Abdullah Quilliam’s Poetry after 1909: A Selection with Footnotes
Brent D. Singleton has already collected together Sheikh Abdullah Quilliam’s poetry up to 1908, to the end of his active Liverpool years.[1] Yet that was not the end of his published output as a poet, most of which appeared in the journal of the learned society he established in 1913, The Philomath of the Société Internationale de Philologie, Sciences et Beaux-Arts. So I present a selection of that poetry here, to be supplemented if I come across any other poetry from the period that I think ought to be included for literary or historical reasons of interest. There are a dozen poems here, dated in chronological order from circa 1908 to 1918, and they cover a mixture of religious and secular topics.
As is now well known, when Quilliam returned from Istanbul in late 1909, he adopted a pseudonym Henri Marcel Léon and an identity as a learned man of letters, which allowed Quilliam in his last quarter-century to pursue his passions for philology, comparative religion, geology, literature, history and other disciplines or topics that attracted his flexible and powerful intellect and roving curiosity. One is tempted to draw the conclusion that William Gottleib Leitner (d.1899), once his nemesis and rival, was also a goad and inspiration to Quilliam too as a proximate model of a feted polymath and polyglot. Yet it was an open secret among the small, tight-knit Muslim community that Léon and Quilliam were one and the same person, as it was among his old non-Muslim friends like William Ralph Hall Caine, but out of respect for the Sheikh they accepted this new identity and did not betray this to wider society.
That said, Quilliam clearly chafed at the restraints of his new life and missed his old one. After 1913, it was common practice for him to write pieces in his own journals as Léon or as Quilliam, and this practice included his poetry too. I would however want to hypothesise that he also published a volume of poetry under yet another pen-name, Sheikh Haroun Abdullah. This is a new theory. I would like to acknowledge Chris Starbuck here for first putting the seeds of this idea in my head.
My working hypothesis is that after 1914, Quilliam would on occasion use his new public persona as Henri Marcel Léon to present his personal devotional poetry as translations “from the Turkish”. Some of the poems are unattributed to anyone and simply say they are translations “from the Turkish”, but others are attributed to a named individual.
As the Ottoman literature specialist, Mehmet Emin at the University of Chicago has pointed out to me in personal correspondence, this may also apply to the book of poetry Quilliam as Leon translated “from the Turkish” of Sheikh Haroun Abdullah (c.963H/1555–6CE-c.1047H/1637–8CE) and that he published in 1916.[2] No such Mevlevi poet of that name is mentioned in the standard reference work on Mevlevi poets in the Ottoman period, Tezkire-i Şuarâ-i Mevleviyye (Biographies of Mevlevi Poets) by Esrar Dede. Nor is there any mention of this sheikh-poet in Ottoman court records being honoured or later exiled, as Léon claims in the introduction to the book.
The internal evidence from the book shows a literary style that is not in line with classical Ottoman (divan) poetry. The titles of the poems are more reflective of the Tanzimat period in the latter half of the nineteenth century. A final piece of evidence is that three of poems attributed to the Ottoman poet in the translation were attributed to Léon himself when they were published in the Islamic Review (Woking).
However, this has yet to be satisfactorily settled as a working hypothesis (I welcome feedback from other Quilliam scholars). Yet if proven to be true it would open up fascinating new insights into Quilliam’s personal faith for it would demonstrate a deep personal attachment to, affinity with and understanding of the Junaydi “sober” school of Sufism, whereas previously it was thought Quilliam’s interest was more academic.[3]
Habeeba
Habeeba dear to me, thy image fills my soul,
The thought of thee inflames, and burneth like a coal;
My love for thee is, oh! so great, its pleasure gives me pain,
And when I try thee to forget I only try in vain;
A single glance from thy sweet eye enthrals me with a spell,
Thy lips do with a rosebud vie, and honey there doth dwell.
The raven tresses, black as jet, like ebony do shine,
Thy voice as soft as cooing dove, or nightingale divine;
Thy pearly teeth, rich gems they be, as those from depths of sea,
The sweetest peach or nectarine is not so sweet as thee;
The sight of thee intoxicates far more than ruby wine;
Habeeba, love, my darling one, oh say that thou’lt be mine.”
Signed as Sheikh Haroun Abdullah, c.1908 [4]
Fight On
Be not dismay’d whate’er betide,
Fight on! Fight on!
Do your best and patiently bide,
Fight on! Fight on!
Thro’ days of toil, tho’ care assail,
Fight on! Fight on!
The right is sure to yet prevail,
Fight on! Fight on!
Let never doubt enter thy breast,
Fight on! Fight on!
Be ever true and do thy best,
Fight on! Fight on!
Tho’ path be long, ‘twill soon be past,
Fight on Fight on!
The victory will come at last,
Fight on! Fight on!
Signed WHAQ, 25 December 1911[5]
The Taking of the Guns at Mons
It is of the British Lancers,
The gallant “Ninth,” I sing,
And to those sons of England, brave,
My little tribute bring,
And in verse do tell the story,
How gallant Britain’s sons,
At Mons, the Teuton put to rout,
And silenced by the guns —
‘Leven cannon were in ambush,
And Germans there did lay,
Intent, with hellish iron hail,
The British troops to slay;
The bugle sounded for the charge, —
The Lancers, with a smile,
Midst hail of shrapnel, and of lead,
Rode forward, a full mile.
Thro’ infantry, that barr’d their course,
Fiercely they cut their way,
In vain it was the Teuton tried
Britannia’s sons to stay;
Still on they rode, that gallant band,
Heroes of noble cause,
They reached their quarry and there slew
The Foe ‘neath cannon’s jaws.
The gunners slain, the guns made dumb
(Not one was let remain),
Midst fire of rifle and of shell
Rode they then back again; —
That deed shall live in ages yet,
History’s page upon,
Recorded e’er, the story there,
Of that brave charge at Mons.
Signed as HML[6]
The Rock on the Volga
Hast heard of a rock on the Volga,
A pillar that stands there alone,
The wild moss from base until summit,
Doth cover its grim walls of stone?
For ages that rock on the Volga,
Hath stood with its crown ever bare,
The wind and the storm never heeding
And callous to pain and to care.
Up there on that rock on the Volga,
On dizziest height of its crest,
The eagle, the fierce and mighty,
Hath built there its eerie, its nest.
The crest of that rock on the Volga,
The foot of but one man hath prest,
His name lives for e’er on the Volga:
Stenzka Razin, the hero, the blest.
One night up that rock on the Volga,
He clamber’d its grim walls of stone,
And mused on the wrongs of the people,
All silent he sat there alone.
When sun shone on rock on the Volga,
Great deeds in his breast had been born,
His soul there he gave unto Freedom,
All tyrants to hold e’er in scorn.
Down there from that rock on the Volga,
Away from the sound of its wave,
He march’d that true son of the Volga,
The people from tyrants to save.
Ne’er more to that rock on the Volga,
Did Stenka, the hero, return,
He yielded his life for the people,
The crown of a martyr did earn.
It stands there that rock on the Volga,
And rears still its crest o’er the wave,
And mutely it e’er tells the story,
On Stenka, the noble, the brave.
Stand firm still oh rock on the Volga,
Heedless of the storm or the blast,
Proclaiming for ever this message,
That Freedom shall triumph at last.
Signed as HML, 23 January 1915[7]
Ya Hodja! (Oh Teacher)
“Important ‘tis,” God’s Prophet said, “to guide the infant mind,
By admonition kindly gi’en, and conduct firm but kind.
A child is like a budding shrub, and thou wilt ever find,
Just as thou bendest tender twig, so is the tree inclined.”
So Hodja watch conduct and word, when thou with children deal,
Let them not see the mere Hodja, but thou their dostman feel;
Line upon line, step after step, thus serve instruction’s meal,
Patience thy motto ever be, thy actions wisdom seal;
So when they pupils, after, do, to manhood firm attain,
Whate’er success they gather then, thine also be the gain;
Thine was the hand, the infant mind, did so in order train,
That for their king, Wisdom they placed, within their mind to reign.
Oh Hodja! thine’s a noble task, and if without a taint,
Thou dost thy duty cheerfully, and it ne’er shirk or feint,
Thou art a hero, noble, bold, such one as poets paint,
And Allah, thee, blessings will give, and count thee as a saint.
Signed as HML, published in 1915[8]
In Praise of the Prophet
So long as the heart doth pulsate and beat,
So long as the sun bestows light and heat,
So long as the blood thro’ our veins doth flow,
So long as the mind in knowledge doth grow,
So long as the tongue retains power of speech,
So long as wise men true wisdom do teach,
The praise of God’s Prophet, Ahmed the Blest,
Shall flow from our lips and spring from our breast,
’Twas Rasul-Allah from darkness of night
Did lead us to Truth, did give to us light,
Did point out the path, which follow’d with zest,
Leadeth to Islam and gives Peace and Rest,
Praise be to Allah! ’Twas He who did send,
Ahmed Muhammad, our Prophet, our Friend.
1915, variously attributed[9]
The Song That Lived
A poet once upon a time,
Did venture to essay a rhyme,
And to himself did amusing say,
“I’ll sing a song to live for aye.”
Then one he wrote to please the crowd,
They chorused it in accents loud;
It reign’d a month; and then, one day,
The crowd took up another lay.
“No more I’ll write, vile mob, for you,”
He said, and wrote to please the few;
His song was sung before a king,
And then — became forgotten thing.
“Begone,” he said, “all thought of pelf,
All thirst for fame, I’ll please myself,
I’ll pen a strain from such apart,
I’ll write the thoughts within my heart.”
His inmost thoughts, then he did pen,
Not caring he for king or men,
He sang of joy, he spoke of tears,
And lo! his song outliv’d the years.
The only song that ne’er knows death,
The one that e’er holds vital breath,
The lines that want no skill or art,
Are those, which gush forth from the heart.
Signed WHAQ, 26 December 1916[10]
The Moaning of the Pines
Lo I hear a sound as of deepest sighing,
A sound in the trees, as of murmurings low,
A sound as one hears when some one is dying,
A sound as of wind moaning over the snow.
Oh what is that sound, and what is it saying?
Is it a message bearing sadness and gloom?
Is it the dull cry of Nature decaying,
That thus, in the trees, sighs with piteous boom?
There now I hear it in doleful tones singing,
So sadly singing in a doleful low tone,
Why do I hear it? Why will it keep ringing?
Why do I fear it? Why doth it ever moan?
It sounds like a knell, yet ever complaining,
Holds me with a spell, tho’ I loathe to be hearing,
Ever a dull sound, and ever maintaining,
Cry, sad and profound, a sound to be fearing.
Oh tell me ye wind, why thus ye are groaning?
Tell me, oh be kind, and tell me, why ye sigh?
Ah! Now I perceive, ’tis dismally moaning,
“To-day ye do live, but to-morrow ye die!”
Signed as HML, 17 January 1917[11]
Yalniz (Alone)
“Allah hath declared unto man ‘Fear not, for I am with you, I will hear and I will see.’” — Sura “Ta Ha.” Koran.
Alone, doth man pass, when he endeth his life,
Alone, he endures its troubles and strife,
Alone, ‘fore his God, to be judged at last,
Alone, must he bear the sentence then pass’d,
Alone, he to answer, for ev’ry misdeed,
Alone, then to prove his faith and his creed.
Alone, man retire, e’er it be too late,
Alone, then deep muse on thy possible fate,
Alone, then resolve for sin to atone,
Alone, man e’er strive. Yet, never alone;
For learn thou, O man! whatever betide,
Thou art not alone; God is by thy side.
Signed as HML, 22 April 1917, “translated from the Turkish” [12]
Al-Fajr — The Daybreak
“I fly for refuge unto Allah, the Lord of the daybreak.” (Sura 113, “Al-Falaq, Koran).
At Al-Fajr dawn, when sun doth out peep
From couch in the East, so dark and so dim,
I ope my eyes and awaken from sleep,
And softly murmur to Allah my hymn,
The words come quickly, so fervent and true,
Not strung together by method or art;
They harmonize there, as in rainbow hue,
For my tongue uttes the cry of the heart;
“All glory to God, the Eternal One,
All praise be to Him, the Source of all light,
Who causeth the day, who hath fix’d the sun,
And granteth sweet sleep, when cometh the night.”
Signed WHAQ, Liverpool, 28 October 1917[13]
1918
The old year has nigh reach’d its ending,
Its hours are fast ebbing away;
Our thoughts to the New Year are tending,
Leaving the old one to decay.
We trust that the new one is bringing
To us neither sorrow nor fear,
And firm in our hearts there is clinging
The wish for a Happy New Year.
To God, then, let each one be praying,
With Faith, fervent, true and sincere,
That carnage may cease and end all slaying,
And Peace reign within the New Year.
Signed as HML, 23 December 1917[14]
A Valentine to My Wife
Long years ago, so I have read,
A saint on earth did dwell,
But where he liv’d, or what he said,
That no one, now, can tell.
His holy name, Valentine be,
And, when he went above,
Saint him they made, and patron he
Of all, who truly love.
When second month the year doth greet,
And fourteenth day arrive,
Each one should send, a missive sweet,
To keep his fame alive.
Address’d this note must be, in chief,
To one they love e’er true,
Therefore, you see, this poem brief,
Dear wife, I send to you.
And with the verse, as you may guess,
The wish, that God above,
Will keep, protect and ever bless,
The one I truly love.
Signed as HML, 14 February 1918[15]
Notes
[1] Brent D. Singleton (ed.), The Convert’s Passion: An Anthology of Islamic Poetry from Late Victorian and Edwardian Britain (USA: Borgo Press, 2009), 104–58, culled from The Crescent and The Islamic World.
[2] Henri M. Léon, Sheikh Haroun Abullah: A Turkish Poet and His Poetry (Blackburn: Geo. Toulmin & Sons for La Société Internationale de Philologie, Science et Beaux-Arts, London, 1916), 108pp.
[3] Y. Birt, “Abdullah Quilliam and Sufism”, Medium, 20 August 2016, https://medium.com/@yahyabirt/abdullah-quilliam-and-sufism-1d17fa88f7c7, accessed 11 December 2019.
[4] Léon, Sheikh Haroun Abullah, pp.22–3. The book in which this poem appears was dedicated to his daughter, May Habeeba Quilliam, who had died at the age of eleven in May 1908 from diphtheria, who was very dear to Quilliam. My hypothesis is that his loss and grief for his daughter is transposed on to an imagined encounter between a widowed Mevlevi sheikh, Haroun Abdullah, and his deceased wife, who is given the same name, Habeeba. Given the rawness of the poem, I would speculatively date it to the year of his daughter’s death, perhaps once he had arrived in Istanbul.
[5] The Philomath, 1918, pp.16–17. Written in a period of personal struggle in Quilliam’s life (1909–1913) it is hard not to see this as autobiographical, expressing a personal determination to get through what was a time of difficulty for Quilliam. Its publication six years later in Quilliam’s journal, The Philomath, and its placement next to his mournful prayer for an end to the Great War gives this prewar poem a rather different inflection in this wartime context.
[6] The Philomath, 1915/1, pp.2–3; also in Russell Markland (ed.), The Glory of Belgium: A Tribute and a Chronicle (London: Erskine MacDonald, 1915), p.64. The Battle of Mons was the first main action that the British army saw in the First World War, which they lost to the Germans despite inflicting higher casualties. This is yet more evidence of Quilliam’s unabashed patriotic stance at the beginning of the Great War.
[7] The Philomath, 1915, 6, pp.101–2. Based on an uprising lead by Stenka (Stephen) Razin against Alex, Tsar of Russia (1645–76). Quilliam heard this story from another Société member, Jaakoff Prelooker (pictured above).
[8] The Philomath, 1917, pp.14–15. Quilliam translates “dostman” as “friend” in the footnotes to the poem. This particular poem is unattributed to anyone, but in general the poem fits in well with the didactic strand in Quilliam’s earlier poetry in Liverpool before 1909.
[9] Attributed to Sheikh Haroun Abdullah in the 1916 poetry collection, p.81, but is attributed directly to Léon in the Islamic Review, June 1915, p.286. This double authorial attribution also occurs with two other poems, “Respect the Cat” and “The Prophet and the Jew”.
[10] The Philomath, 1917, p.52. Again, it is hard not to also see this poem as autobiographical. Here Quilliam sees his loss of status after his debarring as a solicitor and his loss of Abdul Hamid II as his chief patron as tests from God and chides himself to respond with fortitude.
[11] The Philomath, 1917, pp.249–50.
[12] The Philomath, 1917, pp.250, see introduction above about the potential true provenance of these Turkish translations.
[13] The Philomath, 1917, p.289. Here the Sheikh writes movingly about prayer bringing coolness to the eyes.
[14] The Philomath, 1918, p.16. In contrast to his early bullish war poem of early 1915 (see above), this shows all signs of the weariness and horror of the great war. Here Quilliam offers a simple hopeful prayer for peace, for an end to the sorrow and fear that the war brought.
[15] The Philomath, 1918, p.72. Addressed to his third wife, Edith Miriam Léon.
