If your breath reeks of haggis or single malt this morning, you’re probably one of those sheep who wasted yesterday evening celebrating Robbie Burns Day. Sigh. All that fuss and bother about a mediocre, self-important purveyor of doggerel in dialect, when Scotland’s REAL contribution to world literature goes largely unrecognized. I refer, of course, to the immortal William Topaz McGonagall, widely acknowledged among connaisseurs of the awful to be the worst poet ever to write in (sort of) English.

The night was tempestuous, most terrific, and pitch dark,
When Matthew Pengelly rescued Annie Marshall from an ill-fated barque!

- from “Annie Marshall, the Foundling”

Born of poor Irish parents in Edinburgh, Scotland, in March 1825, he settled in Dundee and lived there until his death in 1902. A handloom weaver by profession, he began to participate in amateur theatrics, and in the 1870s began to produce his unique body of work, beginning with an ode to a new railway bridge over the Tay River at Dundee in 1877. The Tay River Bridge was to serve as his muse: his Tay Bridge-inspired works included “The Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay”, “An Address to the New Tay Bridge”, “A Descriptive Poem on the Silvery Tay”, and his greatest hit, “The Tay Bridge Disaster”.

Black Beard derived his name from his long black beard,
Which terrified America more than any comet that had ever appeared…

- from “Captain Teach, Or Black Beard”

His first collection, modestly entitled “Poetic Gems” was published in 1878, and he produced several more volumes during his lifetime. He also toured Scotland, England, and New York, giving public readings dressed in full Scottish Highland regalia.

And when life’s prospects may at times appear dreary to ye,
Remember Alois Senefelder, the discoverer of Lithography.

- from “The Sprig of Moss”

McGonagall’s work was most noteworthy for its tortured rhymes, clumsy phrasing, and an apparent inability to tell how many syllables should be in a line. Much of his poetry dealt with disaster, a noun that could aptly be applied to his collected work.

But, thank heaven, the engine-driver sees the red light
That Carl keeps swinging round his head with all his might;
But bang! bang! goes the engine with a terrible crash,
And the car is dashed all to smash.

- from “Saving A Train”

McGonagall was convinced all his life that he deserved the title of Poet Laureate, and, upon the death of Alfred Lord Tennyson he walked to Balmoral Castle to petition Queen Victoria for the title. Inexplicably, he was turned away at the gate - perhaps by a gatekeeper who had actually read his poety.

And by the 26th of July the guns of Fort Moro were destroyed,
And the French and Spaniards were greatly annoyed;

- from “The Capture of Havana”

It is rare indeed that one can point to a specific practitioner of any art and say, without doubt or cavil, “There. There and nowhere else lies the abyss, the nadir, the omega.” The poetry of McGonagall is still in print today, in English, Russian, Japanese, Thai, Bulgarian, Romanian and Chinese - proof that while excellence leads only to loftier and more isolated elites, the Truly Terrible unites us all.

Let us leave the last words of this appreciation to the master himself. Here is the unedited text of McGonnagall’s best known work.

The Tay Bridge Disaster

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

‘Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
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.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

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!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.