Eagleton, Terry - How to Read Literature

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We may end with a poet whose status is not in doubt. In fact,
there is well- nigh universal agreement on the value of his work. So
much so, indeed, that it is doubtful that his memory will ever fade.
Much anthologised, he has a seat among the immortals as secure as
Rimbaud or Pushkin, and his reputation has never suffered the ups
and downs of some fellow writers. I am referring to the nineteenth-
century Scottish poet William McGonagall, by common consent
one of the most atrocious writers ever to set pen to paper. Here is
an extract from his ‘Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay’:

Beautiful new railway bridge of the silvery Tay,

With your strong brick piers and buttresses in so grand array;

And your thirteen central girders, which seem to my eye,

Strong enough all windy storms to defy.

And as I gaze at thee my heart feels gay,

Because thou art the greatest railway bridge of the present day;

And can be seen from miles away,

From north, south, east, or west of the Tay...

Beautiful new railway bridge of the silvery Tay,

With your beautiful side screens along your railway;

Which would be a great protection on a windy day,

So as the railway carriages won’t be blown away...

The world is stuffed with mediocre poets, but it takes a certain
sublime ineptitude to rival McGonagall’s astonishing achievement.
To be so unforgettably awful is a privilege bestowed on only a few.
With magnificent consistency, he never deviates from the most
abysmal standards. Indeed, he can justly boast of never having