Includes the famous poem 'The Tay Bridge Disaster' Boreas he did loud and angry bray, And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay On the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
He wrote about 200 poems, including his infamous "The Tay Bridge Disaster", which are widely regarded as some of the worst in English literature. Groups throughout Scotland engaged him to make recitations from his work; contemporary descriptions of these performances indicate that many listeners were appreciating McGonagall's skill as a comic music hall character, and his readings may be considered a form of performance art. Collections of his verse continue in popularity, with several volumes available today.
McGonagall has been acclaimed as the worst poet in British history. The chief criticisms are that he is deaf to poetic metaphor and unable to scan correctly. In the hands of lesser artists, this might generate dull, uninspiring verse. McGonagall's fame stems from the humorous effects these shortcomings generate. The inappropriate rhythms, weak vocabulary, and ill-advised imagery combine to make his work amongst the most unintentionally amusing dramatic poetry in the English language. His work is in a long tradition of verses written and published about great events and tragedies, and widely circulated among the local population as handbills. In an age before radio and television, their voice was one way of communicating important news to an avid public.
He died penniless in 1902 and was buried in an unmarked grave in Greyfriars Kirkyard in Edinburgh.
This is our peerless laureate McGonagall at the climatic peak of his pathetic (sorry, poetic!) prowess! Simply matchless! Only He could call the wreck of Tay Bridge "beautiful" and get away with it by means of His supreme virtuoso. Only He could in his poetry kill 15 more people than actually died in the disaster. Only he could feature such a delightful refrain in a disaster elegy. And just see His brutal, immaculate honesty in "The Death Of Lord And Lady Dalhousie"; lion-hearted as always, He's expressing the sincere emotions of the oppressed masses when He aptly versifies "Alas! Lord and Lady Dalhousie are dead, and buried at last, / Which causes many people to feel a little downcast." You can see it, can't you fools, that the common folk were FINALLY so glad these two aristocrats were buried after so much display?
(if you're into Mcgonagall's majesty, probably read "Poetic Gems" first rather than "Collected Poems" or His worshipper's intros. He will truly transform your life.)
I cannot in good conscience give this any higher than three stars. I don’t tend to leave negative reviews on this site; all those people who’ll post one or two stars, I wonder why they didn’t just stop reading? It’s almost as if some people haven’t heard of masturbation. If I’m not liking a book, I just stop reading.
I’ll say this, in positive terms: Billy Connolly’s forward is lovely, and entirely the reason I got this edition. That is very much worth a read. McGonagall’s poetry, however, is just fucking boring.
I cannot emphasise enough how boring is McGonagall’s poetry. The Tay Bridge Disaster and Beautiful Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay, I actually have never finished reading, I’ve never made it to the last stanza, because I physically can’t. Good poetry, such as The Ballad of Reading Gaol or Autumn Journal propels you thru it, and despite its length makes it seem a short and wonderful wee journey. This, in contrast, is such a drag.
William McGonagall, master of doggerel, immortalised the dreadful Tay Bridge disaster of 1879. This book contains that poem, and much more of his uniquely formed and characterful verse. He was never one to shy away from the direct and uncompromising.
None can fault his earnest enthusiasm for writing verse; though it be of a form he owns all to himself. His “Ode To The Queen On Her Jubilee Year” (Victoria’s Golden Jubillee) is eye-raising not merely for including Shakepeare’s line “uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”!
His passion, his verve, and his patriotism held high; clearly here is a man who never felt short of words with which to express his opinion, marking many events which might otherwise have passed into History with barely a nod towards tact or a murmur as to the niceties of social expression.
Where to start a review on William McGonagall? I guess I'll say that this collection of poetry does meet expectations. Does he deserve the moniker of "worst poet in history"? Maybe. The rigid rhyme schemes and painful syntactic contortions needed to make it work, the comically awkward images, the lack of lexical variety, and the strange 10 o'clock news style of poetry/reportage does all make a convincing case. But damned if that poetry doesn't exude sincerity. And if only for that reason does this collection truly deserve the description of "poetic gems."
It seems to me there has never been A poet like unto McGonagall that was seen: His verse reflects the disaster He recounted - of rhyme he was the master. If ye went south of the border into England, Never would be found a poet so joyous and grand As William Topaz McGonagall, Knight of the white elephant of Burmah, whose contribution to the field of poetry is not small.