William Topaz McGonagall - In Praise of a Truly Dreadful Poet.

[Screaming Lord Byron]

http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/

William Topaz McGonagall, poet and tragedian of Dundee, has been widely hailed as the writer of the worst poetry in the English language.

A self-educated hand loom weaver from Dundee, he discovered his discordant muse in 1877 and embarked upon a 25 year career as a working poet, delighting and appalling audiences across Scotland and beyond.

A Selection Of His Finer Works.

The Tay Bridge Disaster
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time

The Clepington Catastrophe
'TWAS on a Monday morning, and in the year of 1884,
That a fire broke out in Bailie Bradford's store,
Which contained bales of jute and large quantities of waste,
Which the brave firemen ran to extinguish in great haste.

They left their wives that morning without any dread,
Never thinking, at the burning pile, they would be killed dead
By the falling of the rickety and insecure walls;
When I think of it, kind Christians, my heart it appals!

The Pennsylvania Disaster
'TWAS in the year of 1889, and in the month of June,
Ten thousand people met with a fearful doom,
By the bursting of a dam in Pennsylvania State,
And were burned, and drowned by the flood-- oh! pity their fate!

The embankment of the dam was considered rather weak,
And by the swelled body of water the embankment did break,
And burst o'er the valley like a leaping river,
Which caused the spectators with fear to shiver.

The Battle of Sheriffmuir:
A Historical Poem
'TWAS in the year 1715, and on the 10th of November,
Which the people of Scotland have cause to remember;
On that day the Earl of Mar left Perth bound for Sheriffmuir,
At the same time leaving behind a garrison under Colonel Balfour.

Besides leaving a force of about three thousand men quartered in different parts of Fife,
To protect the people's property, and quell party strife,
The army along with him amounted to three thousand foot and twelve hundred cavalry,
All in the best of order, a most pleasant sight to see.


A personal favourite
The Battle Of El-Teb
YE sons of Great Britain, I think no shame
To write in praise of brave General Graham!
Whose name will be handed down to posterity without any stigma,
Because, at the battle of El-Teb, he defeated Osman Digna.

With an army about five thousand strong,
To El-Teb, in the year 1884, he marched along,
And bivouacked there for the night;
While around their fires they only thought of the coming fight.

They kept up their fires all the long night,
Which made the encampment appear weird-like to the sight;
While the men were completely soaked with the rain,
But the brave heroes disdained to complain.

The brave heroes were glad when daylight did appear,
And when the reveille was sounded, they gave a hearty cheer
And their fires were piled up higher again,
Then they tried to dry their clothes that were soaked with the rain.

[MrBenchley]

1. His American counterpart is J. Gordon Coogler

How strange are dreams! I dreamed the other night!
A dream that made me tremble,
Not with fear, but with a kind of strange reality;
My supper, though late, consisted of no cheese.

And then of course, there's Julia Moore, the Sweet Singer of Michigan, almost in a class beyond all others...

"Lord Byron" was an Englishman
      A poet I believe,
His first works in old England
      Was poorly received.
Perhaps it was "Lord Byron's" fault
      And perhaps it was not.
His life was full of misfortunes,
      Ah, strange was his lot.

The character of "Lord Byron"
      Was of a low degree,
Caused by his reckless conduct,
      And bad company.
He sprung from an ancient house,
      Noble, but poor, indeed.
His career on earth, was marred
      By his own misdeeds.

Generous and tender hearted,
      Affectionate by extreme,
In temper he was wayward,
      A poor "Lord" without means;
Ah, he was a handsome fellow
      With great poetic skill,
His great intellectual powers
      He could use at his will.

He was a sad child of nature,
      Of fortune and of fame;
Also sad child to society,
      For nothing did he gain
But slander and ridicule,
      Throughout his native land.
Thus the "poet of the passions,"
      Lived, unappreciated, man

Sometimes again "Lord Byron"
      Was censured by the press,
Such obloquy, he could not endure,
      So he done what was the best.
He left his native country,
      This great unhappy man;
The only wish he had, "'tis said,"
      He might die, sword in hand.

He had joined the Grecian Army;
      This man of delicate frame;
And there he died in a distant land,
      And left on earth his fame.
"Lord Byron's" age was 36 years,
      Then closed the sad career,
Of the most celebrated "Englishman"
      Of the nineteenth century.

[Screaming Lord Byron]

2. 'My supper, though late, consisted of no cheese'

Genius.

[MrBenchley]

12. "Alas for the South

Her poets are fewer
She never was much given to literature"

Ever read "The Stuffed Owl"? Full of bad poetry, including this ode upon the death of Queen Victoria:

"Dust to dust and ashes to ashes
Into the tomb the great Queen dashes"

One more selection; This was part of the Poet Laureate's ode to the Prince of Wales catching an unspecified disease (which turned out to be the clap):

Then along the wires
The gloomy message came:
'He is not much better
He is still the same.'

[Screaming Lord Byron]

3. The Burial of the Reverend George Gilfillan

On the Gilfillan burial day,
In the Hill o' Balgay,
It was a most solemn sight to see,
Not fewer than thirty thousand people assembled in Dundee,
All watching the funeral procession of Gilfillan that day,
That death had suddenly taken away,
And was going to be buried in the Hill o' Balgay.

[southpaw]

4. Do all of his poems contain a date?

It's like a collection of poorly metered, bad-rhyming news briefs.

[Screaming Lord Byron]

5. Pretty much. I get the feeling he just sat at home with the newspaper

It's pretty much reportage.

The Death Of Prince Leopold
ALAS! noble Prince Leopold, he is dead!
Who often has his lustre shed:
Especially by singing for the benefit of Esher School,
Which proves he was a wise prince. and no conceited fool.

Methinks I see him on the platform singing the Sands o' Dee,
The generous-hearted Leopold, the good and the free,
Who was manly in his actions, and beloved by his mother;
And in all the family she hasn't got such another.

He was of a delicate constitution all his life,
And he was his mother's favourite, and very kind to his wife,
And he had also a particular liking for his child,
And in his behaviour he was very mild.

Oh! noble-hearted Leopold, most beautiful to see,
Who was wont to fill your audience's hearts with glee,
With your charming songs, and lectures against strong drink:
Britain had nothing else to fear, as far as you could think

[dolo amber]

6. Sarah stood upon the bridge

on the railing, near the edge
the only thing that brought her in
was a book that she had read
the novel's name was long since lost
never mind the cost
the only thing she could recall
was that the author's name was Ford

it was written in nineteen ten
you could never have met a finer man
worked a farm for fifteen years
just to see if he could
he lost his memory in the war
he forgot what he was fighting for
the only thing he knew for sure
his name was Ford Madox Ford

Ford Madox Ford
Ford Madox Ford
the fattest poet who ever lived
was Ford Madox Ford

(From Ass Ponys' "Mr. Superlove")


I'm just sayin'...:hi:

[Screaming Lord Byron]

7. It'll be Vogon Poetry next, won't it?

:scared:

[scarlet_owl]

8. Don't forget "The Demon Drink"

Oh, thou demon Drink, thou fell destroyer;
Thou curse of society, and it's greatest annoyer,
What has thou done to society, let me think?
I answer thou has caused the most of ills,
Thou demon Drink.

Thou causeth the mother to neglect her child,
Also the father to act as he were wild,
So that he neglects his loving wife and family dear,
By spending his earnings foolishly on whiskey, rum, and beer.

And after spending his earnings foolishly he beats his wife-
The man that promised to protect her during life-
And so the man would if there was no drink in society,
For seldom a man beats his wife in a state of sobriety.

And if he does, perhaps he finds his wife fou',
The that causes, no doubt, a great hullaballoo.
When he finds his wife drunk he begins to frown,
And in a fury of passion he knocks her down.

And the knock down fractures her head.
And perhaps the poor wife is killed dead.
Whereas, if there was not strong drink to be got,
To be killed wouldn't haave been the poor wife's lot.

Then the unfortunate husband is arrested and cast into jail,
And sadly his fate he does bewail,
And he curses the hour that ever he was born,
And paces his cell up and down very forlorn.

And when the day of his trial draws near,
No doubt for the murdering of his wife he drops a tear,
And he exclaims, "Oh, thou demon Drink, through thee I must die."
And on the scaffold he warns the people from drink to fly....

and it just keeps going on and on like that.


Thanks to "Felton and Fowler's Best, Worst, and Most Unusual".

[Screaming Lord Byron]

9. Maybe the idea is to drive the reader to drink?

:shrug:

[Screaming Lord Byron]

10. Here's a real classic - Attempted Assassination of the Queen

God prosper long our noble Queen,
And long may she reign!
Maclean he tried to shoot her,
But it was all in vain.

For God He turned the ball aside
Maclean aimed at her head;
And he felt very angry
Because he didn't shoot her dead.

There's a divinity that hedges a king,
And so it does seem,
And my opinion is, it has hedged
Our most gracious Queen.

Maclean must be a madman,
Which is obvious to be seen,
Or else he wouldn't have tried to shoot
Our most beloved Queen.

Victoria is a good Queen,
Which all her subjects know,
And for that God has protected her
From all her deadly foes.

She is noble and generous,
Her subjects must confess;
There hasn't been her equal
Since the days of good Queen Bess.

Long may she be spared to roam
Among the bonnie Highland floral,
And spend many a happy day
In the palace of Balmoral.

Because she is very kind
To the old women there,
And allows them bread, tea, and sugar,
And each one get a share.

And when they know of her coming,
Their hearts feel overjoy'd,
Because, in general, she finds work
For men that's unemploy'd.

And she also gives the gipsies money
While at Balmoral, I've been told,
And, mind ye, seldom silver,
But very often gold.

I hope God will protect her
By night and by day,
At home and abroad,
When she's far away.

May He be as a hedge around her,
As he's been all along,
And let her live and die in peace
Is the end of my song.

[Lavender Brown]

11. Topaz is kind of a cool middle name.

Wonder if he's any relation of Minerva McGonagall? She too has been known to bust a rhyme.