minds.” 

He does not simply take a casual interest in us until He gets distracted with something else. He doesn’t even focus His attention on us until we choose to withdraw from Him. Instead, He is the embodiment of commitment and constancy, watching, loving, caring, and pursuing us. We are not a pastime for Him; rather, he pursues us to “avow or amend” what He sees in us. Where we fail to follow through, Christ is faithful. 

No mere passive observer, Christ is even our “ransom” and “rescue.” He interposes himself in our danger and accompanies us in our loneliness. We are never out of his sight and, therefore, are never out of his mind. His omnipresence enfolds us, and his light illumines us. He is at the beginning and the end of our journey, and he will not leave us in between. Regardless of the inconstancy of man, Christ is our “first, fast, last friend.”

Source of digital poem text: https://www.bartleby.com/122/10.html