It Pays to Be a Shit Poet After You're Dead Anyway

I'll bet the Queen's ass was glad she was out when William called round to be Poet Laureate. It saved her from hearing hours of his damn poetry, because you just know he was a big-ass bore, who overdid the dramatics. I'd have beheaded his ass if he started reading that shit to me. His poetry was the suck.

'Worst poet' outsells boy wizard

McGonagall would be pelted with food when he read his poems.
A private collector has paid £6,600 for poems by the man ridiculed as "the world's worst poet".

A total of 35 of William McGonagall's works - many of them autographed - have been up for auction in Edinburgh.

The ditties by "The Tayside Tragedian" went for more than a collection of Harry Potter first editions signed by author JK Rowling.

McGonagall, who died in 1902, was often mocked and had food thrown at him during readings in Dundee.

He was born in Edinburgh in 1825, but spent much of his life in Dundee as a handloom weaver in the jute mills.

He did not start writing poems until he was 47, but went on to write about subjects including Scottish battles and Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee.

He also took pleasure in writing about death and catastrophe, and his most famous work was a poem about the Tay Bridge disaster of 1879.

A section from it reads:
"So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay, Until it was about midway,Then the central girders with a crash gave way,And down went the train and passengers into the Tay..."

Alex Dove, from auctioneers Lyon and Turnbull, said: "He was a confident gentleman who thought that his poetry was some of the best.

"He once walked all the way to Balmoral to try to become Poet Laureate. Unfortunately the Queen wasn't in.

"He spent a lot of time on the streets of Dundee trying to sell his poems and performing them, much to the amusement of the residents.

"Poet-baiting became quite an activity for the students of the time, where they would encourage him to perform, and then they would throw eggs and vegetables at him.

The new owner's bid for the poems was £5,500, but once commission is included they will have to fork out £6,600.

The Harry Potter books only brought in £6,000.

David Kett from the library service in Dundee believes much of the criticism McGonagall receives is unjustified.

"He's really popular because he promoted himself to an enormous extent and he produced this interesting and unique verse, which has resonated down the ages," he said.

"Because some people take offence with it and ridicule it, they fail to realise what McGonagall is trying to say, which is a narrative of all the events he saw.

"It's bad in parts, but there are parts of the poetry where he does achieve a certain extent of lyricism, describing one of the country parks he mentions 'the bees buzzing in the lyme trees' - really conjures up the image."

Story from BBC NEWS:http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/uk_news/scotland/tayside_and_central/7402920.stmPublished: 2008/05/16 14:19:54 GMT© BBC MMIX
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Scotland's Worst Poet: William McGonagall

I ran across a Web site for the man who is commonly and rightly acknowledged as Scotland's worst poet. In retrospect, I think he may qualify as the ENTIRE WORLD'S worst poet. You be the damn judge! I can't make up your minds!

McGonagall once wrote:
The most startling incident in my life was the time I discovered myself to be a poet, which was in the year 1877.

It was pretty damn startling to the rest of us, too.

If you want to read more of William's poorly-rhymed, pretentious shit, after sampling the poem below, here's a link to HIS ENTIRE WORKS, including Poetic Gems (Poetic Shite, more like).
http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/

Jottings of New York

Oh, mighty city of New York, you are wonderful to behold--
Your buildings are magnificent-- the truth be it told--
They were the only thing that seemed to arrest my eye,
Because many of them are thirteen storeys high;
And as for Central Park, it is lovely to be seen--
Especially in the summer season when its shrubberies are green
And the Burns Statue is there to be seen,
Surrounded by trees on the beautiful sward so green;
Also Shakespeare and the immortal Sir Walter Scott,
Which by Scotchmen and Englishmen will never be forgot.

There are people on the Sabbath day in thousands resort--
All lov'd, in conversation, and eager for sport;
And some of them viewing the wild beasts there,
While the joyous shouts of children does rend the air--
And also beautiful black swans, I do declare.

And there's beautiful boats to be seen there,
And joyous shouts of children does rend the air,
While the boats sail along with them o'er Lohengrin Lake,
And fare is 5 cents for children, and adults ten is all they take.

And there's also summer-house shades, and merry-go-rounds
And with the merry laughter of the children the Park resounds,
During the live-long Sabbath day
Enjoying themselves at the merry-go-round play.

Then there's the elevated railroads about five storeys high,
Which the inhabitants can hear night and day passing by;
Of, such a mass of people there daily do throng--
No less than five 100,000 daily pass along;
And all along the city you can get for five cents--
And, believe me, among the passengers there's few discontent.

And the top of the houses are mostly all flat,
And in the warm weather the people gather to chat;
Besides, on the housetops they dry their clothes;
And, also, many people all night on the housetops repose.

And numerous ships end steamboats are there to be seen,
Sailing along the East River water, which is very green--
Which is certainly a most beautiful sight
To see them sailing o'er the smooth water day and night.

And as for Brooklyn Bridge, it's a very great height,
And fills the stranger's heart with wonder at first sight;
And with all its loftiness I venture to say
It cannot surpass the new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay.

And there's also ten thousand rumsellers there--
Oh, wonderful to think of, I do declare!
To accommodate the people of New York therein,
And to encourage them to commit all sorts of sin

And on the Sabbath day ye will see many a man
Going for beer with a big tin can,
And seems proud to be seen carrying home the beer
To treat his neighbours and his family dear.

Then at night numbers of the people dance and sing,
Making the walls of their houses to ring
With their songs and dancing on Sabbath night,
Which I witnessed with disgust, and fled from the sight.

And with regard to New York and the sights I did see--
Believe me, I never saw such sights in Dundee;
And the morning I sailed from the city of New York
My heart it felt as light as a cork

[NOTE: We're glad your holier-than-thou ass sailed out of New York, McGonagall. Fuck you, if you didn't like it. New Yorkers don't give a rat's humping ass. SB is a little touchy about New York, due to 9/11 and shit.]