Richard Burton reads Gerard Manley Hopkins' poem 'The Leaden Echo & The Golden Echo'.
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- Опубликовано: 8 апр 2010
- Richard Burton races through this poem with unbelievable speed. A technical tour de force.
The Leaden Echo And The Golden Echo
(Maidens' song from St. Winefred's Well)_
THE LEADEN ECHO
How to keep--is there any any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, lace, latch or catch or key to keep
Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, . . . from vanishing away?
O is there no frowning of these wrinkles, ranked wrinkles deep,
Down? no waving off of these most mournful messengers, still messengers, sad and stealing messengers of grey?
No there's none, there's none, O no there's none,
Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair,
Do what you may do, what, do what you may,
And wisdom is early to despair:
Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done
To keep at bay
Age and age's evils, hoar hair,
Ruck and wrinkle, drooping, dying, death's worst, winding sheets, tombs and worms and tumbling to decay;
So be beginning, be beginning to despair.
O there's none; no no no there's none:
Be beginning to despair, to despair,
Despair, despair, despair, despair.
THE GOLDEN ECHO
Spare!
There is one, yes I have one (Hush there!);
Only not within seeing of the sun,
Not within the singeing of the strong sun,
Tall sun's tingeing, or treacherous the tainting of the earth's air.
Somewhere elsewhere there is ah well where! one,
One. Yes I can tell such a key, I do know such a place,
Where whatever's prized and passes of us, everything that's fresh and fast flying of us, seems to us sweet of us and swiftly away with, done away with, undone,
Undone, done with, soon done with, and yet dearly and dangerously sweet
Of us, the wimpled-water-dimpled, not-by-morning-matched face,
The flower of beauty, fleece of beauty, too too apt to, ah! to fleet,
Never fleets more, fastened with the tenderest truth
To its own best being and its loveliness of youth: it is an ever-lastingness of, O it is an all youth!
Come then, your ways and airs and looks, locks, maiden gear, gallantry and gaiety and grace,
Winning ways, airs innocent, maiden manners, sweet looks, loose locks, long locks, lovelocks, gaygear, going gallant, girlgrace--
Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them with breath,
And with sighs soaring, soaring sighs deliver
Them; beauty-in-the-ghost, deliver it, early now, long before death
Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty's self and beauty's giver.
See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the least lash lost; every hair
Is, hair of the head, numbered.
Nay, what we had lighthanded left in surly the mere mould
Will have waked and have waxed and have walked with the wind what while we slept,
This side, that side hurling a heavyheaded hundredfold
What while we, while we slumbered.
O then, weary then why should we tread? O why are we so haggard at the heart, so care-coiled, care-killed, so fagged, so fashed, so cogged, so cumbered,
When the thing we freely forfeit is kept with fonder a care,
Fonder a care kept than we could have kept it, kept
Far with fonder a care (and we, we should have lost it) finer, fonder
A care kept. Where kept? Do but tell us where kept, where.--
Yonder.--What high as that! We follow, now we follow.--
Yonder, yes yonder, yonder,
Yonder.
Burton's reading of this poem is not "fast" but quick (as in not dead), a reading of great comprehension, passion, and wit. His breathtaking pace is like water in spring rushing downstream. His tone is rich and rolling, and rings in my ears like church bells on a feast day. In 1964, on Broadway, I watched his performance of Hamlet, the most stunning and memorable Hamlet I've ever seen. Later, I saw his terrific Equus performance onstage in Boston. Over the decades, I saw most of his films when released to movie theaters. In short, I am as great an admirer of Richard Burton the actor as anyone. But I prize far more than his film and stage roles his inspired and skilled on-air and record album performances of Hopkins, Donne, Coleridge, Dylan Thomas, others. The truth is that whenever I hear him read, I wish he had turned down at least a few of his movie roles (especially ones with Elizabeth Taylor) to perform more recorded poetry.
Anthony Hopkins movie Solace brought me here. My new favorite poem. Richard Burton reads it well here, as do Colin Farrell & Anthony Hopkins from memory in the movie. Richard Burton was an inspiration/role model for young Anthony & they both played the same role in the play Equus in the theater.
Solace brought me to this poem as well. I read somewhere that Gerard Manley Hopkins believed that poetry should be heard, not read, to be fully understood. The cadence and flow of this reading made me realize what Hopkins was talking about.
the best poem I've heard in a while .
What a voice and poem...
Sir Richard could have read a phone book, and it too would come alive majestic prose.
I've really taken to this poem recently. I have it on my walkman & I play it over & over! I love Hopkin's texture & placement and Richard Burton brings it to life with his tone & pacing... it's wonderful.
Thanks for uploading!
Interesting that Elizabeth Taylor had this poem read at her funeral (by Collin Farrell)
Today is the first time I hear Burton reading these--wow--what a difference, what a treat to her Hopkins as I have imagined he heard it in his head, perhaps, with passion, energy, and sounds others such as M H Abrams often miss.
great poem, well recited too. Burton's speed and gentle pauses really strenghten the alliteration.
burton recites poems with real gusto- as it should be read.
"GIVE beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, BACK TO GOD." As only Richard could read it. Magnificent orator. Sleep Angel Eyes with his voice in your ear. La Regina Della NOTTE sleep warm with your Luv.
I think this delivery perfectly captures the rolling wind and the sun rising over the clouds
. . . sun rising over the rolling clouds.
Richard was a good actor but was a greater orator, and certainly knows how to read poetry correctly, this is a mount everest of a poem and he plays with it in his palm.
Thanks for uploading this!
Try and say all that without making a mistake. Amazing voice.
I only heard of this poem and listened to this today. I found that Elizabeth Taylor had Colin Farrell read it at her funeral. He was one of the few non-family members and some allege late lovers in her life. No one can read it like Richard, probably how she fell in love with it.....Grand Dame
Debra Oliver Funny you should say that because Colin Farrell was speaking this poem rapidly in the movie Solace with Anthony Hopkins. I watched it with my mom 2 weeks ago and enjoyed it. That's how I discovered this poem.
Matthew Bryan same (o‿∩)
marvellous recitation and a blindingly great poet.
I am, I am, I am the first 2020 comment!
Extraordinary poem. The way Burton reads it here made me think of Gertrude Stein for some reason.
Brilliantly read.
Hopkins did say,,,if my poetry is read aloud it will sound alright,He was right, He wrote this in Wales,,,it is I think a fragment from his unfinished play,,,St Winifreds Well,,,which is of course in Wales, Burton was Welsh,,,and he speaks this dramatically,What a tragedy the play was unfinished,,,it might have revived poetic drama in England
For those who love Burton reciting this, watch/listen to Under Milk Wood (probably any instance of him reading the Dylan Thomas play), but my favorite is the 1972 film he did with Peter O'Toole and his wife, Liz Taylor, wherein he is the principal character and narrator.
I would pay dear money to hear Jeremy Irons read this aloud..
Jeremy Irons the best the best
His father-in-law, Cyril Cusack made a recording of Hopkins poetry in the 1950’s, it’s actually on RUclips too.
I think if Richard had read this a touch slower, as he does with his incomparable reading of Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood, I think it would be even better. As it is, it is a tour de force, but you need time to absorb each line and this is a little rushed. Actually, Under Milk Wood sounds very similar to this in its use of words.
Dylan Thomas very influenced by Hopkins (Gerard Manley).
Richard Harris said it was the drink that made him good.
From a report of Liz Taylor's funeral service: "The one-hour, multi-denominational service officiated by Rabbi Jerry Cutler included a reading by actor Colin Farrell, a friend of Taylor's, of Gerard Manley Hopkins's poem "The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo.""
Paul Hennessy Colin Farrell spoke this poem in the movie Solace
Did Burton memorize poems as opposed to simply reading them from the page? I would imagine so. Does anyone know?
***** thank you! I know in my own small world the difference between a memorized recital and a read one is marked.
...formula 1 ! how difficult this reading is ! i know it ! i am a speaker ! LES (thanks for this !)
Who is watching this video after Peterson's tweet.
Too fast. Try it on 0.75x playback speed
OK now one more time but in english.
IMO this is a wretched reading of Hopkins' poem. It is read as if the multi inner rhymes and the sprung rhythm of Hopkins have no place and no beauty. Burton races through the words and, consequently, the meaning and purpose of the poem as though the words and rhymes were meant only to display a kind of kid's sing-song spoken nonsense. Makes me wonder if Burton had given any though to what the poem is all about.
Agreed.
Completely Agree. he's just a name though aint he
The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo
(Maidens’ song from St. Winefred’s Well)
The Leaden Echo
How to keep-is there ány any, is there none such, nowhere
known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, láce, latch
or catch or key to keep
Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, . . . from vanishing
away?
Ó is there no frowning of these wrinkles, rankèd wrinkles deep,
Dówn? no waving off of these most mournful messengers, still
messengers, sad and stealing messengers of grey?
No there’s none, there’s none, O no there’s none,
Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair,
Do what you may do, what, do what you may,
And wisdom is early to despair:
Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done
To keep at bay
Age and age’s evils, hoar hair,
Ruck and wrinkle, drooping, dying, death’s worst, winding
sheets, tombs and worms and tumbling to decay;
So be beginning, be beginning to despair.
O there’s none; no no no there’s none:
Be beginning to despair, to despair,
Despair, despair, despair, despair.
The Golden Echo
Spare!
There is one, yes I have one (Hush there!);
Only not within seeing of the sun,
Not within the singeing of the strong sun,
Tall sun’s tingeing, or treacherous the tainting of the earth’s air.
Somewhere elsewhere there is ah well where! one,
Óne. Yes I can tell such a key, I do know such a place,
Where whatever’s prized and passes of us, everything that’s
fresh and fast flying of us, seems to us sweet of us and
swiftly away with, done away with, undone,
Undone, done with, soon done with, and yet dearly and
dangerously sweet
Of us, the wimpled-water-dimpled, not-by-morning-matchèd face,
The flower of beauty, fleece of beauty, too too apt to, ah! to fleet,
Never fleets more, fastened with the tenderest truth
To its own best being and its loveliness of youth: it is an ever-
lastingness of, O it is an all youth!
Come then, your ways and airs and looks, locks, maiden gear,
gallantry and gaiety and grace,
Winning ways, airs innocent, maiden manners, sweet looks,
loose locks, long locks, lovelocks, gaygear, going gallant,
girlgrace-
Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them
with breath,
And with sighs soaring, soaring síghs deliver
Them; beauty-in-the-ghost, deliver it, early now, long before
death
Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty’s
self and beauty’s giver.
See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the least lash lost; every hair
Is, hair of the head, numbered.
Nay, what we had lighthanded left in surly the mere mould
Will have waked and have waxed and have walked with the wind
what while we slept,
This side, that side hurling a heavyheaded hundredfold
What while we, while we slumbered.
O then, weary then whý should we tread? O why are we so
haggard at the heart, so care-coiled, care-killed, so fagged,
so fashed, so cogged, so cumbered,
When the thing we freely fórfeit is kept with fonder a care,
Fonder a care kept than we could have kept it, kept
Far with fonder a care (and we, we should have lost it) finer, fonder
A care kept. Where kept? Do but tell us where kept, where.-
Yonder.-What high as that! We follow, now we follow.-
Yonder, yes yonder, yonder,
Yonder.
Thank you.
RB reads The Golden Echo much too fast. He blurs Hopkins golden word clusters What's the rush, Richard?
As much as I love Richard Burton, I must agree. All too fast. How I would love to hear him hang on to each word "beauty,....beauty,......beauty" as he did with "yonder,.... yonder,.... yonder". Alas.....
The poem felt right to me. When reading it in the first person I felt a manic nature in the words, perhaps intended by the author. Burton read it as such. The beauty of poetry lies in the ear, and heart of the receiver.
I think the speed shows the rapidity in which youth passes us by.
Simply not true. See if you can track his performance of Hamlet in New York (I think). It is brilliant, if he is a tad old. Nope, he captures Hamlet's wit and intelligence better than any other actor I've seen thus far.
MF DOOM
What a hack job of reciting this amazing poem. As they say in the intro, he just "races through" it, clearly more in love with the sound of his own voice than expressing any real meaning...
Yes the too quick pace obscures the faith Hopkins made so integral to his verse.
The Leaden Echo
How to keep-is there ány any, is there none such, nowhere
known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, láce, latch
or catch or key to keep
Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, . . . from vanishing
away?
Ó is there no frowning of these wrinkles, rankèd wrinkles deep,
Dówn? no waving off of these most mournful messengers, still
messengers, sad and stealing messengers of grey?
No there’s none, there’s none, O no there’s none,
Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair,
Do what you may do, what, do what you may,
And wisdom is early to despair:
Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done
To keep at bay
Age and age’s evils, hoar hair,
Ruck and wrinkle, drooping, dying, death’s worst, winding
sheets, tombs and worms and tumbling to decay;
So be beginning, be beginning to despair.
O there’s none; no no no there’s none:
Be beginning to despair, to despair,
Despair, despair, despair, despair.
The Golden Echo
There is one, yes I have one (Hush there!);
Only not within seeing of the sun,
Not within the singeing of the strong sun,
Tall sun’s tingeing, or treacherous the tainting of the earth’s air.
Somewhere elsewhere there is ah well where! one,
Óne. Yes I can tell such a key, I do know such a place,
Where whatever’s prized and passes of us, everything that’s
fresh and fast flying of us, seems to us sweet of us and
swiftly away with, done away with, undone,
Undone, done with, soon done with, and yet dearly and
dangerously sweet
Of us, the wimpled-water-dimpled, not-by-morning-matchèd face,
The flower of beauty, fleece of beauty, too too apt to, ah! to fleet,
Never fleets more, fastened with the tenderest truth
To its own best being and its loveliness of youth: it is an ever-
lastingness of, O it is an all youth!
Come then, your ways and airs and looks, locks, maiden gear,
gallantry and gaiety and grace,
Winning ways, airs innocent, maiden manners, sweet looks,
loose locks, long locks, lovelocks, gaygear, going gallant,
girlgrace-
Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them
with breath,
And with sighs soaring, soaring síghs deliver
Them; beauty-in-the-ghost, deliver it, early now, long before
death
Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty’s
self and beauty’s giver.
See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the least lash lost; every hair
Is, hair of the head, numbered.
Nay, what we had lighthanded left in surly the mere mould
Will have waked and have waxed and have walked with the wind
what while we slept,
This side, that side hurling a heavyheaded hundredfold
What while we, while we slumbered.
O then, weary then whý should we tread? O why are we so
haggard at the heart, so care-coiled, care-killed, so fagged,
so fashed, so cogged, so cumbered,
When the thing we freely fórfeit is kept with fonder a care,
Fonder a care kept than we could have kept it, kept
Far with fonder a care (and we, we should have lost it) finer, fonder
A care kept. Where kept? Do but tell us where kept, where.-
Yonder.-What high as that! We follow, now we follow.-
Yonder, yes yonder, yonder,
Yonder.
Read at Liz's graveside service, how poignant.
Now that's going too far.
Colin Farrell couldn't match that rendition.
what....colin farrell....match
Too fast. Ridiculous.
Burton was incapable of showing any emotion other than anger.
Harold Jameson ... you sensed anger? Hmmmm ...I sensed excited passion, an eagerness pulling the words forth. That’s the beauty of poetry, we all will feel it differently, and it will definitely be recited via the emotion of the orator.
bullshit
For everyone praising this reading as a "tour de force": What exactly is the point of racing through poetry as if you've got to catch a plane and you're late? Hopkins plays with language in beautiful, idiosyncratic, unexpected ways; a reading like this makes his innovations unintelligible. This is simply ridiculous, a terrible example of how to read poetry.