Of reboantic Norns and scummy Beauty

[larryhammer]

I have what has sometimes been described* as an unfortunate taste for bad poetry. I relish it the way some people enjoy bad movies or bad novels. As in, while I may not list it as an interest, I do watch reallybadpoetry. We're talking about the sort of stuff where, if you meet a line like Of compost shall the Muse disdain to sing?¹ the answer will invariably and unfortunately be No.

Just as there are certain qualities of badness that make a bad movie enjoyable, so for poetry. The best bad verse reaches beyond the creator's abilities. Ye average teen angst verse has nothing on William McGonagall. I mean really -- just check out his Description of New York. Mere technical incompetence is not enough, however. There must be more.

Such as bathos -- the "art of sinking," as Pope & Co. called it. High-flown imagery soaring into a mundane thump is a wondrous thing.

But ah! when first to breathe man does begin
He then inhales the noxious seeds of sin,
Which every goodly feeling does destroy
And more or less his after-life annoy.²

And then there's disjoints between style and substance:

"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.³

Victories of sound over sense:

In the music of the morns,
Blown through Conchimarian horns,
Down the dark vistas of the reboantic Norns,
To the Genius of Eternity,
Crying: "Come to me! Come to me!"⁴

Tin ears:

When I came to the little rose-colour'd room,
   From the curtains out flew a bat.
The window stood open: and in the gloom
   My love at the window sat.⁵

Underbaked diction:

And now, kind friends, what I have wrote,
   I hope you will pass o'er,
And not to criticise as some have done
   Hitherto herebefore.⁶

Overheated diction:

"Ne'er will I quit th' undeviating line,
Whose source thou art, and thou the law divine.
The Sun shall be subdued, his system fade,
Ere I forsake the path thy fiat made;
Yet grant one soft regretful tear to flow,
Prompted by pity for a Lover's woe,
O grant without revenge, one bursting sigh,
Ere from his desolating grief I fly—
'Tis past,—Farewell! Another claims my heart;
Then wing thy sinking steps, for here we part,
We part! and listen, for the word is mine,
Anna Matilda never can be thine!"⁷

Unfortunate kennings:

Would any feather'd maiden of the wood,
Or scaly female of the peopled flood,
When lust and hunger call'd, its force resist?
In abstinence or chastity persist?⁸

Incompatible metaphors:

Life scums the cream of Beauty with Time's spoon⁹

Depleted banalities:

                                        Still I toil.
How long and steep and cheerless the ascent!
It needs the evidence of close deduction
To know that I shall ever reach the height!¹⁰

And thundering bores:

Thus, if a Government agrees to give,
Whenever Public Companies are formed,
To each a dividend—say, six percent
Per annum ... ¹¹

Before dipping into the pool for more, be warned: ye average volume of bad poetry has a higher body count than a teen slasher flick, deployed to much less emotional effect. Yes, there are volumes -- poeple collect this stuff. The above are all culled** from The Stuffed Owl ed. by Wyndham Lewis and Lee, which is one of the essential collections for poets*** -- as object lessons, if nothing else. There are other important books, of course: the recent, not quite bad enough Very Bad Poetry ed. by Petras and Petras and the semi-classic Pegasus Descending -- which is the actual point of this post. Which is to say, I just got my grubby paws on acquired a copy of this, and am delighted. Er, I mean horrified. Yes, horrified.

Though not perhaps enough. Its final pages do not live up to The Stuffed Owl's, which has the Best. Index. Ever. Even if it doesn't explain what a reboantic Norn is.

---L.


* By me.

** Much like predators cull the weak from the herd.

*** Much like The Unstrung Harp is for writers of all types.

---

Citations:
1. James Grainger, The Sugar Cane.
2. Robert Peter, On Time, Death, and Eternity.
3. Julia Moore, Lord Byron's Life. Quotes are original; ditto the grammar.
4. Thomas Chivers, The Poet's Vocation.
5. "Owen Merideth," Going Back Again.
6. Julia Moore, The Author's Early Life.
7. Robert Merry writing as Della Crusca, The Interview. The supposed speaker was in her mid-forties, and had not yet met the poet in person.
8. John, Lord Hervy, Epistle to Mr. Fox, from Hampton Court, which is almost as boggling as the lines themselves -- a young poet telling his beloved "The birds and fishes do it, why can't you?" can be forgiven, where by "forgive" I mean "publicly mocked," but this is a Lord Privy Seal writing to his middle-aged friend.
9. Margaret Cavendish, A Posset for Nature's Breakfast.
10. Joseph Cottle, The Malvern Hills.
11. George Everleigh, Science Revealed — which, as this extract demonstrates, is a work of natural theology.

Comments

[kip-w.livejournal.com]

"And did young Stephen sicken?"

[kip-w.livejournal.com]

"Forty-two pounds of edible fungus
In the wilderness a-growin'
Saved the settlers from starvation,
Helped the founding of this nation.
Forty-two pounds of edible fungus
In the wilderness a-growin'."

[larryhammer]

I had to google that one. Now I must find that book.

---L.

[kip-w.livejournal.com]

Homer Price is from Centerburg Tales, and all the stories have been reprinted in a collected edition by Barnes & Noble, along with some stories of Homer's Grampa Hercules. They are understated tales of a quiet childhood enlivened by the occasional giant ragweed, enormous ball of string, unstoppable doughnut machine, and the like. I don't know what Google told you, but the verse I quoted is from Centerburg's town pageant -- a cantata written by a music teacher of the town and sung by the African choir. Centerburg, you see, was originally called Edible Fungus, after the fortunate discovery of 42 pounds of same (in the wilderness a-growin') saved the settlers, etc., etc.

I think you'd enjoy it.

[pnh.livejournal.com]

The Stuffed Owl's index is rivalled only by that of Hugh Kenner's survey of Irish literature, A Colder Eye, in which every writer mentioned is given their Homeric epithet:

O’Casey, Sean, ventriloquist
O’Nolan, Brian, logician

.

[larryhammer]

!! Clearly, I must find this.

Have you ever encountered the original index to The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire? IIRC, it was created for the first complete edition -- very 18th century, from when indexes were new creatures. Nothing as terse as modern indexes. Penguin Classics reproduces it, with page numbers of that edition. 'Tis wonderful stuff.

---L.

[malsperanza.livejournal.com]

Only thing better than Gibbon's index is Gibbons footnotes.

Brian O'Nolan was a logician? That would make Flann O'Brien a hyperbolic geometer and Myles na Gopaleen a particle physicist.

[kip-w.livejournal.com]

The only thing I've read by Kenner was his Chuck Jones book, which I enjoyed. He showed up at my weekly chat group once; apparently he knew the moderator.

[jamiam.livejournal.com]

... Right.

And today's activity will be: lighting myself on fire, in the hopes of stopping the agony.

(Did Janni ask you if you'd like to go hiking this weekend?)

[larryhammer]

I can quote more, he said helpfully.

(Hiking would be lovely -- though looking at the forecast, I'm guessing more lovely on Sunday than tomorrow.)

---L.

[jamiam.livejournal.com]

Wait, let me find some more matches..

(Actually, I'm pretty sure that #9 works okay. We can argue about whether or not "scum"'s extra connotations as a noun should interfere with its meaning as a verb--the safest choice would undoubtedly be "skim"--but the metaphor still technically works.)

Sunday's better for me, too. Oh, I should send e-mail. Grouse, grouse, whine, moan.

[larryhammer]

It's arguable that we're dealing with dialectic shift since the 18th century. I still am unable to read it without giggling inappropriately.

---L.

[malsperanza.livejournal.com]

My ear is open like a greedy shark to catch the tunings of a voice divine.


Can we have special subcategories for Victorian Bad Poetry and Bad War Poetry? Otherwise no one else can compete.

[larryhammer]

Well, Pegasus Descending does have theme sections, including War and Disasters, but doesn't separate Victoriana -- it's chronologically democratic.

It also has McGonagall's complete Tay Bridge trilogy.

---L.

[janni.livejournal.com]

Bad Poetry ------> Literature as Karaoke ------> Music

Similar guilty pleasures, in other words.

[borntofr4g.livejournal.com]

Mystery Poetry Theatre 3000!!!

[larryhammer]

Some of these are begging for a MSTifying.

---L.