Who was the worse poet - Marzials or McGonagall?
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Move over William Topaz McGonagall; a challenger for the title of the world’s worst published poet has arisen. The latest edition of the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography includes an entry for Theo Marzials, a 19th-century Belgian-born poet, who many experts believe was responsible for even worse writing than McGonagall.

It’s a bold claim, given that McGonagall has long epitomised excuciating poetry thanks to his duff rhymes, unintentional humour and hopeless scansion, seen at its finest in his epic The Tay Bridge Disaster.

But some experts believe Marzials outdoes McGonagall with his 1873 poem entitled A Tragedy, which deals with the writer’s thoughts of suicide.

It begins: “Death! / Plop. / The barges down in the river flop. / Flop, plop”.

It ends: “I can dare, I can dare! / And let myself all run away with my head, / And stop. / Drop / Dead. / Plop, flop. / Plop.”

Though the author of these lines may have deserved to sink without trace, he in fact became a renowned eccentric and aesthete. He worked in the British Museum, was obsessed with eating beetroot and wrote a popular song called Twickenham Ferry.

He retired to Devon where he became addicted to chlorodyne, a medicine containing opium and cannabis, and died in 1920.

Until now the relative paucity of Marzials’s bad poetry has meant he has been outshone by McGonagall, but experts have now decided he should be accorded his due. Marzials is one of the latest crop of entrants to the biography, who are nominated by a panel of leading academics.

“McGonagall was included for the first time in 2004 as, by the late 20th century, his work had gained notoriety,” said Philip Carter, the dictionary’s publication editor. “Marzials was said to be the author of the worst ever poem and he is included in this edition for that and other reasons. Both are included on their respective merits and we will make their two lives available on the dictionary’s home page so people have the opportunity to read and compare lives of the two men and decide [who was worst] for themselves.”

McGonagall, born in Edinburgh of Irish parents, gave up his job as a handloom weaver in Dundee in 1877 to become a poet. He once walked from the city to Balmoral Castle in a vain attempt to persuade Queen Victoria to make him poet laureate.

He died penniless in 1902, and was unlamented for years until attracting a cult following. His fans have included Spike Milligan, Billy Connolly and JK Rowling, who named Harry Potter’s teacher Professor McGonagall.

“In the kingdom of the poetically deaf, Marzials may be prince, but William McGonagall remains king,” said Gerard Carruthers, a senior lecturer on Scottish literature at Glasgow University. “A Tragedy is an awful poem, but incredibly it has more emotional engagement than anything McGonagall ever achieves.”

However, Kathryn Petras, co-author of Very Bad Poetry, said: “It is no easy task to designate one very bad poem as the absolute epitome of awfulness. But in going through hundreds of selections, one poem stood out, A Tragedy – which, indeed, it was.”

From bad to verse

A Tragedy by Theophile Marzials

Death! Plop.
The barges down in the river flop.
Flop, plop.
Above, beneath.
From the slimy branches the grey drips drop,
As they scraggle black on the thin grey sky,
Where the black cloud rack-hackles drizzle and fly
To the oozy waters, that lounge and flop
On the black scrag piles, where the loose cords plop,
As the raw wind whines in the thin tree-top.
Plop, plop.
And scudding by
The boatmen call out hoy! and hey!
All is running water and sky,
And my head shrieks - "Stop,"
And my heart shrieks - "Die."

My thought is running out of my head;
My love is running out of my heart,
My soul runs after, and leaves me as dead,
For my life runs after to catch them - and fled
They all are every one! -- and I stand, and start,
At the water that oozes up, plop and plop,
On the barges that flop
And dizzy me dead.
I might reel and drop.
Plop.
Dead.
And the shrill wind whines in the thin tree-top
Flop, plop.

A curse on him.
Ugh! yet I knew -- I knew --
If a woman is false can a friend be true?
It was only a lie from beginning to end --
My Devil -- My "Friend"
I had trusted the whole of my living to!
Ugh; and I knew!
Ugh!
So what do I care,
And my head is empty as air --
I can do,
I can dare,
(Plop, plop
The barges flop
Drip drop.)
I can dare! I can dare!
And let myself all run away with my head
And stop.
Drop.
Dead.
Plop, flop.
Plop.

The Tay Bridge Disaster

by William Topaz McGonagall

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.

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