{"id":5113,"date":"2018-05-21T20:29:18","date_gmt":"2018-05-21T20:29:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?p=5113"},"modified":"2018-05-21T20:29:18","modified_gmt":"2018-05-21T20:29:18","slug":"william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/","title":{"rendered":"William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word"},"content":{"rendered":"

Fancy a poem or ten? Don\u2019t look at us like that \u2013 they\u2019re jolly interesting ones, for today we consider the poetry of William Hope Hodgson<\/strong>, as part of our remembrance on this, the centenary year of his death. We don\u2019t poet, ourselves, so we\u2019re most grateful to have writer, poet and poetic scholar Frank Coffman<\/strong><\/span> to help us along our way. Not only does Frank offer us a commentary on, and analysis of, some of Hope Hodgson\u2019s verse, but he has dug out more of WHH’s poems for the event (see second section below). <\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cThe Unuttered Word\u201d<\/span><\/h1>\n

Some Thoughts on the Poetry of William Hope Hodgson <\/span><\/h1>\n

by Frank Coffman<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

There are worlds of foam that I have known<\/span><\/em>
\nAnd the songs of wild, young children blown<\/span><\/em>
\nMake music in the glittering spray<\/span><\/em>
\nIn that strange world where I was grown<\/span><\/em>
\nWhere the light is not the light of day<\/span><\/em>
\nWhere the breath of life in the stounding breeze<\/span><\/em>
\nIs at play on the foaming seas<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014William Hope Hodgson<\/span><\/p>\n

The great majority of enthusiastic readers of the work of William Hope Hodgson know him from his weird and speculative fiction. Almost all know him from his novels such as The Night Land, The House on the Borderland, The Boats of the \u201cGlen Carrig,\u201d<\/em> and The Ghost Pirates<\/em>; and collections of similarly-themed short stories in Sargasso Seas Stories and others<\/em>. Some have discovered Hodgson through the few stories on his intriguing occult detective, Carnacki, the Ghost Finder. But Hodgson\u2019s poetry has remained in general obscurity.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

But in 2005, Tartarus Press did a very limited 150 copy run of The Lost Poetry of William Hope Hodgson<\/em>, edited and introduced by Jane Frank that has since become more widely available in a Kindle and other editions. This book is a most welcome addition to the Hodgson corpus, and gives a fine overview of one side of the man relatively unknown prior to its publication.<\/span><\/p>\n

As might be expected from Hodgson\u2019s life, the theme of The Sea\u2014 with all of its mysteries, its pull upon the imagination, its contemplation-worthy immenseness, its beauties and its dangers, its place in his soul\u2014is predominant. Jane Frank notes:<\/span><\/p>\n

Hodgson’s long-time friend, A. St John Adcock, editor of The Bookman, wrote in his introduction to The Calling of the Sea: \u201cin his poems, as in his prose, it is the mystery, the strength, the cruelty, the grimness and sadness of the sea that most potently appeal to him.\u201d<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

But other themes like Death and the Question of Immortality, Love, Faith, Patriotism, the Pain of Loss, and the big one\u2014The Meaning of Life\u2014are all touched upon to various degrees. Hodgson\u2019s overall poetic work can be seen as decidedly influenced by the later Romantics and the more Romantic of the Victorians, which should not be at all surprising. Even rebellious artists can\u2019t help but be influenced by the cultural and artistic atmosphere of their own and the immediately previous era\u2014if for no other reason that they ought to understand fully what they rebel against. <\/span><\/p>\n

But Hodgson was no rebel. Frank calls his verse, \u201c\u2026largely of his time: mannered, grandiloquent, and oblique.\u201d She also notes that \u201cSam Moskowitz blamed Hodgson\u2019s clergyman father for Hope\u2019s stylistic affectations, but\u2026 keep in mind the romantic, elegiac Victorian poetry Hodgson was striving to emulate, in which Biblical and archaic English forms were the norm\u201d (\u201cIntroduction\u201d). Some few of the poems display some maudlin sentimentality. One example of this would be \u201cLittle Garments\u201d about a mother mourning the loss of a child, reminded that the \u201clittle garments\u201d were the only physical things now left to her. Some few other poems do hypothetical, it seems, moanings over the loss of a loved one, death being preferable to the pain of loss and other such overdone sentiments.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

As far as direct poetic influences to, Hodgson admired the works of Poe, Machen, and Blackwood, with Poe being, perhaps the (or one of the) primary poetic influences. He even parodies \u201cThe Raven\u201d in a letter of complaint about the frequency of rejection letters to his friend, Coulson Kernahan (December 1905), he wrote:<\/span><\/p>\n

Every morning for a fortnight have I pondered weak and weary <\/span><\/em>
\n O’er letters still unanswered that are scattered round your floor <\/span><\/em>
\n While I’ve pondered nearly napping, sometimes there has come a tapping <\/span><\/em>
\n As of someone gently rapping, rapping on my outer door <\/span><\/em>
\n Tis the Postman,’ I have muttered, ‘dropping MSS through the door\u2014<\/span><\/em>
\n Only that and nothing more’ <\/span><\/em>
\n Then my soul has leapt up stronger, and I’ve stayed in bed no longer; <\/span><\/em>
\n For a glad idea has whispered that the Post is at the door, <\/span><\/em>
\n And that all that gentle tapping which has stirred me in my napping <\/span><\/em>
\n Is the postman dropping billet doux from C.K. on the floor<\/span><\/em>
\n And at the thought (loud cheering) have I galloped to the door\u2014 <\/span><\/em>
\n \u201cREFUSALS\u201d\u2014nothing more.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

All writers who have sought acceptance of their efforts and publication can relate to the sentiments in this parody. And, regarding, poetry, Hodgson clearly experienced the sad dearth of markets that has seemingly always been the case with work in that mode. Fiction is hard enough to publish, but the market for poetry has always been scantier. What Hodgson [and other writers clearly in love with the poetic mode, such as Robert E. Howard] experienced was that poetry is damned hard to get accepted and, beyond that\u2014it doesn\u2019t \u201cpay the rent,\u201d even if published.<\/span><\/p>\n

Hodgson bundled many of his poems early in his career into three separate collections, presented in Lost Poems for the first time. These were: Mors Deorum [Death of the Gods] and Other Poems<\/em>, Through Enchantments and other Poems on Death<\/em>, and Spume<\/em>. Each of these begins with a long musing monologue, the first two on Life and Death and the question of Immortality, the third\u2014as the title suggests\u2014mostly regarding the Sea, some in this latter collection perhaps derived from specific experiences, some seemingly based upon incidents in his journals and logs. <\/span><\/p>\n

But most of the poetry is strong and striking in imagery, and some of it is distinctly metrically experimental. This in that Hodgson wrote very few poems in what we might call \u201cfixed forms.\u201d The rhyme and meter are there, but not in standard tetrameters and pentameters and often varied and randomly rhymed with some use of slant rhyme.<\/span><\/p>\n

Most of Hodgson\u2019s poetry seems to have been written between his retirement from the Merchant Marine in 1899 and about 1906. He was somewhat frustrated by the lack of good markets for his verse, but\u2014as with all of his literary work\u2014was tenacious to the point of obsession in keeping it in circulation, following each rejection immediately with a resubmission to another market.<\/span><\/p>\n

As noted, the Sea and the effect it had on the young writer predominates. A sense of his poetic style and urge for distinctness can be seen in the opening section of \u201cSong of the Ship\u201d:<\/span><\/p>\n

And I toss the blue from left to right, <\/span><\/em>
\n And I leap the driving surge, <\/span><\/em>
\n And the tall seas follow close behind, <\/span><\/em>
\n And ever the moaning of the wind <\/span><\/em>
\nWails softly a solemn dirge<\/em> <\/span><\/p>\n

This pentastich (five-line section) is, essentially an expansion on the meter of the literary ballad from a four-line to a five line form, including an extra four-accent line in the fourth line, altering the normal 4-3-4-3 to 4-3-4-4-3 accents. The normal rhyme of ABAB or ABCB (with the even-numbered short lines always rhyming) is also changed to ABC[slant rhyme with C]B. Following this section the other two sections of the poem are 8 and 11 lines long, respectively. <\/span><\/p>\n

Here and elsewhere, one distinctive feature of Hodgson\u2019s verse is that it seems to flow organically and is not preconceived to be a sonnet, a ballad, or any traditional form. For him, traditional iambic metrics (with anapestic variety quite often) are kept, but often with a variety of line lengths [similar to what Matthew Arnold did in his most famous poem, \u201cDover Beach\u201d]. And the poems rhyme, but often randomly, with the echoes close enough to be noticeable, but following no strict pattern. To those degrees, Hodgson\u2019s poetry is at least formally atypical\u2014if not distinctive.<\/span><\/p>\n

Several poems are on Hodgson\u2019s clear interest in Life, Death, and what, perhaps, lies beyond. The poem \u201cFarewell,\u201d evidently written around the time of his leaving the merchant navy in 1899\u2014or certainly regarding that occasion\u2014is brief enough to include in its entirety:<\/span><\/p>\n

FAREWELL<\/span><\/h4>\n

And, now it is farewell, <\/span><\/em>
\n Forever, O great Sea! <\/span><\/em>
\n Yet in some distant world, my soul <\/span><\/em>
\n Shall dream of thee. <\/span><\/em>
\n For now, a far-off toll, I hear\u2014 <\/span><\/em>
\n It is my knell <\/span><\/em>
\n Rung out by solemn waves on mist-bound shores, <\/span><\/em>
\n While overhead, the groan <\/span><\/em>
\n Of opening, monstrous doors <\/span><\/em>
\n Comes echoing down to me, <\/span><\/em>
\n And streams of awful light <\/span><\/em>
\n Shine o’er thy tumult, Sea, <\/span><\/em>
\n As I pass up across the night <\/span><\/em>
\n Into the great Unknown.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Here again we have Hodgson\u2019s personally common (but for his period and the precedent traditions uncommon) \u201cmix\u201d of meter and rhyme. Essentially iambic, the line lengths ramble with various feet: 3-3-4-2-4-2-5-3-3-3-3-3-4-3. Thus, in effect, the poem is a most unusual sonnet with the required 14 lines, but with highly irregular and brief line lengths (except in the pentameter of line 7). My guess is that became a sonnet \u201caccidentally\u201d and, again, organically driven rather than being preconceived, but we can\u2019t be sure.<\/span><\/p>\n

The rhyme scheme [using a lower case letter to indicate a \u201cslant\u201d or \u201cnear\u201d rhyme] is: ABaBCADEDBFBFE. This is most irregular, but it displays Hodgson\u2019s organicism of poetic creation. The poem \u201cevolves\u201d and rolls on like the varied waves and moods of the sea. The distance of six lines between the E rhymes almost loses the echoing effect, and the lack of any echo for C is also unusual. The third line slant rhyme of \u201csoul,\u201d partly echoing \u201cfarewell,\u201d is actually \u201cpicked up\u201d in a full cross rhyme into line five with \u201ctoll.\u201d The musical effects are there. The poet is not eschewing rhyme and meter, but he is using them in a distinctive way. <\/span><\/p>\n

Hodgson was also interested in the theme of artistic inspiration itself. This can be seen in the poem aptly entitled, \u201cInspiration\u201d:<\/span><\/p>\n

INSPIRATION <\/span><\/h4>\n

Thou pursuest thy lonely way <\/span><\/em>
\n ‘Midst tortuous paths of brooding thought <\/span><\/em>
\n Lit by no gleam of earthly day <\/span><\/em>
\n Till, in a while, thy soul has caught, <\/span><\/em>
\n Despite of flutterings to escape, <\/span><\/em>
\n A formless thing of light \u2014unwrought; <\/span><\/em>
\n A misty, glowing spirit-flake, <\/span><\/em>
\n Waiting thy fire, thy forge, to make <\/span><\/em>
\n It into some great glorious shape.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

All in all, a fine brief lyric, containing the loneliness, the \u201cbrooding thought,\u201d the capture by the \u201csoul\u201d of that \u201cfluttering\u201d and fleeting thing, always threatening to \u201cescape\u201d \u2014the essence of inspiration, the \u201cthing of light\u201d as yet \u201cunwrought\u201d\u2014the spark that through the poet\u2019s soul of \u201cfire\u201d and the \u201cforge\u201d of mind and imagination might, just might, become a \u201cgreat and glorious\u201d thing.<\/span><\/p>\n

Perhaps the most poignant theme to be found in Hodgson is the same as that expressed by Keats in his famous sonnet, \u201cWhen I Have Fears\u201d: that of the artist who is aware of his own genius and fears that the potential creative work that might yet be\u2014will never be done:<\/span><\/p>\n

When I have fears that I may cease to be<\/em>
\n Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,<\/em>
\n Before high-piled books, in charactery,<\/em>
\n Hold like rich garners the full ripen’d grain;<\/em>
\n When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,<\/em>
\n Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,<\/em>
\n And think that I may never live to trace<\/em>
\n Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;\u2026<\/em> <\/span><\/p>\n

We see this also in Hemingway, in his masterful short story, \u201cThe Snows of Kilimanjaro.\u201d The character of Harry, dying of gangrene, thinks:<\/span><\/p>\n

Now he would never write the things that he had saved to write until he knew enough to write them well. Well, he would not have to fail at trying to write them either. Maybe you could never write them, and that was why you put them off and delayed the starting. Well he would never know, now.<\/span><\/p>\n

And in Hodgson\u2019s important poem, \u201cThe Death Cry of Young Genius,\u201d sub-titled, [In understanding of G’s feelings, as he lay dying, speechless; his message undelivered\u2014his personality unexpressed. WHH] we find the same somber theme in its opening:<\/span><\/p>\n

I am here for a little time; <\/span><\/em>
\n I came from the great Unknown; <\/span><\/em>
\n Life leaps from birth to death, <\/span><\/em>
\n And then I am alone <\/span><\/em>
\n In some unremembered<\/strong> clime, <\/span><\/em>
\n Wondering\u2014Without breath. <\/span><\/em>
\n I am here, and when I go <\/span><\/em>
\n I would leave some mark behind, <\/span><\/em>
\n But I must haste, or I am lost <\/span><\/em>
\n And wandering outward, blind, <\/span><\/em>
\n Forgetting, ere scarce I know, <\/span><\/em><\/strong>
\n The gain of life for the cost.\u2026 <\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

(emphases added)<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

And in its conclusion:<\/span><\/p>\n

But overtopping much <\/span><\/em>
\n Agony’s drearest goal<\/span><\/em><\/strong>
\n Is the agony now hurled. <\/span><\/em>
\n Genius smothered unheard, <\/span><\/em><\/strong>
\n Ere the soul-tale is expressed, <\/span><\/em><\/strong>
\n Is the greatest terror the world hath known, <\/span><\/em>
\n A double terror unguessed, <\/span><\/em>
\n For with such dies the unuttered Word \u2013<\/strong> <\/span><\/em>
\nThe genius dies not alone.<\/em> <\/span><\/p>\n

(emphases added)<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Alas, William Hope Hodgson was not allowed to finish the tale of his soul; the amazing and wondrous works of both prose and poetry that might have been must remain forever unheard. And that dreaded thing\u2014\u201cthe unuttered word\u201d\u2014must always be the plight of us all. But we know today that Hodgson\u2019s genius was not truly \u201csmothered.\u201d No author or poet or artist in any art has ever succeeded in \u201c[gleaning their] teeming brain.\u201d There is not world enough or time. What we have in the compilation of the work of this young genius, including his little-known poetic output must suffice. And most believe it does.<\/span><\/p>\n

Frank Coffman is a published poet, story writer <\/strong><\/em>and college professor
\n<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

\n

TEN POEMS<\/span><\/h1>\n

A Selection of Poems by William Hope Hodgson<\/span><\/h1>\n

Selected and edited by Frank Coffman<\/span><\/h3>\n
\"william<\/a>
william hope hodgson<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

THE NIGHT WIND<\/span><\/strong><\/h2>\n

O, thou sad wind, drear and inscrutable, <\/span><\/p>\n

I hear thy speech among dark mountain crests \u2013 <\/span>
\n(Above their faces, calm and immutable,) <\/span>
\nSinking at whiles to rests <\/span>
\nLike the slumbering creep of foam on quiet sands, <\/span>
\nOr sleeping of mists and rain o’er silent lands, <\/span>
\nRising anon to speech which seems to sound <\/span>
\nOut of the throat of some undreamt-of Pain \u2013 <\/span>
\nRising and rising, till the whole world round <\/span>
\nGives back an echo of thy mournful strain, <\/span>
\nTill the mysterious deeps that lurk in space <\/span>
\nReceive the sound in their engulphant maws; <\/span>
\nAnd further off, where through tremendous doors <\/span>
\nGod peers, strangely it passes o’er <\/span>
\nHis face, Meaning of worlds in pain.<\/span><\/p>\n

INSPIRATION<\/strong> <\/span><\/h2>\n

Thou pursuest thy lonely way <\/span>
\n‘Midst tortuous paths of brooding thought <\/span>
\nLit by no gleam of earthly day <\/span>
\nTill, in a while, thy soul has caught, <\/span>
\nDespite of flutterings to escape, <\/span>
\nA formless thing of light \u2014unwrought; <\/span>
\nA misty, glowing spirit-flake, <\/span>
\nWaiting thy fire, thy forge, to make <\/span>
\nIt into some great glorious shape.<\/span><\/p>\n

GONE<\/strong> <\/span><\/h2>\n

Thou hast gone on before me <\/span>
\nInto the grave’s strange gloom. <\/span>
\nWould that I could have gone with thee <\/span>
\nTo share thy tomb! <\/span>
\nTo share thy tomb, and thy waking, <\/span>
\nIf waking there be from death; <\/span>
\nIf not, it were joy forsaking <\/span>
\nThis life and the torture of breath <\/span>
\nAnd the pain of my old heart breaking <\/span>
\nAnd the fear of the years yet to roll <\/span>
\nWith their terror of loneliness aching <\/span>
\nWithin my hungering soul!<\/span><\/p>\n

LOVE SONG TO THE DEAD <\/span><\/h2>\n

I stand upon the rim of death, and sing my song, <\/span>
\nE’er I, stepping, pass along <\/span>
\nWhere the lonesome shadows throng <\/span>
\nIn the silent Underneath. <\/span>
\nWhether I may come to thee <\/span>
\nWho shall tell me? I go blind.<\/span>
\nJust my life, a useless thing! <\/span>
\nTo the lone abyss I fling <\/span>
\nChance that, dying, I may find <\/span>
\nThee, who art all hope for me. <\/span>
\nIf I find thee not, then I, <\/span>
\nWand’ring ‘neath some awful sky, <\/span>
\nShall sup doom with every breath, <\/span>
\nPast the easeful touch of death. . . . <\/span>
\nJust a shape of agony <\/span>
\nCraving for one sight of thee. <\/span>
\nI stand upon the rim of death, and sing my song, <\/span>
\nE’er I, stepping, pass along <\/span>
\nWhere the lonesome shadows throng <\/span>
\nIn the silent Underneath.<\/span><\/p>\n

SPUME <\/span><\/h2>\n

A loud wind screams; <\/span>
\nA sea-horse rushes past, <\/span>
\nA form of raging water filled with gleams, <\/span>
\nHurling before the blast.<\/span><\/p>\n

SONG OF THE SHIP <\/span><\/h2>\n

And I toss the blue from left to right, <\/span>
\nAnd I leap the driving surge, <\/span>
\nAnd the tall seas follow close behind, <\/span>
\nAnd ever the moaning of the wind <\/span>
\nWails softly a solemn dirge <\/span><\/p>\n

Through the lofty heights <\/span>
\nWhence the tender lights <\/span>
\nOf evening take their flight. <\/span>
\nAnd the night comes down in gloomy waves, <\/span>
\nAnd the growling thunders rise, <\/span>
\nTill their booming echoes fill the night, <\/span>
\nAnd the lightning throws its livid light <\/span>
\nAcross the murmuring skies: <\/span><\/p>\n

Whilst mountainous steeps <\/span>
\nAnd muttering deeps <\/span>
\nShape in the blast that raves. <\/span>
\nAnd the light flies up across the waves, <\/span>
\nAnd the dark gives place to dawn, <\/span>
\nAnd I see the whirling clouds of spray <\/span>
\nBreak over half of the coming day <\/span>
\nIn the luridness of morn, <\/span>
\nThat lifts and flies <\/span>
\nFar across the skies <\/span>
\nLighting a thousand graves.<\/span><\/p>\n

THOU AND I<\/span><\/h2>\n

O Sea, in days Long past, thy bosom bore<\/span>
\nMy little craft upon thine endless ways, <\/span>
\nFrom shore ‘cross thee, and back again to shore. <\/span>
\nThy solitude I shared with thee when thou <\/span>
\nDidst sink to some great stillness, there to brood; <\/span>
\nAnd loneliness lay coldly on thy brow. <\/span>
\nSad, solemn notes Chimed softly o’er thy breadths,<\/span>
\nAs though some secret rite in thy remotes <\/span>
\nWafted its harmony from slumberous depths. <\/span>
\nAnd this poor shape I would commend to thee; <\/span>
\nTreat it with tenderness\u2014hide it, and drape <\/span>
\nIt with thy beauties submarine, O Sea.<\/span><\/p>\n

CONQUEST <\/span><\/h2>\n

I saw the cold dawn stride across the East, <\/span>
\nA ghostly light –a livid Shade, that stept <\/span>
\nWith quick’ning strides from the abyss of night. <\/span>
\nHigher it strode and flashed a sword of flame, <\/span>
\nShearing the murky clouds of night in twain, <\/span>
\nA riven gap that reached from sea to heaven. <\/span>
\nAnd then a thousand glittering darts it flung <\/span>
\nOf blazing rays that flamed across the void <\/span>
\nAnd pierced the heart of night with quivering wounds <\/span>
\nThat bled a sombre glory o’er the wave. <\/span>
\nThen o’er the dim sea’s edge I saw the targe <\/span>
\nOf day\u2014the Sun\u2014loom grandly through the mists; <\/span>
\nAnd night expired beneath the feet of day.<\/span><\/p>\n

THY WANDERING SOUL <\/span><\/h2>\n

Thy spray-dewed soul o’er many a sea has ridden, <\/span>
\nBorne unseen through the spume where tempests ever call; <\/span>
\nWhere seas in shuddering mountains, tortured, driven, <\/span>
\nHeave smokily along, while over all <\/span>
\nThe deep continuous boomings and the moanings <\/span>
\nOf some vast storm’s reverberating sound, <\/span>
\nFills the whole sky with screamings and with groanings <\/span>
\nRising above the shouting seas around. <\/span><\/p>\n

Anon, the grim and murky night is riven <\/span>
\nWith some green serpent flaming from the vast, <\/span>
\nWith some cruel glitter lighting up the wildness, <\/span>
\nLighting the night-tide of that overcast; <\/span>
\nOne moment showing all that has been hidden\u2014<\/span>
\nDeep quaking valleys gaping ‘neath the blast, <\/span>
\nMad screeching fountains shooting through the darkness, <\/span>
\nLeaping sea-horses roaming masterless. <\/span><\/p>\n

And there, where spray, in foaming pillars forming, <\/span>
\nReaching the sky its canopy upholds\u2014<\/span>
\nWhitening towers of surge to save it falling, <\/span>
\nSeen in the flash of some weird lightning’s glow\u2014<\/span>
\nThere midst the din, the tumult and the storming, <\/span>
\nComes to thy soul the well-known, tortured cry, <\/span>
\nComes the wild scream of some poor sailor calling, <\/span>
\nCalling for help beneath a lonely sky\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

While through the wrack there drive up ghosts unbidden, <\/span>
\nEven as thou art\u2014driving through the surge, <\/span>
\nJoining their eldritch cries to ocean’s weeping, <\/span>
\nJoining their voices to that thunder-dirge; <\/span>
\nDirging for one, who sinking to his sleeping, <\/span>
\nSinking is gone where mystery unfolds; <\/span>
\nSinking, has passed until death shall awaken <\/span>
\nFrom that sad sleep far in the deeps below.<\/span><\/p>\n

FAREWELL<\/span><\/h2>\n

And, now it is farewell, <\/span>
\nForever, O great Sea! <\/span>
\nYet in some distant world, my soul <\/span>
\nShall dream of thee. <\/span>
\nFor now, a far-off toll, I hear\u2014 <\/span>
\nIt is my knell <\/span>
\nRung out by solemn waves on mist-bound shores, <\/span>
\nWhile overhead, the groan <\/span>
\nOf opening, monstrous doors <\/span>
\nComes echoing down to me, <\/span>
\nAnd streams of awful light <\/span>
\nShine o’er thy tumult, Sea, <\/span>
\nAs I pass up across the night <\/span>
\nInto the great Unknown.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

Works Cited<\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Frank, Jane. \u201cIntroduction.\u201d The Lost Poetry of William Hope Hodgson. Tartarus Press, 2005.<\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Hemingway, Ernest. \u201cThe Snows of Kilimanjaro\u201d \u2014 pick any edition or online source.<\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Hodgson, William Hope. The Lost Poetry of William Hope Hodgson. Ed. Jane Frank. PS Publishing & Tartarus Press. Kindle Edition.<\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Keats, John. \u201cWhen I Have Fears\u201d \u2014 pick any edition or online source.<\/span><\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Fancy a poem or ten? Don\u2019t look at us like that \u2013 they\u2019re jolly interesting ones, for today we consider the poetry of William Hope Hodgson, as part of our remembrance on this, the centenary year of his death. We don\u2019t poet, ourselves, so we\u2019re most grateful to have writer, poet and poetic scholar Frank … Continue reading William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"iawp_total_views":53,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5113","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\nWilliam Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word - greydogtales<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word - greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Fancy a poem or ten? Don\u2019t look at us like that \u2013 they\u2019re jolly interesting ones, for today we consider the poetry of William Hope Hodgson, as part of our remembrance on this, the centenary year of his death. We don\u2019t poet, ourselves, so we\u2019re most grateful to have writer, poet and poetic scholar Frank … Continue reading William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word →\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2018-05-21T20:29:18+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/05\/borderland1-300x199.jpg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"greydogtales\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Estimated reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"17 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/\",\"name\":\"William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word - greydogtales\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/05\/borderland1-300x199.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2018-05-21T20:29:18+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2018-05-21T20:29:18+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/1c2413a29a9d04fbc9280c12fdf7b151\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-GB\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-GB\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/05\/borderland1.jpg?fit=1280%2C850\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/05\/borderland1.jpg?fit=1280%2C850\",\"width\":1280,\"height\":850},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#website\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/\",\"name\":\"greydogtales\",\"description\":\"Literature, lurchers and life\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-GB\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/1c2413a29a9d04fbc9280c12fdf7b151\",\"name\":\"greydogtales\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-GB\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/33b1544bc8676700f4c33c9ed5475632?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/33b1544bc8676700f4c33c9ed5475632?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"greydogtales\"},\"description\":\"John Linwood Grant writes occult detective and dark fantasy stories, in between running his beloved lurchers and baking far too many kinds of bread. Apart from that, he enjoys growing unusual fruit and reading rejection slips. He is six foot tall, ageing at an alarming rate, and has his own beard.\",\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\"],\"url\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/author\/greydogtales\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word - greydogtales","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/","og_locale":"en_GB","og_type":"article","og_title":"William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word - greydogtales","og_description":"Fancy a poem or ten? Don\u2019t look at us like that \u2013 they\u2019re jolly interesting ones, for today we consider the poetry of William Hope Hodgson, as part of our remembrance on this, the centenary year of his death. We don\u2019t poet, ourselves, so we\u2019re most grateful to have writer, poet and poetic scholar Frank … Continue reading William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word →","og_url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/","og_site_name":"greydogtales","article_published_time":"2018-05-21T20:29:18+00:00","og_image":[{"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/05\/borderland1-300x199.jpg","type":"","width":"","height":""}],"author":"greydogtales","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"greydogtales","Estimated reading time":"17 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/","url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/","name":"William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word - greydogtales","isPartOf":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/05\/borderland1-300x199.jpg","datePublished":"2018-05-21T20:29:18+00:00","dateModified":"2018-05-21T20:29:18+00:00","author":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/1c2413a29a9d04fbc9280c12fdf7b151"},"breadcrumb":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-GB","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-GB","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/05\/borderland1.jpg?fit=1280%2C850","contentUrl":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/05\/borderland1.jpg?fit=1280%2C850","width":1280,"height":850},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/william-hope-hodgson-unuttered-word\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"William Hope Hodgson: The Unuttered Word"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#website","url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/","name":"greydogtales","description":"Literature, lurchers and life","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-GB"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/1c2413a29a9d04fbc9280c12fdf7b151","name":"greydogtales","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-GB","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/33b1544bc8676700f4c33c9ed5475632?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/33b1544bc8676700f4c33c9ed5475632?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"greydogtales"},"description":"John Linwood Grant writes occult detective and dark fantasy stories, in between running his beloved lurchers and baking far too many kinds of bread. Apart from that, he enjoys growing unusual fruit and reading rejection slips. He is six foot tall, ageing at an alarming rate, and has his own beard.","sameAs":["http:\/\/greydogtales.com"],"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/author\/greydogtales\/"}]}},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6sRRV-1kt","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":4232,"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/shiela-crerar-clay-corpses-psychic-investigation-girls\/","url_meta":{"origin":5113,"position":0},"title":"Shiela Crerar, Clay-Corpses & Psychic Investigation for Girls","author":"greydogtales","date":"July 20, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"\u201cOh, you modern women! You dabble in science and medicine, you dabble in politics and law, and now you dabble in the occult. What else is there left for mere man?\u201d Today we get lost in Scotland and its folklore with Shiela Crerar, follow a plucky young woman's psychic endeavours,\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"classic horror\"","block_context":{"text":"classic horror","link":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/tag\/classic-horror\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"shiela crerar","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/07\/doll-626790_960_720-300x200.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":4071,"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/fables-disappearances-untethered-tales-gwendolyn-kiste\/","url_meta":{"origin":5113,"position":1},"title":"Fables and Disappearances: The Untethered Tales of Gwendolyn Kiste","author":"greydogtales","date":"May 29, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"Today, dear listener, we have loss and identity; clarity and hope; the core of writing, style, Angela Carter and some dark, magical stories. When we thought about interviewing author Gwendolyn Kiste, we realised we wanted to burrow behind her work a bit, so we went there.\u00a0 Though we centre on\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"interviews\"","block_context":{"text":"interviews","link":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/tag\/interviews\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"SONY DSC","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/05\/And-Her-Smile-Will-Untether-the-Universe-Gwendolyn-300x201.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":2610,"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/shades-of-sherlock-holmes-pastiche-paranormal-or-piffle\/","url_meta":{"origin":5113,"position":2},"title":"Shades of Sherlock Holmes: Pastiche, Paranormal or Piffle?","author":"greydogtales","date":"August 17, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"In which we consider the Holmes pastiche, for better or for worse... Holmes forced more of the vile Turkish tobacco into his pipe, wincing as he realised that yet again he was smoking the damnable stuff in order to keep up appearances. \u201cDespite the fact that you are secretly my\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"sherlock holmes\"","block_context":{"text":"sherlock holmes","link":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/tag\/sherlock-holmes\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"Huty1913428","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/08\/sherlock-holmes-basil-rathbone-300x200.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":7318,"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/scotland-the-strange-the-eyes-of-doom\/","url_meta":{"origin":5113,"position":3},"title":"SCOTLAND THE STRANGE: THE EYES OF DOOM","author":"greydogtales","date":"January 24, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"This week, in honour of Burns Night, which celebrates Scottish poet Robert Burns (25 January 1759 \u2013 21 July 1796), our greydogtales site begins a ramble through the subject of Scottish supernatural\/horror and related cultural stuff. We\u2019ll have some classic tales, new material, guest reviews of some really bad films\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"SCOTLAND THE STRANGE","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/Ben_Lomond_from_Beinn_Narnain-300x163.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":7509,"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/clarks-world-the-willvent-bin\/","url_meta":{"origin":5113,"position":4},"title":"CLARK\u2019S WORLD: THE WILL\u2019VEN\u2019T BIN","author":"greydogtales","date":"November 5, 2025","format":false,"excerpt":"We\u2019re always pleased to see a new book from Alan M Clark, not only a talented author but also, as it happens, an award-winning artist. The Will\u2019ven\u2019t Bin, just out from IFD Publishing (15th October), joins his other intriguing historically-set works, this time with a Young Adult focus and science\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"alan m clark","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/EbookCover_TheWillventBin_small-200x300.jpeg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5113","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5113"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5113\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5122,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5113\/revisions\/5122"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5113"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5113"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5113"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}