Poetry Sunday 27 March 2016

Our glorious Poetry Editor, Ira Maine, Esq. has presented a beauty this day.

A New Temperance Poem, In Memory Of My Departed Parents, Who Were Sober Living & God Fearing People – Poem by William Topaz McGonagall

My parents were sober living, and often did pray
For their family to abstain from intoxicating drink alway;
Because they knew it would lead them astray
Which no God fearing man will dare to gainsay. 

Some people do say that God made strong drink,
But he is not so cruel I think;
To lay a stumbling block in his children’s way,
And then punish them for going astray. 

No! God has more love for his children, than mere man.
To make strong drink their souls to damn;
His love is more boundless than mere man’s by far,
And to say not it would be an unequal par. 

A man that truly loves his family wont allow them to drink,
Because he knows seldom about God they will think,
Besides he knows it will destroy their intellect,
And cause them to hold their parents in disrespect. 

Strong drink makes the people commit all sorts of evil,
And must have been made by the Devil
For to make them quarrel, murder, steal, and fight,
And prevent them from doing what is right. 

The Devil delights in leading the people astray,
So that he may fill his kingdom with them without delay;
It is the greatest pleasure he can really find,
To be the enemy of all mankind. 

The Devil delights in breeding family strife,
Especially betwixt man and wife;
And if the husband comes home drunk at night,
He laughs and crys, ha! ha! what a beautiful sight. 

And if the husband asks his supper when lie comes in,
The poor wife must instantly find it for him;
And if she cannot find it, he will curse and frown,
And very likely knock his loving wife down. 

Then the children will scream aloud,
And the Devil no doubt will feel very proud,
If he can get the children to leave their own fireside,
And to tell their drunken father, they won’t with him reside. 

Strong drink will cause the gambler to rob and kill his brother,
Aye! also his father and his mother,
All for the sake of getting money to gamble,
Likewise to drink, cheat, and wrangle. 

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. 

Therefore, for this sufficient reason remove it from society,
For seldom burglary is committed in a state of sobriety;
And I earnestly entreat ye all to join with heart and hand,
And to help to chase away the Demon drink from bonnie Scotland. 

I beseech ye all to kneel down and pray,
And implore God to take it away;
Then this world would be a heaven, whereas it is a hell,
And the people would have more peace in it to dwell. 

Notes by Ira Maine
William Topaz Macgonagall (1825 to 1902) a Scot, has earned himself the unenviable reputation of being perhaps the worst ever poet in the English language.

It is difficult, on reading some of his work, to imagine that the man, let alone the public, took his work seriously.

The following two-liner is taken from ‘The Book of Lamentations of the poet Macgonagall.’

On yonder hill there stands a coo,[cow]
If it’s no there, it’s awa noo. [away now]

Just imagine these lines, delivered straight-faced and without explanation, to an expectant audience, an audience already familiar with the poet’s reputation. Eagerly they await the rest of the poem. They wait, and wait, but there is no ‘rest’. That’s it. The poet looks out at them in silence. Bemused, gob-smacked, even bewildered at first, the audience is seduced, subtly and shamelessly, gradually and grudgingly, by the poet’s hilariously bare-faced audacity.

Can any of us seriously imagine that the poet was unaware of the effect his work had on an audience? That he was not deliberately writing excruciating drivel because he had discovered that the combination of his Scot’s accent, ghastly poetry and patrician presentation drew audiences wherever and whenever he gave a public performance? The more outrageous the work the more the man was lionized. Macgonagall had discovered a gravy train!

A poet like Macgonagall would not survive for five minutes without an audience. Let us not forget that the poet’s life coincided with the age of the novelist Sir Walter Scott who had set about  re-inventing Scotland as a place of heroes and heroines and unimaginable romance. This was, of course, after the English, in the 18th century, had starved, murdered and dispossessed the inhabitants of the Highlands so that grouse shooting might go ahead unimpeded. During the 19th century, a broken Scotland became England’s (and Sir Walter’s) romantic restoration project and Queen Victoria’s pet dog.

But enough of this. For anyone who might be inspired to seek out some more deathless verses by this incomparable poet, do make a point of reading “The Tay Bridge Disaster’ or  go absolutely potty and buy a copy of his extraordinary poems! All of the man’s poems require a tongue planted firmly in the cheek in order that not a jot or tittle of the subtle nuances escape you.