Poor Francis Thompson. His poem "The Hound of Heaven" speaks of a soul pursued by the Divine. He must've lived exhausted. The poem tells of fleeing the Hound through space and time, hurrying through his mind and emotions. It begins:
"I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled Him down the arches of the years
I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears
I hid from him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped and shot precipitated
Adown titanic glooms of chasme'd fears
From those strong feet that followed, follwed after
But with unhurrying chase and unperturbe'd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instsancy,
They beat, and a Voice beat
More instant than the feet:
All things betray thee who betrayest me."
And on it goes. This text was one of those set for my English Literature O level back in 1980. I was class expert in the sort of doctrinal information that got me top marks in essays about Poems of Faith and Doubt. But what strikes me on reading the poem again (after a reflective moment in which it sprang to mind) is that I didn't know, and wasn't taught, to apply the word co-dependency to the Hound / Pursued relationship. And if I knew anything about stalking it was something to do with deer, not frightening, unwanted attention. If I was commenting on The Hound of Heaven now, I might say in my essay that a restraining order on that Hound is long overdue!
If you've ever been pursued by someone who purports to love you, if you've been hassled, threatened by a person-thinks-they're-god, who won't just leave you alone, who doesn't respect your simplest boundaries, then this poem, which is at one level praising the persistence of divine love, will send a chill to your heart, as it does now to mine.
If you've ever had this said to you, "I love you so much I'll harm myself if you don't XYZ...," then the whole Hound-poem thing looks more terrifying and manipulative than pinnacle of Victorian ode-writing. No wonder Francis was "sore adread". No wonder he, in the absence of twenty-first century trauma-informed therapy, capitulated to the Hound in the end. No wonder even the care of others who rated his poetry couldn’t help him give up his opium addiction.
I'm sorry, but English Literature O level notwithstanding, I think The Hound of Heaven a ghastly poem. I know it was written in a different era. I know it rhymes, and is an extended metaphor, and is thought be great, particularly by those who share Thompson’s faith, but that's not enough to redeem it for me.
I'm grateful, nevertheless, that the poem exists for this reason:Thompson and his Dangerous Dog highlight the importance of choosing the right hound to live alongside. One that's cool, self-sufficient, has a band of kind and reliable archetypal friends. A dog who sleeps on his back atop his kennel, listens to Woodstock speaking in Bird, writes novels, and recognises, and has compassion for, human foibles. Most of all, a hound who is at peace with his own doggy, dogged nature, and doesn't feel the need to capture and dominate others.
So, Snoopy! I choose Snoopy as my hound for Christmas, and for life.
NB - I searched for copyright-free images of Snoopy ... so I'm aware this isn't a Schulz original!
