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31 Jan 04 - 07:26 PM (#1106237) Subject: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Little Hawk I've seen some great verbal comebacks from the likes of Amos, Spaw, and their ilk...I've managed some great ones myself...but we all must bow our heads in awestruck humility before the devastating repartee of William McGonagall! This was his poetic response to a scurrilous detractor of his work: LINES IN REPLY TO THE BEAUTIFUL POET WHO WELCOMED NEWS OF MCGONAGALL'S DEPARTURE FROM DUNDEE by William McGonagall Dear Johnny, I return my thanks to you; But more than thanks is your due For publishing the scurrilous poetry about me Leaving the Ancient City of Dundee. The rhymster says, we'll weary for your schauchlin' form; But if I'm not mistaken I've seen bonnier than his in a field of corn; And, as I venture to say and really suppose, His form seen in a cornfield would frighten the crows. But, dear Johnny, as you said, he's just a lampoon, And as ugly and as ignorant as a wild baboon; And, as far as I can judge or think, He is a vendor of strong drink. He says my nose would make a peasemeal warrior weep; But I've seen a much bonnier sweep, And a more manly and wiser man Than he is by far, deny it who can! And, in conclusion, I'd have him to beware, And never again to interfere with a poet's hair, Because Christ the Saviour wore long hair, And many more good men, I do declare. Therefore I laugh at such bosh that appears in print. So I hope from me you will take the hint, And never publish such bosh of poetry again, Or else you'll get the famous Weekly News a bad name. Heh! What can anyone really say in reply to that? - LH |
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31 Jan 04 - 08:28 PM (#1106266) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: mack/misophist Not at all bad. Now. Who the hell is Willie McGonagall? |
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31 Jan 04 - 08:31 PM (#1106270) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Rapparee He is a Scotch poet second only to Julia Moore in his mediocrity. |
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31 Jan 04 - 08:33 PM (#1106272) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Amos Little Hawk, I am delighted you have found someone to look up to, old friend; however I regret I must decline the kind offer to join you. Regards, A |
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31 Jan 04 - 09:06 PM (#1106295) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Peace Little Hawk: no joking around anymore. What have you done with the dolls? I'm here reminded of a writer who complained that there was a 'conspiracy of silence' to do with his work. A reviewer replied that indeed there was, and he should join it. And another in which the headline read "Last evening, _________ played Beethoven. Beethoven lost!" |
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31 Jan 04 - 09:19 PM (#1106298) Subject: Lyr Add: NELL FLAHERTY'S DRAKE From: Stilly River Sage Darn thing doesn't scan very well, does it? For a comeback, I like a good curse. As in NELL FLAHERTY'S DRAKE Oh, my name it is Neil, quite candid I tell, And I lived in Clonmell, which I'll never deny, I had a large drake, and the truth for to speak, My grandmother left me, and she going to die; He was wholesome and sound; he weighed twenty pound, And the universe 'round I would rove for his sake. Bad luck to the robber, be he drunk or sober, That murdered Nell Flaherty's beautiful drake. His neck it was green, he was rare to be seen, He was fit for a Queen of the highest degree, His body so white, it would give you delight, He was fat, plump and heavy, and brisk as a bee; My dear little fellow, his legs, they were yellow, He would fly like a swallow, and swim like a hake. Until some wicked savage, to grease his white cabbage, He murdered Nell Flaherty's beautiful drake. May his pig never grunt, may his cat never hunt, May a ghost always haunt him in the dead of the night, May his hen never lay, may his ass never bray, May his coat fly away like an old paper kite; May the lice and the fleas the wretch ever tease, May the pinching north breeze make him tremble and shake, May a four-year-old bug build a nest in the Iug, Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's Drake. May his cock never crow, may his bellows ne'er blow, And a-pot or po, may he never have one, May his cradle not rock, may his box have no lock, May his wife have no smock to shield her back bone, May his duck never quack, and his goose turn quite black And pull down the turf with his long yellow beak. May scurvy and itch, not depart from the breech, Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's Drake. May his pipe never smoke, may his teapot be broke, And to add to the joke may his kettle not boil, May he lay in the bed 'till the moment he's dead May he always be fed on lob-scouse and fish oil, May he swell with the gout, may his grinders fall out, May he roar, bawl and shout, with the horrid toothache. May his temples wear horns, and all his toes corns, The monster that murdered NeII Flaherty's drake. May his spade never dig, may his sow never pig, Every nit on his head be as large as a snall, May his house have no thatch and his door have no latch, Nay his turkey not hatch, may the rats eat his meal, May every old fairy fiom Cork to Dunleary, Dip him in snug and easy in some pond or lake, Where the eel and the trout may slime in the snout, Of the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's Drake. May his dog yelp and growl with hunger and cold, May his wife always scold 'till his brain goes astray, May the curse of each hag, that e'er carried a bag, Alight on his nag till his beard it turns grey, May monkeys still bite him, and man-apes affright him, And everyone slight him asleep or awake, May weasels still gnaw him, and jackdaws still claw him, The monster that murdered Nell Flaherty's Drake. Then all the good news l have to diffuse, 'Tis for Peter Hughes, and blind Peter McFree, There's big nosed Bob Manson, and buck-toothed Ned Hanson, Each man has a grandson of my darling Drake, My bird he had dozens of nephews and cousins, And one I must get or my heart it will break, To keep my mind easy or else l'll run crazy, So this ends the song of Nell Flaherty's Drake. |
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31 Jan 04 - 09:30 PM (#1106299) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: CarolC Eat yer heart oot Bill McGonagall |
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31 Jan 04 - 09:37 PM (#1106302) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Bee-dubya-ell Come on, Nell, it was just a friggin' duck for God's sake! |
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31 Jan 04 - 10:08 PM (#1106313) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Rapparee 'Twas Robert Emmett himself, Bee-Dubya. There was another one I ran across, a curse placed on Donerail by a poet who lost his watch there. It was paired with a blessing when Lady Donerail replaced the watch. Can't find it, of course. |
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31 Jan 04 - 10:53 PM (#1106327) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Little Hawk Man, oh, man! That Nell Flaherty had a way with words. What a tirade of vengeful wishes! I am also delighted to add the site with "Ode on the Mammoth Cheese" to my folder of "funny websites". It remains a masterpiece in the art of really, really terrible poetry. Thanks for the link! - LH |
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31 Jan 04 - 11:29 PM (#1106336) Subject: Lyr Add: A GLASS OF BEER From: GUEST,Clint Keller I always liked this poem by James Stephens; bit of drift here, though -- it's not terrible poetry. A GLASS OF BEER The lanky hank of a she in the inn over there Nearly killed me for asking the loan of a glass of beer; May the devil grip the whey-faced slut by the hair And beat bad manners out of her skin for a year. That parboiled ape, with the toughest jaw you will ever see On virtue's path, and a voice that would rasp the dead, Came roaring and raging the minute she looked at me, And threw me out of the house on the back of my head! If I asked her master he'd give me a cask a day; But she, with the beer at hand, not a gill would arrange! May she marry a ghost and bear him a kitten, and may The High King of Glory permit her to get the mange. clint |
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01 Feb 04 - 12:47 AM (#1106359) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Stilly River Sage Out of curiosity I pulled out the Clancy Brothers & Tommy Makem version I have of Nell Flaherty's Drake. I thought the arrangment I posted (I copied it here from the DT) was unusual. The record arranges the verses differently, doesn't use some, changes others. There are more breaks and the chorus repeats itself a couple of times, I think. On the record it goes by so quickly that it will take a while to get the Clancy version, but I'll post it once I get it all. SRS |
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01 Feb 04 - 11:12 AM (#1106540) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Rapparee It's a comeback of a sort, I suppose. I've always liked Pope's "Epistle to Arbuthnot" and especially ...Let Sporus tremble — "What? that thing of silk, Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk? Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel? Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?" Yet let me flap this Bug with gilded wings, This painted Child of Dirt that stinks and stings; Whose Buzz the Witty and the Fair annoys, Yet Wit ne'er tastes, and Beauty ne'er enjoys, So well-bred Spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the Game they dare not bite. Eternal Smiles his Emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way. Whether in florid Impotence he speaks, And, as the Prompter breathes, the Puppet squeaks; Or at the Ear of Eve, familiar Toad, Half Froth, half Venom, spits himself abroad, In Puns, or Politicks, or Tales, or Lyes, Or Spite, or Smut, or Rymes, or Blasphemies. His Wit all see-saw between that and this, Now high, now low, now Master up, now Miss, And he himself one vile Antithesis. Amphibious Thing! that acting either Part, The trifling Head, or the corrupted Heart! Fop at the Toilet, Flatt'rer at the Board, Now trips a Lady, and now struts a Lord. Eve's Tempter thus the Rabbins have exprest, A Cherub's face, a Reptile all the rest; Beauty that shocks you, Parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and Pride that licks the dust. or Dryden's MacFlecknoe ...Cried: ''Tis resolved; for nature pleads, that he Should only rule, who most resembles me. Shadwell alone my perfect image bears, Mature in dullness from his tender years: Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, But Shadwell never deviates into sense. Some beams of wit on other souls may fall, Strike through, and make a lucid interval; But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray; His rising fogs prevail upon the day.... Neither, as far as I know, is considered to be in the same league as McGonagle, though. |
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01 Feb 04 - 11:53 AM (#1106570) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: Amos There's some wonderful cussing modeled after Flaherty's drake in two of the Song Challenge items of years past -- one by derrymacash and one by yrs trly concerning a remarkable chicken. A |
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02 Feb 04 - 03:04 AM (#1107047) Subject: RE: BS: So there!!! Stunning poetic comeback... From: freda underhill HOW DO WE RESPOND TO WILLIAM MCGONAGALL'S LINES IN REPLY TO THE BEAUTIFUL POET WHO WELCOMED NEWS OF MCGONAGALL'S DEPARTURE FROM DUNDEE.? ..Out, damned Scot! out, I say!--One: two: why, then, 'tis time to rhyme.--Hellish verses!--Fie, my lord, fie! a rhymer, and a bard? What need we fear who scans it, when none can call our poet to account?--Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much doggerel in him? lady macbreath |
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02 Feb 04 - 09:09 AM (#1107224) Subject: Lyr Add: TO MY FRIENDS AND CRITICS From: Rapparee An honest answer to Julia Moore's critics is in the last verse: TO MY FRIENDS AND CRITICS Come all you friends and critics, And listen to my song, A word I will say to you, It will not take me long, The people talks about me, They've nothing else to do But to criticise their neighbors, And they have me now in view. Perhaps they talk for meanness, And perhaps it is in jest, If they leave out their freeness It would suit me now the best, To keep the good old maxim I find it hard to do, That is to do to others As you wish them do to you. Perhaps you've read the papers Containing my interview; I hope you kind good people Will not believe it true. Some Editors of the papers They thought it would be wise To write a column about me, So they filled it up with lies. The papers have ridiculed me A year and a half or more. Such slander as the interview I never read before. Some reporters and editors Are versed in telling lies. Others it seems are willing To let industry rise. The people of good judgment Will read the papers through, And not rely on its truth Without a candid view. My first attempt at literature Is the "Sweet Singer" by name, I wrote that book without a thought Of the future, or of fame. Dear Friends, I write for money, With a kind heart and hand, I wish to make no Enemies Throughout my native land. Kind friends, now I close my rhyme, And lay my pen aside, Between me and my critics I leave you to decide. |