Happy it-would-have-been-your-148th birthday, Aleister Crowley, the man who — among many other things — once tricked a Catholic publisher into printing a book of lurid poems with “lesbian undertones” which were supposedly dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
According to Richard Kaczynski’s Perdurabo: The Life of Aleister Crowley, the mad old goat realised that “his poems in praise of non-Christian goddesses … became perfectly acceptable hymns by merely changing the name to Mary and perhaps changing a key word or two”
So, he submitted some to publishers Burns & Oates, “did nothing to dispel rumors that [the] author was a leading London actress”, and they came out in December 1908. Catholic magazine The Month — somewhat inaccurately — praised their “lofty and sustained … poetic flight”
The Catholic Herald said the book “breath[ed] a spirit of deep piety and filial love”, which was also stretching the truth rather. Unfortunately, Wilfrid Meynell, who ran Burns & Oates, discovered the author’s identity, “his wife passed out, and he pulled the book”.
Crowley did what any self-respecting mystical loon would do: published it privately under the name Hail Mary, and shoved some dirty acrostics in for good measure. The second verse of the prologue spells TWAT, for example
…which seems a bit lazy, until you learn that the first letter of each line of the epilogue, plus the first letter of the last word on each line, spell “The Virgin Mary I desire / but arseholes set my prick on fire”. Obviously
![TRANSCEND, O Mage, thy soul redeemed!
Her mercy shone where sorrow steamed.
Exalted in the skies of even
Virtue hath cleared thy way to Heaven.
In darkness hides the glittering ore.
Revealed thy Light, O mystic lore
Given by GOD, lest I should err
In dexter or in sinister.
Now Mary Virgin to my speech
Married Her fire that all and each
At last should gather to the Tryst,
Ripe suns arisen above the mist!
Yea ! Thou hast given me favour ! Yea !
In utmost love and awe we pray… [cont]](https://miro.medium.com/v2/resize:fit:1100/format:webp/1*xijONutyubcyvg5TI8oD7g.png)
According to an advert at the time, the Daily Mail described Crowley’s verses as being filled “with quaint and charming conceits”, the work of “a mind full of earnest aspirations”, and something “cordially recommended to Catholic readers”.
Mind you, if that advert had anything to do with Crowley, it would also need taking with a pinch of salt. The poems are, of course, doggerel. Even if Vanity Fair once (possibly) thought otherwise
Some versions of the story say the filthy acrostics were in the original version, too, but all of Burns & Oates’ records were destroyed in the Blitz in 1941, so it’s impossible to say for sure.
“Lesbian undertones”, though…? (Please feel free to make your own jokes here about an all-female Derry-based tribute act)
Well, according to a Crowley fan site, these were identified by Crowley expert Timothy d’Arch Smith in his essay collection The Books of the Beast, and the ‘poems’ were supposedly written for Mary by a woman.
That “Privately printed for the authoress and her intimates” bit on the title page could be read with a raised eyebrow, and the work itself is overwrought in a bloke’s-idea-of-a-girl’s-boarding-school-diary kind of way.
But actually sapphic? Well, the whole thing’s online now (because of course it is), so feel free to look for the saucy bits yourself, but I wouldn’t recommend holding your breath.
If you’ve enjoyed this — and I grant you, the word ‘if’ may be taking some strain there — you may also want to read the story of W B Yeats kicking Aleister Crowley down some stairs:
