Rejection slips getting you down? Tired of going to workshops and trying to hone your craft? Maybe getting better is not the answer. Maybe it’s time to get worse.
Consider William Topaz McGonagall, the William Hung of his day, known as the “Tayside Tragedian” and the world’s worst poet. He was so bad he drew jeering, vegetable- and stone-throwing crowds in late nineteenth century Scotland. He started writing poems at 47 and continued attracting abuse for 25 years.
(See McGonagall’s “Reminiscences” for his story of “the first man who threw peas at me.” Contemporary newspaper accounts of the food-throwing are also plentiful. “He generally prefers to recite at Easter, for eggs at that time are dear, and even bad ones are not to be obtained cheaply,” reported the Dundee Courier in a review of one of his 1888 appearances.)
How bad was he? One of his specialties was “temperence poetry,” and if that phrase alone does not incite dread, here are some representative stanzas:
And when the burglar wants to do his work very handy,
He plies himself with a glass of Whisky, Rum, or Brandy,
To give himself courage to rob and kill,
And innocent people’s blood to spill.
Whereas if he couldn’t get Whisky, Rum, or Brandy,
He wouldn’t do his work so handy;
Therefore, in that respect let strong drink be abolished in time,
And that will cause a great decrease in crime.
Or these lines from “Death of the Queen” (Victoria)
The people around Balmoral will shed many tears
Owing to her visits amongst them for many years;
She was very kind to the old, infirm women there,
By giving them provisions and occasionally a prayer.
Or these, from “A Descriptive Poem on the Silvery Tay”
Beautiful silvery Tay,
With your landscapes, so lovely and gay,
Along each side of your waters, to Perth all the way;
No other river in the world has got scenery more fine,
Only I am told the beautiful Rhine,
Near to Wormit Bay, it seems very fine,
Where the Railway Bridge is towering above its waters sublime,
And the beautiful ship Mars,
With her Juvenile Tars,
Both lively and gay,
Does carelessly lie
By night and by day,
In the beautiful Bay
Of the silvery Tay.
After a reading that ended with McGonagall being driven from the stage by a gang of youths, a local newspaper urged him to quit:
“Really we would seriously advise him to abandon ‘poetry and the drama,’ and turn his attention to some more lucrative occupation, as it is pretty evident that the present generation are not prepared to appreciate his ‘talents.’ Whether he will get justice at the hands of generations yet unborn is a question we leave time to answer.”
In our own time, McGonagall continues to receive attention, albeit mostly negative. Not only is he still in print, one of his books recently brought 6,500 pounds at auction. In late 2006, when a new edition of collected his collected works appeared, the British media confirmed his “worst ever” status. Comments from readers of The Scotsman, though, indicate that while a few admire his verse, many give credit for his perseverance:
“…He should have a statue made of him as he’s an example of never giving up and striving for your dreams. Even if you is a complete dosser.”
A bust of McGonagall may be purchased here.