Thursday, June 09, 2005

El peor poeta

En mi incansable busqueda sin tregua de ejemplos de decadencia artistica y alardes de mal gusto me he encontrado con William T McGonagall (Edinburgo, 1825-Dundee, 1902), considerado el peor poeta de la literatura inglesa, y probablemente de la mundial. Es, digamos, el Ed Wood de la poesia; un genio a la inversa. Su falta de talento fue famosa en sus dias y fue victima del acoso ciudadano, que el consideraba muestras de ignorancia. Su autoestima y fe personal fue tal, que visito a la reina en vanos intentos de convertirse en poeta de la corte. Sus tematicas favoritas fueron algunos lugares de Escocia, instituciones e historia. Con un ojo puesto en su postumo exito, tambien escribio numerosas autobiografias. Alguna broma del destino ha permitido que su fama se extendiera aunque no por los motivos que el sonyaba. Aqui un ejemplo de un poema dedicado a Edimburgo:

Beautiful city of Edinburgh!
Where the tourist can drown his sorrow
By viewing your monuments and statues fine
During the lovely summer-time.
I'm sure it will his spirits cheer
As Sir Walter Scott's monument he draws near,
That stands in East Prince's Street
Amongst flowery gardens, fine and neat.

And Edinburgh Castle is magnificent to be seen
With its beautiful walks and trees so green,
Which seems like a fairy dell;
And near by its rocky basement is St Margaret's Well,
Where the tourist can drink at when he feels dry,
And view the castle from beneath so very high,
Which seems almost towering to the sky.

Then as for Nelson's monument that stands on Calton Hill,
As the tourist gazes thereon, with wonder his heart does fill
As he thinks on Admiral Nelson who did the Frenchmen kill,
Then, as for Salisbury Crags, they are most beautiful to be seen,
Especially in the month of June, when the grass is green;
There numerous mole-hills can be seen,
And the busy little creatures howking away,
Searching for worms among the clay;
And as the tourist's eye does wander to and fro
From the south side of Salisbury Crags below,
His bosom with admiration feels all aglow
As he views the beautiful scenery in the valley below;
And if, with an observant eye, the little loch beneath he scans,
He can see the wild ducks about and beautiful white swans.

Then, as for Arthur's Seat, I'm sure it is a treat
Most worthy to be seen, with its rugged rocks and pastures green,
And the sheep browsing on its sides
To and fro, with slow-paced strides,
And the little lambkins at play
During the livelong summer day,
Beautiful city of Edinburgh! the truth to express,
Your beauties are matchless I must confess,
And which no one dare gainsay,
But that you are the grandest city in Scotland at the present day!


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