“comes a fellow everyone knows / it’s the old dope peddler / spreading joy wherever he goes”

[larryhammer]

For Poetry Monday, I need a break from all these modern sonnets. This looks good enough:


Greenland's Icy Mountains, William McGonagall

Greenland’s icy mountains are fascinating and grand,
And wondrously created by the Almighty’s command;
And the works of the Almighty there’s few can understand:
Who knows but it might be a part of Fairyland?

Because there are churches of ice, and houses glittering like glass,
And for scenic grandeur there’s nothing can it surpass,
Besides there’s monuments and spires, also ruins,
Which serve for a safe retreat from the wild bruins.

And there’s icy crags and precipices, also beautiful waterfalls,
And as the stranger gazes thereon, his heart it appals
With a mixture of wonder, fear, and delight,
Till at last he exclaims, Oh! what a wonderful sight!

The icy mountains they’re higher than a brig’s topmast,
And the stranger in amazement stands aghast
As he beholds the water flowing off the melted ice
Adown the mountain sides, that he cries out, Oh! how nice!

Such sights as these are truly magnificent to be seen,
Only that the mountain tops are white instead of green,
And rents and caverns in them, the same as on a rugged mountain side,
And suitable places, in my opinion, for mermaids to reside.

Sometimes these icy mountains suddenly topple o’er
With a wild and rumbling hollow-starting roar;
And new peaks and cliffs rise up out of the sea,
While great cataracts of uplifted brine pour down furiously.

And those that can witness such an awful sight
Can only gaze thereon in solemn silence and delight,
And the most Godfearless man that hath this region trod
Would be forced to recognise the power and majesty of God.

Oh! how awful and grand it must be on a sunshiny day
To see one of these icy mountains in pieces give way!
While, crack after crack, it falls with a mighty crash
Flat upon the sea with a fearful splash.

And in the breaking up of these mountains they roar like thunder,
Which causes the stranger no doubt to wonder;
Also the Esquimaux of Greenland betimes will stand
And gaze on the wondrous work of the Almighty so grand.

When these icy mountains are falling, the report is like big guns,
And the glittering brilliancy of them causes mock-suns,
And around them there’s connected a beautiful ring of light,
And as the stranger looks thereon, it fills his heart with delight.

Oh! think on the danger of seafaring men
If any of these mighty mountains where falling on them;
Alas! they would be killed ere the hand of man could them save
And, poor creatures, very likely find a watery grave!

’Tis most beautiful to see and hear the whales whistling and blowing,
And the sailors in their small boats quickly after them rowing,
While the whales keep lashing the water all their might
With their mighty tails, left and right.

In winter there’s no sunlight there night or day,
Which, no doubt, will cause the time to pass tediously away,
And cause the Esquimaux to long for the light of day,
So as they will get basking themselves in the sun’s bright array.

In summer there is perpetual sunlight,
Which fill the Esquimaux’s hearts with delight;
And is seen every day and night in the blue sky,
Which makes the scenery appear most beautiful to the eye.

During summer and winter there the land is covered with snow,
Which sometimes must fill the Esquimaux’ hearts with woe
As they traverse fields of ice, ten or fifteen feet thick,
And with cold, no doubt, their hearts will be touched to the quick.

And let those that read or hear this feel thankful to God
That the icy fields of Greenland they have never trod;
Especially while seated around the fireside on a cold winter night,
Let them think of the cold and hardships Greenland sailors have to fight.


Okay, fine, I may have stretched the definition of "good" past the breaking point. But you have to admit, McGonagall is entirely different from anything in the last several months and so works to cleanse the palate. I do wonder what travel writing he was reading.

---L.

Subject quote from The Old Dope Peddler, Tom Lehrer.

Comments

[cmcmck]

This is one of my favourite William T renditions! :o)

[larryhammer]

I actually slightly prefer "Description of New York", but that's at least partly WTFness.

[sovay]

Because there are churches of ice, and houses glittering like glass

This line is actually not bad!

And suitable places, in my opinion, for mermaids to reside.

This is terrible but adorable.

[larryhammer]

There are a couple actually not bad lines, which is an amazing batting average for him. He also doesn't manage terrible but adorable very often.

[sovay]

There are a couple actually not bad lines, which is an amazing batting average for him.

Which others for you?

[larryhammer]

With a wild and rumbling hollow-starting roar

[sovay]

With a wild and rumbling hollow-starting roar

Yes. That is unusually attentive to sound and rhythm for McGonagall. It actually sounds like an iceberg calving.

[larryhammer]

Exactly!

[genarti]

This is endearing in a much less cringe-inducing* way than his usual! I'm not saying it's good, because it's emphatically not -- although there are occasional phrases that almost manage to get there -- but parts of it succeed in sounding like someone overwhelmed by the beauty into incoherence, instead of the usual "started out in incoherence and live there permanently."

* I initially wrote "trainwrecky," but, er. A bit too on the nose.

[larryhammer]

I know, right? You can take a few of those stanzas and imagine the writer might someday manage competent, or at least not sucky, poetry. Not when you take the whole thing, though -- some parts, there's no excuse of grandeur for how bad it is.

I initially wrote "trainwrecky," but, er. A bit too on the nose.

Hee~!

[swan_tower]

Okay, fine, I may have stretched the definition of "good" past the breaking point.

Oh, thank god. I always start on the presumption that you're posting something because you think it's good, and since I know my own taste in poetry is rather limited, I try to give things the benefit of the doubt even if I'm not finding much to appreciate. This one, as you say, has the occasional good moments -- but the further I read, the more I thought, "Jesus -- is it just me, or is this kind of terrible?"

[larryhammer]

Usually it's something I think is good, but sometimes I bank on that expectation to prank you guys.

It's not kind of terrible -- it's very terrible. It's just ... surprisingly less terrible than most poems by McGonagall.